IMPORTANT: Be warned. If you loved Spartacus, maybe you shouldn't read this. Don't expect the characters to be, well, in character. It's pointless to complain about it. Ashur is the only reason I'm writing this fic. That and the fact I'm obsessed with the character of Hermione Granger, in this fic reincarnated as a Soul Wander. You might want to read a bit of Rebirth – it's not your usual Twilight fic. I don't even really like that series. I just like Jacob.

I've unfortunately watched very few episodes of Spartacus. But Ashur captured my interest. This Ashur will not be a rapist. This Ashur will be given the chance to love and be loved, hopefully. How that is going to happen… Well, it's not going to happen straight away. I think I will be taking a lot of liberties with the storyline. For the record, I don't agree with what the Romans did, but this OC "Hermione" will understand Roman society is what it is.

By the Gods, I suck at summaries.

On with it.

Chapter 1

Hermione Granger crawled towards the light. Fawkes – at least she thought it was Dumbledore's phoenix – had brought her here, to the middle of nowhere, it seemed. She managed to stand, her grip tight against one of the many apple trees around her.

Where were her friends? Lost to the Battle of Hogwarts, gone. She had, at least, disarmed Harry, and kept the Elder wand with her, before he had departed towards the forest to meet his fate. He carried the equivalent to a magical nuclear bomb. As she apparated away, his cloak in her beaded bag, she felt the impact of the explosion and it all went to hell. She felt as if she was on fire, her skin burning, bloody, and now this place.

Fawkes wouldn't bring her to a place that wouldn't be safe.

She vaguely remembered being dragged inside the house and being dumped into the ground when Fawkes' decided to grace all with its presence.

"Per deos!" Latin? How could that be? Why didn't Fawkes heal her?

She opened her eyes again. King's Cross station. Or what appeared to be it, a white light surrounding them.

"Hello, 'Mione."

"Harry!", Harry was here. She touched herself. Her wounds were gone. "Harry, why are we here? This isn't really?..."

"Brightest witch of her age.", he said.

"You're not really Harry, are you?", she asked.

"That's right."

"So, this is happening inside my head?"

"Yes, this is real."

"Why am I here? Who are you?"

"I'm your guide, 'Mione."

"Guide to where?"

"Well, on."

"On?"

"On.", the witch thought about the Harry guide's answer.

"You mean, to whatever happens… after life?"

"We never really die, 'Mione. The question is: do you want to go back? Or do you want to go on?"

It vaguely reminded her of a Celine Dion song. Whatever.

Then, she thought about all the ones who had fallen, of Harry, Ron, her parents. Go back to what?

"Everybody's gone on, 'Mione. They're all waiting for you.", she took a deep breath and answered.

"Alrighty then."

As Hermione Granger's spirit went, well, on, her body remained on the floor in the entrance of a house, were master, guest and slaves ogled the convulsing woman, her body suddenly filled with a warm light, illuminating the entire household, filling it with otherworldly voices, till all stood still and quiet. A man approached the body and, two minutes after pronouncing the patient dead, she breathed again.

"Titus. What do we do? She seems to have stopped breathing, died, and now she breathes again."

"Really,", a gray haired man replied, "What medicus you are. Cannot distinguish life from death?" the medicus bristled.

"The woman grew cold and pale to touch. When listening to chest all was quiet."

Gasps erupted all over the room. The strange bird landed on top of the woman's chest and sang, oh, how it sang. It appeared as if its song echoed light, joy and hope inside all of them. They marveled, the woman seemed to be healing miraculously in their presence, her wounds disappearing as if they had never existed.

And then the songbird did the most curious thing.

It burst into flame and disappeared.

"Titus. This can only be an omen from the gods.", the medicus touched the woman again. "The goddess sleeps."

"Indeed. Verus, kindly help take the woman to guests' chambers. Let sleep restore strength to body."

Titus Lentulus Batiatus did not sleep a wink that night. Nor did his slaves or his medicus friend, who kept him company through the night.

When the first light of the day illuminated the house, all were aflutter, even if their Dominus would not admit nor demonstrate it. Inside, he trembled, as there could only be a logical explanation. The woman was not a mortal, not of this world. She could only be a goddess, or at the least a demigoddess.

His body slave helped him get ready for the day and Titus, along with Verus, went to her chambers. She was already awake, and still alone, looking at her surroundings.

"Apologies, oh goddess, for this is humble house of simple lanista." They bowed and kneeled.

"Lanista?", she repeated, and frowned to herself, seemingly distracted. "Do not kneel, for I am no goddess. Like you, I was born, I live, and one day I shall pass on, like all mortals must." She had a curious way of speaking, though her Latin was correct, for the most part. "I will not rise while you kneel before me, out of respect for your white and gray hairs, reflection of life passed and trials bored." Both rose and stared at her, while she did the same. "It is a pleasure to meet you. Might I know your names?"

"Titus Lentulus Batiatus, and Verus Lucius Serenitas." (AN – Stupid name, but I'm sucky like that).

"I apologize for imposing for so long. I shall not trouble you any further, I ask only for directions to nearest city or town, I am afraid I am… lost."

"Have we displeased you?"

"No! No… but I have caused you enough trouble, sire. So, I shall leave. Again, I apologize."

"I believe", said Batiatus, "your presence has purpose."

"One I have yet to understand, sire.", she mused.

"What of your family?"

"Gone. I am alone and lost. This night has separated me from my dear friends and family at a high cost, with blood that never shall flow again.", her countenance was sad, and then determined. "But I shall carry on, and find a place to work." Titus and Verus looked at each other. There were not many occupations available to women in the city – unless she would pass most of the time… laying down. Yet, this woman did not seem the type.

"What kind of work?"

"Oh, well, let's see. I am good with music, fighting, forging swords, gardening and healing. I'm a decent accountant, if there is need." At Batiatus curious look, she added. "I mean, a bookkeeper.", he nodded.

"Your achievements are many."

"Thank you."

"I could use a few more swords. My great-grandfather learned that trade, as he believed it had merit for his ludus."

"Ludus? Gladiators?", she asked.

"Yes.", she paused and listened to the morning sounds.

"I do not hear men practicing."

"My ludus is not here. Quintus, my son, manages it, in Capua."

"Ah.", she paused. "So, you would employ me as a sword maker?"

"If steel has merit."

"It will take me a few weeks, depending on your forge.", his eyebrows shot up. "Perfection cannot be rushed. I will make you several swords in very little time. But if you truly want to see something of merit, it will take much longer, but will be doubly rewarding."

Titus looked at her, long and hard and nodded.

"When can I start?"

"Eager to begin?"

"Yes, I've slept very well.", both men frowned at her. "What? Did I say something wrong?"