Final War [3]

The Great Hall was packed that evening. Order members, professors, and the older students who had stayed behind during yesterday's battle all gathered around the house tables. The enchanted ceiling showed a clear night sky, stars twinkling peacefully above the spread of tactical maps and parchments.

Marquas stood at the edge of the gathering, his body still aching from the injuries sustained at the Department of Mysteries. The healing potions could only do so much, and he'd insisted on leaving the hospital wing against Madam Pomfrey's strident objections. But he couldn't miss this meeting, not when they were so close to ending this.

He observed the united front that had formed in the wake of yesterday's confrontation. McGonagall was in deep discussion with Moody, both gesturing at a map of suspected Death Eater safe houses. The Prewett brothers sat with bandaged wounds, but their spirits remained high as they detailed defensive spell patterns to a group of seventh-years. Remus Lupin, still looking exhausted, was nevertheless giving a detailed account of his duel with Dolohov to Frank and Alice Longbottom, who listened with professional interest, occasionally suggesting tactical improvements.

"Quite the army we've assembled," came a voice beside him. James Potter had approached silently, a cup of steaming potion in his hands. He offered it to Marquas. "Pomfrey's orders. Some healing concoction. Tastes like troll sweat, I imagine, but she says you need it."

Marquas accepted the cup with a nod of thanks, wincing at the acrid smell that burned his nostrils. "And how would you know what troll sweat tastes like, Potter?"

James grinned, a flash of the mischievous schoolboy he'd once been. "Misspent youth. There was that time in fifth year when Sirius and I were experimenting with " He stopped, looking suddenly embarrassed. "Well, let's just say some potions experiments go terribly wrong."

Marquas raised an eyebrow, finding himself curious despite his pain. "I'm sure Lily was impressed."

"Oh, terribly," James laughed softly. "I believe her exact words were 'Potter, you reek of stupidity and something far worse.'" His expression sobered quickly as he studied Marquas. "How are you really doing? That was quite a beating you took at the Department. For a moment there, when Dolohov's curse hit you..." He didn't finish the sentence, but the concern in his eyes spoke volumes.

"I'll live," Marquas replied, wincing as he shifted position. "How's Lily?"

James's face lit up with a mixture of pride and concern. "Frustrated she couldn't be here. The Healers insisted she should rest. The pregnancy makes her more vulnerable to spell damage, they said."

Marquas nodded, understanding the worry beneath James's casual tone. Lily was pregnant with Harry, their first child. In this timeline, at least the boy wouldn't be marked by prophecy, one of the many changes Marquas's presence had wrought.

"And the baby?" Marquas asked quietly.

"Perfectly fine, according to the Healers," James replied, relief evident in his voice. "Lily says he's going to be a troublemaker like his father." Pride radiated from him as he spoke of his unborn son.

The conversation was interrupted when Remus stood up, his amber eyes fixed on Marquas. "There's something I don't understand," he said, his voice carrying in the sudden hush that fell across the room. "How did Severus become an inter-dimensional being? What is histrue name, and why have he come to this world?"

All eyes in the chamber turned toward Marquas, who felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. He'd known this moment would come eventually. Slowly, he turned toward Dumbledore, who was regarding him with the same curious intensity as everyone else. The tension in the room was palpable as they awaited his response.

After a moment of heavy silence, Marquas spoke, his voice carrying a subtle resonance that made several people shift uncomfortably.

"I was once Marquas Wilson," he said quietly, "but that person existed in another world entirely." His dark eyes met those watching him, one by one. "I now inhabit what was once Severus Snape's form, though it has... changed to accommodate me."

Sirius leaned forward. "And why exactly are you here?"

Marquas's expression hardened. "That I cannot say. Some knowledge is dangerous. even deadly, to its bearer." He glanced at Dumbledore. "The Headmaster knows what he needs to."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, his half-moon spectacles catching the light. "What Marquas says is true," he confirmed. "He is indeed an inter-dimensional being occupying what was once Severus's body. The transformation has created something... remarkable." The old wizard's voice grew thoughtful. "A vessel with properties I've only read about in the most ancient texts, capable of channeling energies from beyond our world, perhaps even attracting entities from beyond the veil of death."

Murmurs broke out across the room. Marquas could see the mixture of fear, fascination, and suspicion on the faces around him. He'd been prepared for this, but it didn't make the scrutiny any easier to bear.

"Now, returning to our primary concern..." Dumbledore deftly redirected the conversation, calling the gathering to attention. He stood at the head of the hall, impressive despite his still-bandaged hand, a reminder of his narrow escape from the Gaunt ring Horcrux days earlier.

"Friends," Dumbledore began, his voice carrying effortlessly throughout the hall. "We have survived a battle, but the war continues. Voldemort has retreated temporarily, but make no mistake, he will return, perhaps stronger and more determined than before."

Murmurs spread through the crowd, but none of fear. These were people who had chosen to stand and fight, who had faced death and emerged victorious, if scarred.

"However," Dumbledore continued, "we now possess knowledge that may prove decisive. Thanks to Marquas, we understand the source of Voldemort's apparent immortality, and how to counter it."

All eyes turned to Marquas, who straightened under the collective gaze, ignoring the sharp pain in his ribs. This was the moment of truth, the full revelation of the Horcrux hunt that he and Regulus had begun months ago, that Dumbledore had joined, and that now would become the Order's primary mission.

Dumbledore gestured for him to speak. Taking a deep breath, Marquas stepped forward.

"Voldemort created Horcruxes," he stated bluntly, seeing no reason to soften the terrible truth. "Objects containing fragments of his soul, anchoring him to life even if his body is destroyed."

Gasps and muttered curses rippled through the room. Even among dark wizards, Horcruxes were considered the most taboo of magic.

"We've destroyed four already," Marquas continued. "Slytherin's locket, which Regulus Black helped us retrieve from that inferi-infested cave; Hufflepuff's cup from the Lestrange vault; Ravenclaw's diadem hidden here at Hogwarts; and the Gaunt family ring. But one remains, a diary from Voldemort's youth, currently in Lucius Malfoy's possession."

"And that bloody ring nearly killed Albus," Moody growled, his magical eye fixed on Dumbledore's bandaged hand. "If Marquas hadn't recognized the curse pattern when he did..."

"Which is why we need coordinated teams," Marquas agreed. "No one person can safely destroy a Horcrux alone. The cursed ring nearly killed the greatest wizard of our age," he nodded respectfully to Dumbledore, "and the others each presented unique challenges."

"What's the plan, then?" Frank Longbottom asked, ever the practical Auror.

Marquas moved to the central table, where a map of Britain lay spread out. "We have intelligence suggesting the diary is kept in a hidden vault at Malfoy Manor. After yesterday's defeat at the Department of Mysteries, Voldemort has likely ordered additional protections placed around it."

"Malfoy Manor is vulnerable now," Sirius commented, looking grimly satisfied. "Lucius was badly wounded in yesterday's skirmish. The Black family has certain knowledge about the weaknesses in Malfoy wards, old rivalries have their uses."

"My sources at the Ministry suggest increased magical activity near the old Riddle House in Little Hangleton," Arthur Weasley offered. His role in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office gave him unique insights into magical traces in Muggle areas.

Marquas nodded thoughtfully. "It would fit his sense of dramatic irony, returning to where his Muggle father lived. That's likely where Voldemort himself is regrouping."

"We'll need specialized teams," Moody declared, taking charge of the tactical planning with the ease of a veteran Auror. "Strike team for the Malfoy Manor infiltration, defensive teams to protect key locations, intelligence gathering..."

As Moody continued organizing the resistance, Marquas found himself watching the faces around the room. So many who had died in the original timeline he knew were alive now, the Prewett brothers, Marlene McKinnon, the Longbottoms still strong and whole. His presence, his knowledge, had changed their fates.

Yet others had been lost who might have lived, casualties of the altered war, paying the price for changes to the timeline. Was the sum total better or worse? He couldn't say. All he knew was that this was his reality now, these people his comrades in a war that had evolved far beyond the story he once knew.

The planning continued late into the night, strategies formed and assignments distributed. Outside, the stars continued their eternal dance above Hogwarts, indifferent to the plans being made below. Within these ancient walls, Marquas prepared himself for what was to come, the next phase of a story he had once only read, but now lived with every fiber of his being.

The battle at the Department of Mysteries had been merely the opening act. The true war for the wizarding world's future was about to begin.

Three days later

Malfoy Manor loomed against the moonless night sky, its pale stone façade gleaming like bleached bone in the darkness. The air around the property felt charged, making their skin prickle as they approached. Tall hedges surrounded the grounds, pristine and unnaturally still, not a single leaf rustled despite the cool breeze that chilled their faces. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the distant call of an albino peacock, its cry somehow more menacing than natural.

Marquas crouched in the shadows just beyond the property line, Sirius Black and James Potter flanking him on either side. All three wore dark robes, their faces partially obscured by subtle Disillusionment Charms, not enough to render them invisible, but sufficient to blur their features in the darkness.

"Remind me why we're doing this without Dumbledore?" James whispered, his wand already in hand as he scanned the perimeter.

"Because Voldemort would detect his magical signature immediately," Marquas replied quietly. "Mine is unusual enough to avoid immediate recognition, and you two weren't Death Eaters, so your magical signatures won't trigger specific alarms."

Sirius nodded, his aristocratic features hardened with determination. "Besides, no one knows the weaknesses in old pureblood family wards better than another pureblood family." A grim smile played across his face. "The Blacks and Malfoys have been sabotaging each other's defenses for generations."

The mission was straightforward in concept, if not in execution: infiltrate Malfoy Manor, locate Voldemort's diary Horcrux, and escape without alerting the Death Eaters. With Lucius Malfoy still recovering from injuries sustained during the Department skirmish, security would be managed by lesser Death Eaters, potentially creating exploitable gaps.

"Moody's team is in position as our backup," James added, checking a small enchanted mirror, a more discreet version of the two-way mirrors he and Sirius had used in their school days. "If things go sideways, they'll create a diversion on the east side."

Marquas nodded, his attention focused on the wards surrounding the property. Having spent years as a supposed Death Eater in his original timeline, he was intimately familiar with the magical protections favored by Voldemort's inner circle. But the wards on Malfoy Manor were ancient and complex, layered by generations of dark wizards.

"Sirius, you're up," he murmured.

Black moved forward, drawing a small silver knife from within his robes. "Black family secret," he explained with a wink that briefly rekindled the reckless youth he had been before years of war had hardened him. "Works on any ward cast by a family we've intermarried with. And unfortunately, my dear cousin Narcissa ensures the Malfoys qualify."

With practiced precision, Sirius made a small cut on his palm, then pressed his bleeding hand against what appeared to be empty air. A faint shimmer rippled outward from the point of contact, like heat distortion above pavement.

"Sanguis recognoscit sanguinem," he whispered. "Aperire viam consanguineis."

The ancient Latin flowed with the easy familiarity of childhood recitation. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, a narrow gap appeared in the previously invisible barrier, edges glowing faintly silver.

"We have three minutes before it seals," Sirius said, bandaging his hand quickly. "The wards will recognize us as 'family guests' for exactly that long."

They slipped through the gap in single file, emerging onto the immaculately landscaped grounds of Malfoy Manor. Albino peacocks dozed on the manicured lawn, their white plumage ghostly in the dim light.

"Ostentatious prat," Sirius muttered, eyeing the birds with distaste as they made their way toward the manor's western wing.

Marquas led them along a path he remembered from previous visits during his time as Voldemort's potion master, a servant's entrance used by house-elves and delivery wizards, less heavily warded than the main entrances but typically monitored by a junior Death Eater.

As they approached the small door, Marquas held up a hand, signaling for silence. Closing his eyes, he extended his magical senses, a skill he'd developed during his months of navigating the dangerous waters between Dumbledore and Voldemort.

"One guard," he whispered. "Magical signature feels like... Travers. Mid-level threat."

James nodded and reached into his robes, withdrawing a small vial filled with silver mist. "Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, mixed with a sleeping draught vapor," he explained.

At Marquas's signal, James flicked his wand, banishing the contents of the vial through the crack beneath the door. A muffled exclamation from within was quickly followed by silence.

They waited thirty seconds, then carefully eased the door open. Travers lay slumped at a small desk, his wand still loosely clutched in his hand, breathing deeply in enchanted sleep.

"He'll be out for twenty minutes, maximum," James said, checking the Death Eater's pulse with professional detachment. "After that, the alarm will sound regardless of what we do."

Marquas quickly surveyed their surroundings. They had entered a narrow corridor lined with portraits of Malfoy ancestors, all currently sleeping, another stroke of luck. Sleeping portraits couldn't report intruders.

"This way," he directed, leading them deeper into the manor. "Lucius keeps his most valuable possessions in a hidden vault beneath the drawing room."

The manor was eerily quiet as they made their way through dimly lit corridors. The air felt heavy, tinged with the metallic taste of dark magic emanating from the artifacts lining the walls. Marquas could hear nothing but their own carefully controlled breathing and the occasional creak of ancient floorboards. No footsteps of patrolling Death Eaters, no murmured conversations, not even house-elf activity. Something was wrong. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as his instincts screamed a warning.

"Something's wrong," he whispered as they approached the drawing room. "It's too quiet. Too empty."

James and Sirius exchanged wary glances, their wands raised defensively.

"Trap?" Sirius mouthed silently.

Marquas nodded grimly. But they had come too far to turn back now. The diary was their final objective, the last piece needed to make Voldemort mortal. Whatever waited for them, they had to press forward.

"Stay alert," he murmured. "If it is a trap, we go with Plan B immediately."

Plan B, their contingency for worst-case scenarios: Create maximum chaos, call in Moody's team, and escape with whatever they could. Not elegant, but effective when standard operations failed.

They reached the drawing room, its double doors standing slightly ajar, another warning sign. Marquas gestured for James and Sirius to take positions on either side while he cautiously pushed the door open with wandless magic.

The drawing room beyond was dimly lit by a fire in the ornate fireplace, casting long shadows across the elegant furnishings. At first glance, it appeared empty. But Marquas's instincts screamed danger.

"Oh, do come in," came a cold, high voice from the shadows near the fireplace. "We've been expecting you."

Voldemort stepped into the firelight, his snake-like features twisted in a mockery of a welcoming smile. Behind him materialized his inner circle: Bellatrix with her eyes gleaming fanatically, a bandaged but defiant Lucius Malfoy, and Antonin Dolohov, whose wand already tracked their movements with casual menace.

"Shit," Sirius muttered eloquently.

"Indeed, Mr. Black," Voldemort agreed, as if responding to a formal greeting. "A rather succinct assessment of your current predicament."

Marquas's mind raced, calculating their options. Three of them against Voldemort and at least four high-ranking Death Eaters, with undoubtedly more throughout the manor. The odds were not in their favor.

"Tom," he acknowledged, using Voldemort's birth name deliberately. "Lovely evening for a social call, isn't it?"

Voldemort's red eyes narrowed at the name, but his false smile remained. "The face-wearer has not lost his insolence, I see. Even when walking into such an... obvious trap."

"Was it obvious?" James asked conversationally, as if merely curious. "I thought we were being rather stealthy."

"Oh, quite stealthy," Voldemort agreed, his tone mocking. "So stealthy that you triggered no fewer than seven separate detection wards I personally placed after our last... encounter." He gestured around the room. "Did you truly believe I would leave such a valuable possession inadequately protected after learning of your Horcrux hunt?"

Marquas felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. The diary wasn't here. Or if it was, it wouldn't be where they expected.

"Where is it, Tom?" he asked directly. "The diary. Your precious first Horcrux."

Something flickered in Voldemort's expression surprise, perhaps, that Marquas would be so direct. Or something else entirely.

"It's right here," he replied, pulling from his robes a small black book that Marquas recognized immediately. Tom Riddle's diary, the vessel containing the first fragment of Voldemort's shattered soul. "You destroyed four of my Horcruxes. Now show me how you'll do it again, right before my eyes." His crimson gaze intensified, studying Marquas with unnerving focus. "I've developed a different perception lately. Your body could serve as the perfect vessel for interdimensional travel, couldn't it?"

His words sent a chill down Marquas's spine. Was his body truly so alluring that Voldemort, instead of securing his final Horcrux, had chosen to bait them here? The realization dawned with horrifying clarity, this wasn't about protecting the Horcrux at all.

It was about capturing Marquas himself.