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Posted March 8, 2014.

SUMMARY: A funeral is held for Spartacus' wife; Harry receives training of a different sort; a visit to Capua's arena; ...and the villa has some unwanted guests, putting Harry's magical knowledge to the test.

25: NEW FRIENDS, UNEXPECTED COMPANY

Dates Unknown, 73 BCE

Sura's funeral was held at sunset, the day having been spent preparing the funeral pyre. All the gladiators were present, as were all the guards, in a solemn and touching tribute. Batiatus certainly didn't have to be so accommodating, considering Spartacus was a slave. Yet, he handled the situation kindly and properly... perhaps the action of a good man.

As Varro helped Spartacus to light the fire, Harry found himself lost in the memory of a similar scene that played out nearly a year prior, with the funeral for Savos Aren. In both instances, Harry couldn't help but be angry at the senselessness of it. Then, the College had lost a great man. Now, a friend had lost his wife, his love. Spartacus was just going through the motions of things, a ghost of himself. Had something changed? What would it mean for the future, if that was the case? What if the man truly gave up? He mentally shuddered at the ramifications.

He made a silent promise to himself to make sure that didn't happen. Offer whatever support necessary to the Thracian man. He'd already saved one man from the brink, this would be no different. Of course, it would be much more difficult without access to someone like healer Ferris... she had worked miracles when it came to Tommy's issues.

No matter what, at this point, Harry saw it as a mission to stave off disaster. He mentally kicked himself for not having any of his major history books. None of that material was stored in his trunk; most were stored in his Gringotts vault.

Sometime later, Harry made his way into the baths to have a word with the man, only to find him already in conversation with Batiatus. He listened in momentarily, before moving on with the intent to head back out into the square.

Unfortunately, that route took him by the cell Pietros occupied, and as he passed by, he discovered Pietros was not alone. Another gladiator had pushed his way into the cell, and was manhandling the younger man. Harry's first instinct was to intervene.

No, he realized, doing anything along that line would only piss off the household, and likely the other gladiators. Unsettled by the scene, he hurried out into the square, where the remnants of the fire were being cleaned up by house slaves. Helping to clean up would take his mind off the disturbing scene he'd just witnessed, but it would bring back the other, equally disturbing scene that had played out earlier that morning. The place he found himself in was truly distressing, in a number of ways.

After spending the night in the guest room assigned to him, he entered the chest before sunrise, determined to get back on the training schedule he had been working by. It seemed so many things had disrupted things as of late; what with the Miraak cultists attacking them in Riften... then the nonsense travelling to Solstheim, chasing down the source of the cultists... more cultists and that blasted temple that seemed to go on for miles with Draugr at every corner... Harry realized that, if anything, he was physically, mentally, and magically exhausted. Miraak was most definitely on Harry's shit list after that. He would definitely have words for the guy, before Mazhe ran him through.

Now, with the situation surrounding Spartacus, though, it wasn't as if he could say, 'hold the bus, I need a vacation day'. The slave revolt... the Servile war... without Spartacus, that wouldn't happen. If the guy were to give up, it would more than likely alter the future. That was a chance Harry wasn't willing to take.

His lightened morning training session finished, a quick shower after, he had something for breakfast, and headed out to the square, to finish the morning routine. The cliff edge afforded a stunning view, and most certainly an appropriate place to conduct his mental exercises. The past few days had denied him the opportunity of doing so, and he realized it was more than necessary. It was the first honest chance he had to sort through the storm of memories and events, practically since the morning they had crawled through Nchardak with Neloth.

His mind drifted back to his friends at Hogwarts—they would still be on Summer vacation, not starting the new year until Hearthfire, a couple of weeks from then. He then mentally laughed. 'Let's see Dumbledore drag me back to Hogwarts from here!'

His mental musings were interrupted, as he sensed someone sit down beside him. Opening his eyes, he found Spartacus had joined him.

"What sort of exercise is this?"

"Calming exercises," Harry answered, "I try to do this for fifteen minutes every morning, before I actually start the day. It helps me to think more clearly and more calmly."

"I would join you."

"I welcome the company. I normally do the exercise with three others, all of them my best friends."

"You miss their company." It was not a question.

"Yeah, very much so. As I know you cry for your mate. She waits for you, though I need not say it."

"She believed in the gods more than I."

"I don't debate whether the gods exist or not. I do know that there is life after death. I know my parents wait for me in the afterlife, as does my godfather."

"Godfather?"

"In loco parentis."

Spartacus gave a slow nod of understanding. He glanced at Harry again, and arched an eyebrow.

"Something wrong?"

"I only now note that you sit on nothing but air."

"Oh." That broke the concentration completely, and Harry dropped back to the ground rather awkwardly, letting out a hiss—he'd been sitting cross-legged, floating about six inches off the ground.

It took him a minute to regain his breath from being suddenly dropped in such a manner, but he finally managed, "Do you believe in the supernatural?"

At the blank look he glanced around, making sure no one else was within earshot. He pressed, "How about magic?"

Getting another blank look, Harry gestured with an index finger toward the man. Spartacus felt a strange tingle run down his spine, and it was as if... he were suddenly filled with a well of joy.

"What is it you have done?"

"I just cast a cheering charm on you. Though I'm sure you might not want to feel that way, it—"

"It is wonderful. You can just... make something happen by will alone?"

"Well, not exactly," Harry answered, "Magic has its own set of rules—and before you ask... no, I cannot bring back the dead. One of those hard and fast rules. If not... you can see the ugly ramifications. No one would die, so on and so on."

"This... ability... also explains why you have healed such as you have, even after such terrible injuries."

"Yes. Though there is a limit there as well. I know of a healer who could quite quickly heal all of Crixus' injuries. As it stands, I have cast a number of healing charms on him... unfortunately, I only know basic healing, and so it will still take some time for him to heal."

Harry thought for a moment.

"After your training is done for the day, I'll show you something really special of mine that's... well, probably the most blatant display of magic I have on my person. For now... sit as I am, so we can continue with the exercise..."

Once they finished, Harry headed into the villa, and up to the balcony, where he claimed a chair, and pulled out a grade ten chemistry textbook. Justin had pressed Harry to pick up the extra course back in the spring, considering it had some interesting relations with alchemy and potions.

Studying inside had been out of the question, with the amount of work that seemed to be going on inside that morning. The place was alive with activity, and all of it would have provided a terrible distraction—not that the gladiators training in the square were much better. Theory was dry, and at times infuriatingly boring, compared to hands-on learning. Still, he pressed on, relying on his mental training to keep focus on the lesson. The practical part of the lesson, he would complete later on in the Virtual Projection Room.

Only when a servant brought out refreshments did he realize the time. It was getting on to noon hour.

"Much appreciated," Harry said, and then, "Could you do me a favour and pass word to Quintus I would like a word?"

"Yes, Dominus," the young woman answered, and quickly retreated back inside before Harry could correct her.

Batiatus appeared only a few minutes later.

"You wish to break words."

"Uh, yeah," Harry answered, "I would like to work with your men, if you wouldn't mind."

Batiatus arched an eyebrow at the odd request.

"To train with my gladiators?"

"I know you may see it as an odd request. But trust me. I have faced dangers that surpass what your men are capable of," Harry explained, "Part of my training involves the sword, particularly the short blade. Working on my own isn't the best circumstance for that, and your men are more than capable substitute for my usual teacher."

"Then I shall see it done."

"You have my thanks."

"In a few days, we will be attending games in Capua. We would be honoured if you would join us."

"Well..." Harry thought for a moment. It likely wouldn't matter at this point if he did. "All right. Sure."

Shortly after, the men were assembled in the training square, while Harry waited off to the side. There came a noisy crack which momentarily startled him, though he'd seen where it came from: the dark-skinned man.

"Attend," he commanded.

"Our guest has spoken of the need to take lesson amongst you," Batiatus announced, from the balcony. "Teach him of our ways, but do not cause injury, for to do so, you will suffer severe punishment."

"Quintus," said Harry, stepping out from under the overhang and into the square, "That wouldn't be productive. Friends, my trainers most certainly did not go easy on me, and I most certainly don't expect you to. If I get hurt working with you, the fault is mine, and mine only. After all, pain is a very good motivation to learn."

"So be it, then." With that, Batiatus withdrew into the villa.

The afternoon training session proved be one of the most difficult Harry could ever remember, both mentally and physically. Sure, they were only using wooden implements, but it still hurt. And between Doctore—the dark-skinned man who was obviously in charge of the training—and Spartacus, Harry couldn't decide who delivered more painful blows. The two men were driven by similar, yet different forces, that much was for certain.

To make matters worse, Lucretia made an appearance on the balcony mid-afternoon, attended by Naevia. This only introduced a further distraction, since he had to put up with the matriarch's hungry eyes boring into him. Such as it was, Harry was much relieved when Doctore finally called for an end to the day's training.

When dinner was over, Harry made his way to Pietros' cell. It was a mess, with a stack of cages along one wall, which contained pigeons. Glancing behind him to make sure no one could see, he cast a strong cleaning charm, and straightened up the room. If he had his way, the burly gladiator who'd barged into the cell the night previous would not have a second opportunity.

"You watch over the boy?"

Harry turned to find Spartacus framing the cell's doorway.

"Some people need to keep their hands to themselves," Harry muttered, with a scowl, "I would have put a stop to it last night, but that might cause problems, for both Pietros and myself."

"A true assumption," Spartacus agreed.

"He's still, uh... occupied?"

"Until sundown."

"Then we have a bit of time," said Harry, reaching into his satchel. He pulled out what looked like a small box, and set it on the ground. Then, at the single touch of his finger, it suddenly expanded in size to become a large chest of polished wood and brass hardware.

"Close your mouth, Spartacus, you'll catch flies," Harry smirked.

"Gods... I cannot fathom—"

"Come closer." Harry undid the latch, and pulled the lid open. "This chest was a gift from my best friends back where I come from."

The famous man approached, and let out another gasp, peering inside. Instead of a bottom, as expected, there was a ladder, descending out of sight.

"This... this is impossible."

"Trust me, it's more than possible. Follow me." Harry was already climbing in.

Under a minute later, they stood in the chest's common room. Spartacus gazed around, wide-eyed at the space. How could it be that such an enormous room fit in that chest?

"Wizard space," Harry answered, to the unvoiced question, "In simple terms, it exists outside of physical reality. There are a few places I know of back where I come from that work like this. If anything, this is a very small example of what's actually possible. One place I know of is an entire community, existing quite literally in the same space of another, without them knowing about each other."

"For what purpose?"

"My kind, magical people, don't generally reveal ourselves to non-magical people. It's been that way for nearly four hundred years. The place I've grown up in, on the other hand, doesn't have that sort of separation. Though, that does remind me. Hold still a moment."

Harry drew his wand.

"It's something I have to do, just so you don't repeat any of this to anyone who doesn't already know. A promise, it won't hurt... remember the cheering charm I used this morning?"

Spartacus gave a nod, though his eyes were still fixed on the carved wooden wand in Harry's hand. Harry made a simple set of gestures, and whispered a few words, which Spartacus didn't quite catch. Indeed, whatever he did only caused an odd tingle.

"It's a secrecy charm. Most places where I come from, there is a law in place that makes it illegal to tell non-magical people about the magical world. This is a little bit of a loop hole in the rules—though I can't be doing it to everyone I come across."

"It would defeat the purpose of the law."

"Exactly."

An hour later, the pair exited the chest, and Spartacus retreated to his own cell (which was then across the square, it being a perk of being the reigning champion). Of course, he had been given an invitation to visit whenever he wished, outside of training and other obligations.

Harry was not alone for long, however. As night fell, Pietros entered the cell, and was momentarily startled and perhaps afraid to find he was not alone.

"I mean no harm," Harry promised, seeing the fear in the young man's eyes. "It seems we both have a small problem with individuals acting inappropriately."

"In what way?" asked Pietros.

"Given the nasty marks on your face, the one who barged into your cell last night wasn't only here for pleasantries. Likewise, I would rather not be in the clutches of Batiatus' wife. So, we share a common problem, yours perhaps more serious than mine. Now come closer, so I might fix those nasty bruises."

"Gratitude, Dominus."

"I am not your Dominus. I'm not above you, nor really is anyone else," said Harry, touching a finger to the nasty bruise on the young man's cheek. Pietros hissed as it seemed to fade, and it was as if it had not happened at all.

"Gratitude. Do others know you are able to do such things?"

"Spartacus knows," Harry answered, "And like him, I'll need to place a charm on you so you can't accidentally let my secret out to those who don't."

Sometime later, the gladiator who'd barged into the cell the previous night made moves at a repeat performance, only to stop dead, seeing Harry already there.

"Can I help you?" Harry smirked.

The burly man backed away, having seen Harry practising earlier in the day. He now knew the young man was most certainly able to stand on his own.

When he was gone, Pietros said, "You cannot always protect me."

"You're right. But there are ways I can make things a little safer for you. And I have something in mind that just might prove you wrong. How would you like to work for me instead of Batiatus?"

The following morning, after breakfast, he set out to have a word with Batiatus about Pietros. Unfortunately, he instead ran into Lucretia, who was entertaining a rather striking blonde, with Naevia hovering close by, attending to their needs.

"Harry, a most opportune time!" said Lucretia, appearing relieved at his timely arrival, "I would introduce Ilithyia, a wonderful friend."

"Oh, uh, pleasure to meet."

"Come! Join us," said Lucretia, indicating a vacant seat. Harry mentally groaned. It was bad enough trying to escape one. Now a pair of them were set on him, with hungry eyes.

It was only when it approached lunch time that he was able to escape, with the excuse of having to get ready for the afternoon training session. He slipped away, and found Batiatus in his office.

"A word?"

At Batiatus' incline of the head, Harry continued, "I wish to purchase Pietros. I offer fifty denari."

"The boy is worth but a half," said Batiatus, dismissively.

"Then I offer ten. I see everyone as having some worth."

"Very well. If you are so eager to part with your coin, then so be it. I'll have the details final before end of day."

"That's more than acceptable."

Harry reached into his satchel, and drew out a small bag. Having now seen the currency in use, he was able to transfigure a lump of gold ore he had into perfect copies. By all intents and purposes, it was real coin. The Romans would never know the difference.

"It is to be assumed you will be taking him with you when you are able to return where you belong."

"Yes. I've already dispatched a letter back home. I'm still waiting for a reply. Honestly, I had expected some sort of reply much sooner... they should have been able to get back to me within the day."

"You are able to communicate with that kind of speed?" Batiatus appeared surprised.

"Back where I belong, yes. Sometimes even faster. Normally not even distance has any effect. But for some reason, being here has changed that somehow," Harry answered. Of course, he had a pretty good reason as to what was the problem. If anything, it would be up to his friends to sort it out... and quite likely it would involve the Commonwealth.

During the afternoon training session, he noted that Crixus was up and about, although he'd not actually joined the exercises, and chose to simply observe from under the overhang. The wounds crossing his chest and abdomen were still raw and angry, but there was a marked improvement from when Harry had first arrived. He made a mental note to speak to the man.

His mind wandered to the fact that indeed, no one had sent any sort of reply back to his urgent letter. In some ways that frightened him. For the first time ever, he was truly alone, without the support of his friends. Sure, he was starting to form a couple of new friendships, but in reality, there was so much uncertainty. At least, up to this point, he'd not actually made any enemies—though the burly gladiator who'd barged into Pietros' cell the other night wasn't exactly happy. Harry knew, of course, it would only be a matter of time.

The mental distraction proved costly, as Varro's sword struck just below the ear, sending Harry sprawling. The lights were out before he hit the sand.

Next thing he knew, he was once again in the infirmary, with the healer, Doctore, and Batiatus all standing nearby. His head was spinning, and everything was blurry. He mentally groaned, knowing the onset of a concussion. It wouldn't be the first time.

He let out a frustrated sigh. "Not the first time I've been knocked silly."

"Not paying attention, most unwise," said Doctore, severely.

"And I paid for it. Had Varro wielded steel, I would've lost my head. I know all too well. My usual teachers will have loads to say when they hear about this," Harry muttered. "If someone could prop me up a moment, I need to take a potion."

The healer at first was reluctant, but he helped Harry to sit up.

"Gods... minor concussion, I think."

He reached into his satchel, and retrieved a potion.

"I'll still need an hours' rest, but this will help."

"A concussion?" the healer asked, as Harry opened the bottle.

"Usually happens with a blow to the head. Hard to explain, but if I don't take this right away, it could mess me up for weeks. Something I can't afford." He drained the bottle, making a sour face at the taste.

"You will still continue to train with the men?"

"Of course. Like I said before, pain tends to be a rather strong motivator. Lesson here: distractions can be deadly."

"This is true," said Doctore. "If you are well, I do need to be elsewhere."

"When the cat's away, the rats will play," said Harry, smirking. That got a chuckle from the dark-skinned man as he exited the infirmary.

"I have here a scroll finalizing the sale of Pietros," said Batiatus, passing over a sealed scroll.

"Excellent," said Harry, as he broke the seal. It was always best to verify the document before doing anything further, this from Will. In this case, it was a simple record of sale. Though by rights, it was somewhat despicable, selling human beings in such a manner.

That evening, after a bit more rest and something to eat, Harry returned to Pietros' cell. He found the young man tending to his pigeons. He was once again marred with nasty bruises. When had there been time for that sort of thing to happen, he wondered.

"This will be the last time he'll be able to do that," said Harry, sadly, as he produced the scroll, "Now I can protect you."

"Gratitude."

"Eventually we will be returning to the place I belong. There, you will be truly free. Though you will probably want to stay close for a time. For now, follow me."

Harry produced his chest, and set it down, then added his new friend to the access list, and opened the lid. Pietros was amazed, watching as Harry climbed in and vanished. He quickly followed.

"Gods!"

"Only Spartacus knows about this place thus far, so much like him, keep it secret. Now..." Harry looked around a moment, seeming to think on something. "Follow me. I'll let you use Sirius' room since he's... well..." a dark look crossed his face.

"He waits for you."

"Yeah, he does."

"What of my pets?"

"I would suggest setting them free. Though, what happened to your, uh—"

"Barca. He bought his freedom. But... he wasn't able to pay for mine. Ashur claimed the price was too high."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Though I could try and locate him. Perhaps the pair of you might like to join me. Away from the Romans for good."

"It would be a wonderful thing, if you are able to do so."

Harry had certainly heard plenty of stories and descriptions of Capua's arena-but to actually see it for real, that was something entirely different. The day's events were full of bloodshed, beginning early on with public executions. The rest of the morning, and part of the afternoon then proceeded with lesser fights.

Harry and Pietros were invited to view the events from the pulvinus, the ancient arena's equivalent to a V.I.P. Box. Unfortunately, he once again had to bear the presence of Batiatus' wife, along with the striking blonde. Considering Ilithyia was a close friend of Lucretia's... that likely meant she would be a frequent visitor to the villa.

There was also another man present, whom Batiatus had introduced as Mercato, a wealthy businessman in Capua. It had been his coin that funded the primus, the day's main event.

The crowd booing loudly drew Harry's attention back to the arena floor, where six prisoners were being hustled in. They wore only rags which covered their private areas, foot wraps, and more rags to cover the forearms. They looked like—well, if Harry were honest, they looked like bandits. He'd certainly had a fair number of run-ins with such unforgiving, nasty people. The thing was, these people were not bandits, but prisoners. The way the were looking around, they were terrified.

Batiatus stepped up to the podium.

"Citizens of Capua!" he began, his voice carrying well across the arena, "Today, we honour the noble Marcus Mincucius Rufus. A Roman consul and commander unmatched in glory. As tribute, good Mercato has seen fit to re-enact his grandfather's most famous battle against the Thracian hordes!"

Mercato stood and gave the crowd a on-handed salute. Batiatus remained silent for a moment, if to give the games' sponsor his moment.

He then continued, "Gaze at the prisoners standing before you. And imagine the Thracian Maedi that invaded Macedonia. Raping and pillaging its noble people. Murdering all in their path... even a Roman Governor!"

The crowd reacted as predicted, throwing rubbish at the prisoners.

"Violence and madness swept the land. Echoing into the heavens, where the gods themselves turned their backs. All seemed lost, until Rome dispatched their favoured son... Enter Marcus. Minucius. Rufus!"

Another set of gates opened to the side of the arena floor opened, and Spartacus marched out into the arena. Harry had already seen his outfit—he was the picture of the Roman Legion's finest. Harry had to smirk, imaging this sort of thing playing out in the Virtual Projection Room—it could certainly do it, with very graphic results.

Batiatus, meanwhile, continued to hype the crowd.

"For the honourable role of Rufus, there was but one choice. The Bringer of Rain! Slayer of Theokoles! And Champion of Capua... I present to you—Spartacus!"

It was as if the Beatles had stepped into the arena. It was utter pandemonium. Of course, Harry knew of the man's renown, thanks in part to his history lessons. And of course, there was that startling dream of his slaying Theokoles. Virtually a god among men, at least to the public. Out of the arena, he was but a man who had recently lost his wife, and a slave, trapped to the whim of his master.

"I thought it was your grandfather we honour," Ilithyia muttered to Mercato, "Yet the crowd chants 'Spartacus'."

"I would almost suspect you either envy or despise him, Ilithyia," said Harry, with a frown. But Mercato had also visually expressed his disapproval.

"Worry not of the details, good Mercato," said Batiatus, trying to smooth things over, "The glory remains your grandfather's alone. Come! Give the signal to begin his glorious victory!"

Mercato took Batiatus' place at the podium. "In honour of Marcus Minucius Rufus... let blood be shed!"

Six against one. Tough odds. Very tough odds. Harry had most certainly had loads to say about agreeing to such a fight, but there was no changing the Thracian's mind. He had something to prove—or he had a death wish. Perhaps a little bit of both.

"Confundus," he whispered, feeling a small pulse of magic reach out and touch each individual sitting with him. Now, to make sure his famous friend survived the fight...

Beneath the stands, deep in the under-croft of the arena, a group of individuals were clustered in shadow.

"You feel it?" spoke one.

"The magic is foreign, but strong," said another.

"We must learn his identity. Perhaps, conduct a test, if only to determine truly how strong he may be. Such power would be a great asset to the coven."

"Concurred. Lucinius, I would have you mingle with the crowd, attempt to identify the mage in their midst."

"Should he be cold to our advances?" yet another questioned, evenly.

"Then we shall see to it he is silenced, along with all who might give him aid."

Harry was more than happy to see the match over. It had been a real test of his abilities, to cast silently, wandlessly, and without detection. It was an advanced branch of Illusion that most certainly went hand in hand with quiet casting. Even the magic he learned in his own world was governed by those skills.

In the end, Spartacus stood at the centre of the arena, blood-soaked and full of adrenaline, the six prisoners masquerading as his countrymen laying dead at his feet. His mission finished, Harry silently Apparated back up to the pulvinus.

The following morning, as Harry and Pietros approached the edge of the cliff for mental exercises, they found both Spartacus and Varro waiting. The blond man was curious as to what they were up to, and Harry was only happy to explain. So it was, the four of them sat at the edge of the cliff, with Harry leading the calming and meditation exercises.

As he went through his own exercises, his mind drifted back to the as to yet unanswered urgent letter he'd sent. How long ago was that now? The lack of response was becoming dire. Two thousand years into the past. How would he return to the present? That was the burning question above anything else.

The next few days spread into a week, and then two, with both Spartacus and Varro most definitely benefiting from the mental exercises at the beginning of the day. So it was no surprise that, on one particular evening, Harry was approached by Doctore.

"The exercises you practice in the morning, what is the purpose?"

"They're basic calming and mental exercises. I've been doing it since I was... gods, I can't remember when exactly I started doing those. It helps me remember things better, helps me think more clearly and more quickly... I think you can see where I'm going with this."

"More agile, more stable and more successful in combat," Doctore finished. "You would do well in the arena."

"Uh, no thanks. Though I train almost every day, combat is the last thing I want to do for real. And yeah, I've been in real fights, more than I want to talk about."

Harry sucked in a breath and blew it out.

"As I said to Batiatus, I have faced things which are much more dangerous than any man here. It's not a boast, and honestly, in many ways I wish it were. But I have seen true horrors, much more terrible than the swath of bodies Spartacus is leaving behind in the arena."

"It is unfortunate your youth has been taken from you... such as it was taken from me."

Harry gave a slow nod and grimaced. He really wasn't surprised to hear that sort of thing.

"You're welcome to join us," he finally said.

"They do serve the purpose, both Spartacus and Varro have shown improvement. Perhaps others may benefit."

"I'm open to anyone joining us. Only thing I ask, is that they give it a fair try." He thought for a moment.

"How is Crixus doing?"

"He will resume training tomorrow."

"Good. I did lend a few of my medicines to help speed his recovery."

"The gesture is appreciated. He was our champion once."

"Still one of your best, though, am I right? I can see it in his eyes, the man lives for the arena."

"As do many of those here, with a few exceptions, such as Pietros. You have purchased the boy. To what purpose?"

"To save his life."

"From Gnaeus."

"Oh." Harry frowned. "That's his name, then. He needs to learn to keep his hands to himself. I know Pietros can fight, I've watched him training... but outside of the square..."

"I cannot be in all places."

"No, you can't. And it's not my place to interfere. Honestly, I have more than enough things to worry about without having to be a hall monitor."

At the dark-skinned man's puzzled look, Harry said, "I mean, babysitter. Guard."

Doctore gave a nod. "Has Pietros had words about Barca?"

"His mate. He's told me about him somewhat. I know he did purchase his freedom, but wasn't able to pay for Pietros. I sense something else is going on here."

"Concurred. Stories in conflict give me concern."

"I'll see what I can find out. I have ways of learning secrets."

Since his arrival at Batiatus' villa weeks earlier, he'd grown used to being the only magical person in the area. As far as the villa was concerned, it was perhaps the most non-magical place he'd been in. It had been decades since anyone magical had been around. Therefore, it was a strange magical presence that woke him in the early hours the following morning.

Harry had taken to using the extra bed in Pietros' cell (though he had most certainly applied a few comfort charms to it beforehand). He quickly woke the young man, and directed him to climb into the chest, since for now it would be the safest place for him. Once he was secured, Harry closed it up, and miniaturized it.

The chest securely in his pocket, he then produced his invisibility cloak, and Disapparated, to appear on the roof of the villa. There, he was able to get a good look at the road leading up to the villa from the city.

There were three of them. They wore cloaks and hoods, but the magic they radiated was practically black. Whoever they were, they meant to do harm. They would come at him first, most likely, seeing as he was the only magical person in the residence.

He Disapparated again, only to appear outside the villa's entrance. Harry quickly transfigured it into stone to match the hillside. With luck, the intruders would miss it, and use the gate into the square below. Now, the question: Warn the household, or try to take them on himself? Non-magical help was better than none at all. Apparating back to the gate to the square, Harry pressed a finger to his throat. "Sonorus."

"Intruder! To arms! Quietus."

It had the desired effect, as the house seemed to come alive. Torches were being quickly lit, gates slamming open, the guards shaking themselves out of a half-sleep. A pair of them were already crossing the square, to unlock a cell in the block opposite the villa. Doctore emerged, appearing wide-awake and ready.

"Who raises me from fucking bed at this hour?" Batiatus demanded from the balcony. His wife was by his side, looking equally pissed at being disturbed.

"Forgive me, Quintus, but dangerous criminals make for the villa with intent to harm you and yours. I need every available sword."

Batiatus glanced to the path, while Harry looked out the gate. The three hooded individuals would make the villa in minutes.

"Doctore! See it done!" Batiatus ordered.

Harry, meanwhile, blew out a breath. The entire villa was about to find out exactly what he was capable of. Without a doubt, this would be a magical fight—though the gladiators would most likely make things interesting. He reached into his rucksack, and summoned a set of steel armour. He then glanced up at the balcony, mentally thanking himself Ilithyia was elsewhere for the next few days. She'd left the previous evening.

"Quintus. Get your wife and anyone else who cannot fight into a safe location."

As he pulled the cuirass on, he felt a hand touch his arm. Whoever it was was somehow invisible.

"Two turns. After you heal yourself in the infirmary. I'm going to open the cells in the ludus."

Harry then knew exactly who it was, and what had happened. It was a relief to know things would be just fine—at least for him. He quickly finished dressing, and securing the pair of daedric daggers Mazhe had given him to his belt. They actually glowed a cherry red in places, given their origin.

It seemed like only seconds later, the gladiators began spilling out into the square.

"Arm yourselves," Harry directed, throwing a hand at the box containing the steel weapons and unlocking it and causing the lid to fly open, "Get behind me, and be ready for anything."

The men were quick to follow the order, although some at first glanced toward Doctore, who was most certainly watching the activity.

"Set mind to purpose!" he commanded, severely.

"What sort of threat?" Varro dared ask, appraising Harry's armour in the low light cast by the torches.

"The magical sort," Harry answered, "They're like me."

"Steel against sorcery. Now that sounds like a fair fight." The sarcasm was dripping off his tongue.

"They'll be expecting someone like me. Not steel. We have—"

The metal gates to the square seemed to explode inward, forcing everyone to duck. The wreckage was blown clear across the square and over the cliff. Three individuals now framed the jagged opening; they all wore black robes, and hoods that obscured their faces. They said nothing, but brought their hands out in front, unleashing a wave of terrifying magic that sent most gathered in the square ducking for cover a second time.

No choice, Harry cupped both hands together and formed the strongest fear spell he could. Unfortunately, it only shattered against a powerful ward the middle mage hastily erected. Most unfortunate that Mazhe had the Staff of Magnus; it would have been right useful in this situation.

It was about to get worse. As Harry unleashed a powerful reductor curse, he felt immense pressure against his mental shields. Nothing like when Hermaeus Mora probed his mind, but still incredibly powerful. He was only able to prevent intrusion by unleashing a storm of various curses and spells from both worlds in which he'd been schooled.

The spells from his own world failed completely (and he most definitely wasn't about to use forbidden spells), while several illusion-type spells were having more success. So, spells from Tamriel would be more effective.

An ice spike suddenly impacted with the wall just in front of the mages, and now Harry realized he was not alone. It had been a bold—near insane idea. Meddling with time was a dangerous thing. Thing was, the unexpected spell from an invisible source had caught the mages off guard. Harry seized the opportunity, and nailed the mage on the right with a strong shock spell, while sending a reductor curse at the one on the left. That attack came with a sword being flung by one of the gladiators.

The reductor curse fell flat, while the shock spell hit its mark, as did the sword. The mage on the right collapsed to the ground, twitching, the sword being imbedded in his lower abdomen. He was snagged by an unseen force, and tossed amongst another group of men clustered in the corner by the smithy.

"Finish him!" Harry hissed.

One down, two to go. A different tactic. Harry cupped both hands together, and conjured a flaming familiar: a shade that took the form of a wolf. It instantly bounded toward the threats, but the mage on the right simply batted it away with a hand, and it exploded prematurely.

"This one carries much power," the mage on the right dared speak, menacingly, "Most unfortunate he must be destroyed."

"I agree," said the other, as Harry was forced to duck a yellow bolt of energy. It sailed out over the cliff and into infinity, a miniature shooting star.

"And let me guess. You would promise me fame, power, glory, if I were to join you," Harry snarked, letting fly another shock spell. This was joined by an ice spike from the roof. His partner remained invisible.

"Oh, my dear boy, it is too late for such pleasantries," the mage on the right spoke.

"I'm not your boy," Harry hissed, "Serpensortia!"

The thing about the serpent-conjuring spell, is that it not only requires the incantation, but a visual picture of the type of snake desired. In this case, Harry envisioned the most dangerous, nastiest, beastliest serpent possible. And, magic obliged.

An enormous snake seemed to spring from his cupped hands. It had to be ten feet in length, with black, shiny scales, and radiated dark energy. Not mundane... this was a good thing.

"Kill them," Harry hissed.

"With pleasure, summoner," the snake seemed to hiss back, before setting on the targets, who had both visually taken a step back.

"He is a serpent-mouth!" one exclaimed, as a blue shield ward popped up in front of him.

"What... how..."

KAWHACK! Another ice spike smashed into the shield, this time from the balcony. It was enough to force Harry back to the issue at hand.

Now, with the snake advancing on the unsettled mages, another gladiator grew bold enough to make attempt. Gnaeus hurled his trident at the mage on the left, who had not produced a shield. The weapon found its mark, embedding itself in the mage's chest.

To the shock of Harry and everyone else in the square, the mage simply ripped the mundane weapon from his chest, and flicked a hand at the weapon's owner, sending forth a brilliant green blast of magic. Gnaeus collapsed to the sand, a look of surprise forever frozen on his face, felled by the ancient curse. Harry was unsure of what was more frightening: the fact that the killing curse existed even then, or the fact that it had been cast without a) a wand, and b) without uttering the words to invoke it.

That sent most of the gladiators and the majority of the guards fleeing inside the ludus. The snake, meanwhile, advanced on the caster of the curse, spitting a shower of liquid toward him. It fell short, but made the sand burn.

The mages reacted by producing shields again, and this time concentrating fire on the snake. Another green blast of magic did away with it, the creature being dispatched instantly.

No time to lament over the destruction of the animal, Harry pushed everything he could into a powerful shock spell, and sent it toward the invaders. That coincided with a flurry of ice spikes that came from the opposite side of the balcony, pushing the mages back toward the mangled hole that used to be the gate.

The mages, however, pushed right back, sending a shockwave of their own which sent everyone to the sand, some dazed from the sensation... almost as if they'd been boxed about the ears.

Harry found the pair of mages standing over him, hands poised to cast magic.

"You were most certainly a challenge, young mage. Most unfortunate that you weren't receptive to our advances."

"What advances?" Harry's head was still swimming somewhat, but he remembered no point where he had encountered mages of any sort while in Capua or at the villa.

"He forgets. But no need worrying about details. However well he has fought, his time is nearing its end."

"Farewell—" the speaker suddenly collapsed, a gladius piercing his chest. Harry seized the distraction and Disapparated, to land under the overhang leading into the ludus. He hissed, feeling as though someone had yanked a clump of hair out of the back of his head. 'Splinched myself,' he muttered.

"Take him!" came a shout from above, and the last mage turned to find Crixus had crept around behind, sword poised to strike. The mage let fly a terrible blast of red magic, as Crixus effectively removed the guy's head.

AUTHOR NOTES: Let's see who's been following along. How is Harry able to be in two places at once? Virtual cookies to the first reviewer with the right answer.

Up next: fallout from the battle, including a rather difficult morning training session for the gladiators; Harry gets ensnared in a snake den...and a most distressing incident forces him to bring out the truth serum. Whoever thought 73 BCE could be so entertaining (besides Steven S. DeKnight, that is)?