Through the Eyes of Enemies [1]

Darkness. Crushing weight. The acrid taste of dust and blood.

Marquas fought against the disorientation, his mind struggling to process what had happened. The Department of Mysteries had collapsed around him, tons of magical debris pinning him beneath its weight. Pain radiated from his left side where something had penetrated his defensive shield, a piece of metal or stone, he couldn't tell which.

Not how I expected this particular adventure to end, he thought with grim humor despite the dire circumstances. Crushed under magical bureaucracy. Fitting, somehow.

He attempted to assess his situation, pushing past the pain to take stock of his surroundings. What little he could see in the near-total darkness suggested he was in a pocket of space formed by fallen support beams, a small miracle that had prevented him from being completely crushed. His wand was still clutched in his right hand, though his movement was severely restricted by the debris.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed something peculiar, a faint, pulsing glow emanating from somewhere to his left. With painful effort, he turned his head toward the light source and felt a chill of recognition.

A prophecy orb, somehow intact despite the catastrophic collapse around it, glowed with ethereal blue light just inches from his face. The identifier tag was still attached, bearing markings that made his breath catch: S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D. - Another Face and the Dark Lord - February 1979

The prophecy orb that had started this chaos, the one identifying "the one who wears another's face" as Voldemort's undoing, had somehow landed right beside him in the collapse. The cosmic irony wasn't lost on him.

"Of course," he muttered to the empty darkness. "Because being buried alive wasn't dramatic enough."

He considered his options, which were severely limited. Standard apparition was impossible within Ministry boundaries. Most of his specialized equipment had been damaged in the collapse. His magical reserves were depleted from the battle. And even if he could free himself, Voldemort and his Death Eaters were likely still searching the ruins for his body.

Yet despite these grim circumstances, Marquas found himself experiencing an emotion that surprised him: satisfaction. He'd outmaneuvered both Dumbledore and Voldemort for months, playing a dangerous game of information control and strategic revelation. His foreknowledge of the Harry Potter books had given him an unprecedented advantage that he'd wielded with increasing confidence.

Perhaps too much confidence, he acknowledged as pain lanced through his side. He'd enjoyed the intellectual superiority his unique position provided, knowing the plot while everyone else, even the great Albus Dumbledore, fumbled in ignorance. That satisfaction had blinded him to the possibility that Voldemort might have been more perceptive than he'd given him credit for.

As he lay trapped in the darkness, the prophecy orb pulsing beside him like a countdown to some inevitable conclusion, Marquas reflected on the hubris that had led him here, and the errors in judgment that might have cost him everything.

One Hour Earlier

The Dark Lord stood amid the chaos of the collapsing Department of Mysteries, his inhuman features arranged in an expression of cold fury as debris continued to fall around him. His magic created a protective dome, effortlessly deflecting the massive stones and twisted metal that would have crushed a lesser wizard.

"Find him," he commanded Bellatrix, who hovered nearby with fanatical devotion despite the danger. "Search every inch of this rubble. I want Severus Snape, alive if possible, but his body at minimum."

"Yes, my Lord," she replied with bloodthirsty eagerness. "Shall I summon additional Death Eaters to assist with the search?"

"No," Voldemort decided after brief consideration. "Too many have already been captured in this... miscalculation. We will handle this personally."

As Bellatrix began casting detection spells over the expansive field of debris, Voldemort considered the events that had led to this moment with growing rage. For months, he had noticed a pattern of subtle failures in his operations, plans that should have succeeded encountering unexpected complications, targets somehow prepared for attacks that should have surprised them, followers making critical mistakes at precisely the wrong moments.

It had started with the McKinnon operation, a simple kidnapping transformed into an embarrassing failure when the team targeted the wrong location. Then the raid on the Muggle-born advocacy group that dissolved into chaos under Bellatrix's leadership, allowing the Order to evacuate most targets. Most recently, the Lestrange vault at Gringotts had somehow been breached despite legendary security measures.

The common factor in all these failures? Severus Snape's involvement, however peripheral.

At first, Voldemort had dismissed the pattern as coincidence. Snape had proven valuable for his innovations and his position at Hogwarts. His theoretical contributions to magical research had advanced Voldemort's goals in ways few other followers could match. Even when suspicion began to grow, the Dark Lord had withheld judgment, preferring observation to premature accusation.

Then the prophecy had emerged, and everything had crystallized with blinding clarity.

"The one who wears another's face..."

The phrasing was too specific to ignore, especially when combined with the other observations. Snape's behavior had changed too dramatically approximately five months ago, not just his outward appearance, which could be explained by simple vanity, but fundamental aspects of his magical technique, theoretical approaches, and strategic thinking.

It was as if someone else entirely had stepped into Severus Snape's skin.

The rage Voldemort felt at this realization wasn't merely anger at betrayal, it was the cold, calculated fury of a master strategist recognizing that an opponent had been playing a longer, more sophisticated game than anticipated. Someone had placed an impostor in his inner circle, close enough to access his most protected plans, influential enough to subtly sabotage operations without raising immediate alarm.

And that impostor was somehow connected to a prophecy identifying him as Voldemort's undoing.

"My Lord," Bellatrix called, interrupting his thoughts. "I've detected a magical signature beneath that section of collapsed ceiling. It's faint but consistent with Snape's."

Voldemort moved toward the indicated area, his magic effortlessly clearing debris from his path. As he approached, he felt it, the lingering trace of Snape's distinctive magical signature, altered in those subtle ways he'd come to recognize as anomalous.

"Here," he commanded, gesturing to a particularly dense section of rubble. "Remove this carefully. I want him intact enough for questioning."

As Bellatrix began the delicate work of shifting the debris without causing further collapse, Voldemort considered what he would do when they found Snape, or whoever was wearing Snape's face. Standard interrogation would be insufficient. This situation required more sophisticated approaches to extract the full truth about the impostor's origins, knowledge, and intentions.

For the first time in many years, Voldemort felt genuine concern. Not fear, he was beyond such mundane emotions but strategic recognition of a threat he hadn't properly assessed until now. Someone had been systematically undermining his operations from within, apparently guided by knowledge that shouldn't be available to anyone in this world.

The prophecy's words echoed in his mind: "Neither born to this world nor bound by its predestined paths..."

What did that mean? What kind of being could fulfill such a description?

More concerning was the line about "knowledge that sunders fate's design" and "what was written shall be unwritten." It suggested his carefully constructed path to immortality and dominance, his predestined ascension to absolute power, was being deliberately derailed by this interloper.

The implications were staggering. If Snape, or whatever entity wore his face, possessed knowledge of some "predestined path" and was actively working to change it, then everything Voldemort had planned might be compromised. Every Horcrux location, every strategic alliance, every carefully laid contingency.

For all his confidence in his immortality, a new thought occurred to Voldemort, one that sent cold rage coursing through him. If this impostor knew things no one should possibly know...

"My Horcruxes," he whispered, the words barely audible even to himself.

Could that be the true purpose of this infiltration? Not merely to spy or sabotage, but to systematically locate and destroy his soul anchors? The possibility ignited fury beyond anything he had experienced in decades.

"My Lord?" Bellatrix questioned, pausing in her work at the change in his demeanor.

"Continue," he commanded, his voice dangerously soft. "And when we find him, he will experience pain beyond anything he has imagined possible.

Albus Dumbledore stood in the Ministry atrium, watching as Healers from St. Mungo's tended to the injured and Aurors secured captured Death Eaters. The battle had ended with the catastrophic collapse of the Department of Mysteries, forcing both sides to retreat from the unstable magical environment it created.

The Order had suffered casualties, three wounded seriously enough to require extended healing, though thankfully no fatalities. The Ministry had fared worse, with two Aurors killed in the initial assault and at least a dozen injured, including several Unspeakables caught in the Department when it collapsed.

But it was the missing that concerned Dumbledore most. Specifically, one missing person: Severus Snape.

"No sign of him in any of the evacuation groups," Alastor Moody reported, approaching with his characteristic uneven gait. "Black saw him last, says Snape pushed him clear of the collapse but couldn't escape himself."

"And the search teams?" Dumbledore inquired, keeping his voice steady despite his growing concern.

"Can't get past the outer perimeter yet. The whole Department is saturated with unstable magic, time distortions, reality fluctuations, released prophecies interacting with who-knows-what else down there. The Unspeakables say it could be days before it's safe enough for recovery operations."

Days that Severus or whoever he truly was,might not have if trapped in the rubble.

Dumbledore had harbored suspicions about Severus Snape for months now. The changes had begun subtly, improved personal appearance, more effective teaching methods, slightly different speech patterns. Nothing alarming in isolation. But then came the increasingly sophisticated magical innovations, the strategic insights that bordered on prescience, and most tellingly, the precise knowledge of Voldemort's Horcruxes.

No amount of research or theoretical brilliance could explain how Severus had identified the exact locations of four Horcruxes with such confidence. It suggested knowledge that couldn't possibly be acquired through conventional means.

At first, Dumbledore had considered complex explanations—perhaps Severus had developed some form of magical foresight, or had uncovered one of Voldemort's secret archives of information. But as evidence accumulated, a more radical possibility had formed in his mind: the person operating as Severus Snape for these past months might not be Severus Snape at all.

The prophecy had all but confirmed it: "The one who wears another's face..."

Yet unlike Voldemort, whose reaction to this revelation had been immediate rage and assault, Dumbledore had chosen observation and careful analysis. If someone was indeed impersonating Severus Snape, they were doing so while systematically dismantling Voldemort's power base and destroying his Horcruxes, actions that aligned with the greater good, whatever their ultimate motivation.

"Albus," McGonagall's voice interrupted his thoughts as she joined them, her normally immaculate appearance disheveled from battle. "The Minister is requesting your presence for an emergency security briefing. They're establishing a crisis response team."

"Of course," he nodded. "Though I fear I may have limited insight to offer regarding the Department's current condition."

"It's not just about the Department," McGonagall clarified, lowering her voice. "There are reports of Death Eater mobilization across the country. This wasn't an isolated attack, it appears to be the beginning of a coordinated campaign."

This was concerning news indeed. If Voldemort had shifted from subtle manipulation to open warfare, the strategic landscape had fundamentally changed. And if the Dark Lord had indeed connected Severus to the prophecy as his potential downfall, then finding him, either to rescue or recover, had become even more urgent.

"Minerva, please coordinate with our Order contacts to verify these reports," Dumbledore instructed. "Alastor, continue pressing the Ministry about expediting recovery operations in the Department. The magical instability may be dangerous, but I suspect leaving certain items buried there could prove far more dangerous in the long term."

He didn't specify that one of those "items" was potentially their most valuable ally against Voldemort, an ally whose true nature remained mysterious even to Dumbledore himself.

As they dispersed to their tasks, Dumbledore found himself considering what he knew, and what he still didn't know, about the person who had been operating as Severus Snape. The magical signature was remarkably similar to Severus's own, suggesting either an incredibly sophisticated disguise or something more fundamental than mere impersonation. The knowledge this person possessed extended beyond what any spy network could provide, pointing to sources of information that should be impossible.

And yet, whatever their true identity, they had acted consistently against Voldemort's interests, systematically undermining the Dark Lord's power while aiding the Order's efforts. Their motives might remain unclear, but their actions had unquestionably served the side of light.

Now, with the prophecy revealed and Voldemort aware of the threat this person posed, the game had changed entirely. The subtle chess match of information control and strategic sabotage had erupted into open warfare. And their most valuable piece was currently buried beneath the collapsed Department of Mysteries, potentially in Voldemort's grasp if the Dark Lord had remained behind after the Order's evacuation.

Dumbledore moved toward the Minister's emergency briefing with grave concern. The coming days would likely determine the course of the entire conflict and whether the one prophesied to be Voldemort's undoing would survive to fulfill that destiny.