Sometimes, Marcus just didn't understand why he was so incredibly busy. How many brooms did one region need? Lots of brooms meant loads of paperwork, and loads of paperwork usually meant a grouchy Marcus. Especially because hardly anyone actually wanted to do said paperwork, and that usually meant that Marcus had to do it himself. Either that, or Frida did it, which was admittedly nice. Unfortunately, this time, having a hand in the paperwork was unavoidable, as a large sum of it required his signature for some reason. Even more unfortunately, Marcus had let it pile up for far too long and the load was reaching a mountainous level. He knew he'd be there for quite a while. Luckily Frida was more than willing to help him and suggested they work together.
Barely even noticing what he was doing, Marcus quietly whittled down his monstrous stack of parchment, his eyelids drooping lower and lower with each passing hour. The only thought keeping him going was that as soon as he was done, he could go home. He was giving himself the day off. Frida too. She worked hard, and Marcus figured she must be exhausted as well. No matter how hard he tried, the man could not keep himself awake and fell into (surprisingly) the best sleep he had had in weeks, right in the middle of signing one of the very last forms. How convenient.
Somehow, hours later, it wasn't the sound of a heavy wooden object crashing to the floor in the next room, but Frida screaming at the top of her lungs that woke him up. The first thing he thought of when he woke up was that it was oddly dark in his office. The second realization was that he was sticky. Oh He thought dejectedly, my favorite purple robes. It was clear to him that the reason for the stickiness was an overturned ink bottle, which, after a few seconds of groping around proved to be correct. How unfortunate. He couldn't fix ink stains.
Marcus was brought again to reality when Frida's voice called out. "I'm here," he began, not quite understanding what she had said, "is it morning? I can't tell, it's so dark in here. Did you turn off the lights? If you did th-" then it hit him "What do you mean your wand isn't working Frida? Wands always work. Just hold on a moment though, and I'll get some light started." Marcus pulled his wand out with little difficulty and attempted to perform the spell. "Lumos" he practically mumbled, just as he always did. Nothing happened. Nothing at all, not even a spark. So he tried it again, just a bit louder. Uh-oh. Frida hadn't been lying. Marcus felt the panic begin to swell inside him as he realized that something was terribly, horribly wrong. "Uh, Frida, my wand isn't working either. Apparently. But if you give me a moment, I'll feel my way over there." Ah, there was the table, good that meant he was getting close. On the next step, he banged his knew on the chair. Hard. "Ow!" He yelled, quite frustrated with himself, "Who puts a chair by a table? Never mind. Frida, I can't see anything. Do you have any idea what happened?" Maybe she had a better idea than he did. Unlikely, but still plausible.
