Prologue: A Dark Day in History

June 30th, 1997

Spartacus was gazing out of his cell window in Nurmengard when it happened. He felt the change resonate within him, like the vibrations of some great bell dying with its final toll. He felt the magic shatter and dissolve, fade to nothing, and in that instant he knew he was free.

He stood, slowly and methodically, as if testing his limits. The magic that had been binding him allowed for movement around the cell, but rendered him unable to leave it. The great test was to slowly, almost reverently, stretch his arm out of the cell window. Normally he would encounter resistance, but tonight he found he could extend his arm the full way out; only to quickly withdraw it as he felt the biting chill of the Austrian air. But he was now convinced: the magic binding him was gone, and he could leave Nurmengard.

Nurmengard, the fortress originally built by Gellert Grindelwald to contain his enemies, ending up becoming the dark wizard's own prison, after his legendary duel with Albus Dumbledore. It later became Spartacus' prison in the year 1981 – on Hallows Eve. He'd spent every year of his life from the age of six in this prison, bound by magic he could not challenge, and his only source of company the man he considered his surrogate father: Grindelwald himself.

Spartacus turned to him then, but before he could speak, Grindelwald – an old, decrepit husk of a man by this stage – opened his eyes. One bright, one black, the contrasting colours were enough to startle the wariest of men, and to have that gaze resting on you was enough to intimidate you into silence; as it should do, for those piercing eyes were the only signs of life left in the old dark wizard's face. Though the same age as Dumbledore, the years had not treated Grindelwald kindly, and he was practically a bag of bones: a shriveled, emaciated lump on the floor. However, those eyes betrayed who this man really was, and offered an insight into what he'd seen and what he'd done. Grindelwald was as proud and haughty now as he'd been at the pinnacle of his career, and Spartacus had learned that if he was going to speak, there was no doubt that he had something to say.

As his gaze locked onto to Spartacus', something passed between them, and the result left Grindelwald shaking his head.

"But he is dead!" Spartacus insisted. "His magic no longer binds us, we are free!"

"Do not mistake the word 'released' with the word 'free'", Grindelwald whispered in his low, raspy voice. "One can be let roam the meadows of paradise, and yet still be trapped in the horrors of their past. I am one such man, and so I am no freer than a bird in a cage."

Spartacus glared at him. "We can leave, then. We can escape," he said, but Grindelwald again shook his head.

"You may leave," he admonished, "but you know I cannot. My destiny is to die here in this cell, and you know that is the truth."

Spartacus stared down the dark wizard determinedly. "Dumbledore is dead, his power over us is gone. We're no longer trapped here, and it is no more your destiny to die here than it is mine."

Grindelwald smirked wryly at that, as if he found what the young wizard had said amusing. Spartacus continued undeterred, "You can't stay here, Master Grindelwald, you deserve better than this. And you mean too much to me for me to leave you here. You are my teacher, my guide; you are the father I never had! I need you –"

"And that, my boy," Grindelwald interrupted, "is where you are wrong. You need me no more than a moth needs its cocoon: I have given you all I can, and now you must discard of me like an old rag-doll. You are to go out into the world, and you will do greater things than I did, and you will become a greater wizard than I ever could." "Listen to me boy!" Grindelwald snapped as Spartacus opened his mouth to argue. He beckoned with his old, wizened, liver-spotted hands, and as Spartacus crouched before him Grindelwald planted them either side of his face. Spartacus looked up at his mentor as Grindelwald continued.

"You are the Chosen One. Your circumstances have led you to become so. And now you must go out there and prove your worth! Challenge those who need to be challenged, and destroy those who need to be destroyed, until you stand the sole victor in the world all others have lost. Take revenge on those who have wronged you, and usher in the new age we have all been waiting for."

As Spartacus drank in these words, gazing reverently up at his mentor, Grindelwald's tone softened. "You know that I am old, Spartacus, and I have not got long left in this world. I can never atone for the atrocities I committed, but I can repent for them through you. It will not be long before Death comes for me; and I shall welcome him with open arms, as he one I am acquainted with, and very great friend. I have one last purpose to serve in this cell before I die, and it is not an appointment I can afford miss."

"Go forth, Spartacus Snape", Grindelwald continued with conviction, "and make your father proud. Know that I will always be watching over you, and know that you will never be alone."

Spartacus' eyes began to water at that, but he smiled through the pain as he saw the pride and love shining in Grindelwald's face: and knowing he was the only man to make the old man's face shine like that, Spartacus felt more determined than ever to make his mentor proud.

Spartacus stood, his fear and apprehension about what awaited him falling from him like a shed cloak as he revised everything Grindelwald had said. He looked down at the man he had the greatest respect for, and when Grindelwald craned his neck to look back up at him, his face contorted into a brilliant smile as he gently whispered the last word Spartacus would ever hear him say:

"Go."

Having been taught to live with purpose and to never look back, Spartacus gave a last, watery smile to his aging mentor, before climbing out the window and falling to his death.

Or at least, that's what would have happened if Spartacus had been an ordinary man. Being a wizard, he did not have such weaknesses as taking fall damage.

Having never had a wand, the only magic Spartacus knew was wandless magic, and he had spent all his time in the cell with Grindelwald learning how to use it, and pushing the boundaries of what he could do, before eventually breaking through and moving well beyond them. Calling upon all his training, Spartacus brought his hands together as he fell, charging his palms with repressed magical energy, allowing the tension to build and build until he was almost at the ground before he yelled with triumph as he flung his arms wide and released the energy he had suppressed within him, the frustration of having been imprisoned and his jubilation at finally being free, and all that energy exploded out from his hands, creating a shockwave so large it blasted the snow off the ground and propelled Spartacus sideways so that he landed in a heap about fifty feet from Nurmengard.

Unharmed, he sat up, already feeling the biting chill of the air. The snow was falling all around him, even though it was Summer, and there was a harsh wind slicing through his bones. His robes not being made for Austrian weather, he hurriedly cast a warming charm on himself, lest he freeze to death out in the snow.

It occurred to Spartacus that he should perhaps try to find someone who could tell him what was going on. The little knowledge he was armed with – the fact that Voldemort had returned after being defeated by the Potter child, a titbit courtesy of Grindelwald's scrying – was not up to date, and something big must have happened if Dumbledore was dead.

Dumbledore – that name was enough to boil the blood in Spartacus' veins. Grindelwald had given him a somewhat mixed view of the man: how he seemingly fought for the 'side of good', but was blinded by his love for others, and how he fought for muggle-rights, but had once supported Grindelwald in his crusade to rule over them. Grindelwald had concluded that Dumbledore had been very conflicted, but while the dark wizard maintained a certain respect for his old rival, Spartacus held a darker view of the man – a view that was marred by Dumbledore's single evil act against him: imprisoning him in Nurmengard at the age of six years old. Because of this, Spartacus had a profound hatred for the old legend, and he took a savage pleasure from knowing that the so-called great wizard had finally met his end.

Deducing that he needed to find a witch or wizard who could fill him in as to what had happened during his imprisonment, Spartacus closed his eyes and expanded his consciousness across the snowy plain. He knew what he was looking for, and when he found it his eyes snapped open and he stood up straight. Having never apparated before, and him not having a wand, Spartacus was somewhat apprehensive about using magical teleportation for the first time. But he knew the theory, regardless, and so, taking one last look at Nurmengard, his prison and his home for sixteen years, he concentrated on the image in his head and spun into nothingness.

...

Spartacus materialized a few miles north of the tower prison, falling to his knees and sucking in breath. Apparition, it had to be said, was not pleasant on the lungs, but as Spartacus looked up, gasping, he saw that he had indeed arrived at his destination.

Once he'd got his breath back, he gave himself a quick once-over to make sure he hadn't splinched anything, before getting to his feet and looking out across the Austrian Alps. There, a few hundred feet in front of him, was a snowy village bustling with movement. Men in robed furs sang drunkenly outside the pubs, clutching glasses of firewhiskey and keeping near the warm fires that glowed outside every building, while women laughed as they walked to and from the marketplace in the center of the village, with their young children doing their best to catch the various items of food that were floating beside their mothers. Other children wrapped up warmly chased each other around the place, waving toy wands and giggling as they played, and wolves and sledge-dogs panted as they stood tethered to sturdy sleighs. From the outside, the place looked like a classic wizarding village from the eighteenth century, which filled Spartacus with annoyance and contempt. These people were still living in the dark ages, secluded away high in the mountains, when they should be living down where everyone else was, not having to hide themselves away and live like people who had never seen the electricity which Grindelwald had told him about. Which, Spartacus reasoned, they probably hadn't.

Curious and at the same time reluctant to talk the first wizards he'd ever seen apart from Dumbledore and Grindelwald, he cast his gaze around for someone who he thought he could talk to, and saw a young woman about his own age, strolling across the square. She caught him staring at her, and she smiled as she walked over.

"You don't look like you're from around here", she said in German as she made her way over to him, a warm smile lighting up her pretty face. She had long, tousled blonde hair, and had a relaxed, friendly demeanor.

"That would be because I'm not", Spartacus responded uncertainly, speaking in the German that Grindelwald had taught him, unable to return the smile she was giving him. His first real contact with a person other than Grindelwald was unnerving him slightly, and he was unsure of how to act. He was essentially a social recluse after all.

The girl was nodding, still smiling as she stretched out her hand. "Gretchen", she said.

Spartacus looked at her for a moment, before he realized she was telling him her name, and that she probably expected his in return. "Spartacus", he said quickly, taking her hand and shaking it. The physical contact shocked him, as her hand was warm and smooth, unlike his, which was cold and callous. He recoiled at the touch, and quickly let go of her hand, something which did not escape the girl's attention and caused her smile to dim for a moment.

"So what is this place?" Spartacus asked quickly, attempting to smooth over the awkwardness of his action, and the girl's – Gretchen's – smile reappeared. "This is Silverkeep," she told him. "We're a wizarding village."

You don't say, thought Spartacus as he watched a child use a toy wand to levitate one of the sledge-dogs as it yapped and yelped in surprise. However, he decided to keep things polite, figuring that to voice such things could be seen as rude. He gave Gretchen an uneasy smile, and said "I'm afraid I've been away for quite some time, and I've heard that a lot of things have happened while I've been gone. I was wondering if you could tell me the state of the world right now?"

Gretchen stared at him blankly, and it took a moment for Spartacus to register the absurdity of what he'd just said. "I mean", he backpedaled, panicking slightly, "could you tell me about the war?"

Gretchen's smile had long since vanished, and she frowned now as she looked at him. "You mean the war with He Who Must Not Be Named?" she asked.

Was she thick? What other war would he be talking about? Vietnam? Spartacus smiled patiently as he said, "Yes, the war with Voldemort."

Gretchen flinched so suddenly and so violently that Spartacus was caught off-guard. He stumbled back, startled, before he realized that she was just reacting to hearing the Dark Lord's name.

Deciding that this conversation was not going well, Spartacus resolved to stick to simple questions. "Has Vol – has He Who Must Not Be Named taken over? Has he won?"

Gretchen was clearly growing evermore flustered as she said "He has not won. He hasn't taken over the Ministries. He is in hiding."

Spartacus frowned. He'd presumed that Voldemort must have been out in the open in order to kill Dumbledore. At least, he was presuming that it had been Voldemort who had killed Dumbledore.

"Has he attacked anyone, at least? Has he killed anyone? Where is he?" Spartacus pressed the young witch, eager for a clue as to where Voldemort was, for to find Voldemort was to find Severus Snape, his father.

"He has been attacking wizard families, but" – Gretchen cast a nervous glance at some of the villagers behind her, as if afraid they'd overhear – "we have heard that his Death Eaters are attacking a school in Scotland, what's the name of it... Hogwarts."

Hogwarts. The school where British witches and wizards went to learn magic. So it was under attack by the Death Eaters, was it? Could his father possibly be among them? Could Voldemort himself be there? Could it have been there that Dumbledore was killed?

As Spartacus was lost in thought, Gretchen seemed to realize something was off. She began to speak, but noticing he wasn't paying attention, she snapped her fingers in front of his face.

"Hey – HEY!" she said as he jolted back to the real world. "Why do you want to know all this? Are you looking for someone?"

My father. "N–no," Spartacus stammered, "No, I just needed to understand what's going on."

"Why?" Gretchen pressed. "Where have you been?"

In prison. "I've – I've been – I've been away in a place – away," Spartacus finished limply. "I've been away."

Gretchen frowned, her suspicion clearly growing. Spartacus was becoming uneasy, and he could feel the tension throughout his whole body.

"Why did you come here?" she demanded. "We are not the kind of town that attracts a lot of visitors. Why are you here?" Spartacus was taken aback by Gretchen's forwardness and demanding attitude, and he found himself unable to keep up with the questions she was asking.

"Where could you have been where you know nothing about the world? Why are you so interested in the war? Why did you say You-Know-Who's name? Who are you looking for? Are they here?

"I – wha – no, I – wait – wha" – Spartacus spluttered, becoming flustered as he tried to keep up with the rate of questions. His panic and frustration was building, and all he wanted was to go to Scotland and find out what was really going on. But Gretchen kept pressing him.

Why did you come here? Are you running from someone? Are you a criminal? Are you trying to kill someone? Who even are you!?"

"I – I'm – you – WILL YOU SHUT UP FOR JUST ONE MINUTE!"

Spartacus' roar was enough to shock the girl into silence. He was surprised by his own anger, but it made him feel powerful, so he let it flow through him. He felt a boiling at the back of his eyes as he grabbed the front of Gretchen's furs and leaned in to snarl at her.

"Who I am and why I am here is none of your business," he sneered. "And if you have any sense then you'll back off."

He delighted in seeing the fear in her eyes, until he saw his reflection within them. His black, greasy hair was whipping wildly around his gaunt, pale face, and his teeth were bared in anger. But most disturbingly, his eyes were crackling with a deep purple light, and he realized that in his anger, he had lost control of his magic. And in that moment, he was horrified by himself.

He felt the fire in his eyes go out, and he thrust Gretchen away from him as he stumbled back in shock, but the damage was done. She looked up at him with fear written all over her face as Spartacus gulped, his brain going into full panic-attack mode.

"What...who...?" Gretchen stumbled backwards, trying to get away from him. Spartacus, guessing that she would run to the other villagers and alert them, grabbed a hold of her arm, repulsed by the contact but maintaining a hold all the same. This seemed to escalate Gretchen's fear as she screeched "Let go of me!"

Other villagers were starting to notice the scene, and Spartacus was seriously panicking, terrified that he'd be caught and sent to another prison. Any other wizard would have tried to deescalate the situation in a reasonable manner, but Spartacus was unfamiliar with social interactions, and his lack of a wand made his magic unstable and liable to lash out defensively if he lost control of his emotions.

Which is what happened now.

Spartacus' magic rose up within him, determined to defend him against whatever was causing him so much panic, and it flowed through the arm holding Gretchen, making contact with her sleeve and turning her screech into a scream as her furs ignited.

But the magic didn't stop there. More and more of Spartacus' power flowed through Gretchen's body, the equivalent of her being struck by one continuous bolt of lightning. Spartacus quickly let go of her as he realized his magic was burning her to a crisp, and, stumbling backwards, he watched in horror as her screams reached new pitches. She flailed around helplessly as the flames consumed her, and within a few seconds, she was dead.

Spartacus stared.

Gretchen's charred, lifeless corpse fell to the ground, and the other villages were yelling in anger and fear. Seeing a few of them taking out their wands, Spartacus stepped numbly back, still in shock, wanting to be anywhere else but this place, staring at the corpse of the woman he'd killed.

As if reacting to his sudden need for comfort and security, an image of the only other home he'd ever known, the orphanage, swam into his head, and as his magic responded to his desires, he found himself once again spiraling into nothingness.

...

Spartacus fell to his knees on the concrete footpath, coughing up his lungs and shaking with numb shock, haunted by the horror of what he'd done. Regardless of what he'd learned from Grindelwald, he'd never expected to end up killing someone. Especially not five minutes after leaving his prison.

Maybe Dumbledore had had a point locking him up in there, after all.

As he looked up, Spartacus found himself frowning. It took him a moment for his brain to register what he was seeing. Wool's Orphanage, his old home, was nothing but a pile of rubble. It seemed that sometime in the last sixteen years, it had been completely demolished.

Spartacus was only dimly aware of the disappointment inside him. He still couldn't get the image of Gretchen's burnt corpse out of his mind.

So his past was gone, never to be reclaimed. He had no one and nothing left in this world.

Except no, no, that wasn't true. His father was still out there somewhere. And Spartacus was determined to find him. His father, the Death Eater... Spartacus would find him, and the two would be reunited. Spartacus and Severus Snape, Father and Son together again... the world would tremble!

He had to move onward. He may have been hundreds of miles away from the Austrian Alps, but wizards could cover that distance in the blink of an eye, and while there was no way they could have known where he'd gone, Spartacus wasn't going to take any chances. He needed to move on, just as Grindelwald had taught him: "What's done is done, and can't be undone. Deal with the consequences and keep moving forward."

First things first. He needed to find out what was going on. More importantly, what had caused Dumbledore's death.

Still shuddering from his experience in Silverkeep, and doing his best to shove the image of Gretchen out of his mind, Spartacus stumbled to his feet and leant on a wall for a moment to calm his breathing. Once he had got control over his breath and his emotions, he pushed away from the wall and began walking.

It was night-time in muggle London, but the streets were dark and cold, and there was seemingly no night-life in this part of the city. Unfamiliar with his surroundings, Spartacus became aware of the fact that he was stumbling forth with no clue as to where he was headed. If he wanted to find out what was going on, he needed a wizard, or a newspaper, or one of those wizarding wirelesses Grindelwald had told him about or something...

A wizarding wireless or something...

Now knowing what he needed to do, Spartacus leant against a house on the street, and closed his eyes. He spread a field of awareness around him, focusing, concentrating as he'd done earlier, looking for what he needed.

And then his consciousness snagged, and he knew he'd found it.

Opening his eyes and checking to make sure no one was watching him, but holding the image of the house in his mind, he spun into the thin air, emerging on a damp, grassy park in a dark, dingy housing estate a few miles away.

Glancing around him to make sure he hadn't been seen arriving, Spartacus crept up to the window of the house, stealing glances around him and making out the text of a nearby sign proclaiming the name of the estate: 'Welcome to Grimmauld Place'.

The house he had sneaked up to was number 23, and nothing on the outside would have indicted that it was the home of a wizard. It was no different from any of the other houses on the estate, numbered from 1 through to 60, though interestingly, Spartacus noticed as he looked around, the houses missed a number at one point, skipping straight from 11 to 13.

Spartacus reached the window of house number 23, but the blinds were drawn, so he could not check if anyone was inside. He closed his eyes, and discreetly spread his consciousness. He sensed no one inside, and so picking up a rock from the ground (not trusting himself enough to use any more destructive magic), he cracked it against the window, smashing it. He was concerned that the noise would wake others in their houses, so after he had climbed in he quickly cast a spell to fix the window, and drew the curtains once again. Lights flashed on as he looked around, as if they were responding to his presence, and they illuminated what Spartacus presumed was the wizarding wireless sitting on a shelf. Hurrying over to it, he found a button on its side and switched it on. Loud crackling static filled the room, hurting his eardrums, and Spartacus frantically searched for a way to make it stop. Picking up the wireless and inspecting all around it, he found a dial on one side, and he began twisting it vigorously. Gradually, the static faded to nothing as a voice speaking in a drawling British accent filled the room:

"... but not to worry, we are still standing by for more information on the Battle at Hogwarts. Oh, hold on, we have some breaking news, this is just in..." Silence for a moment, a stifled gasp, a cry of shock... Then, the same voice, now unsteady, continuing slowly and grimly, "We have just received news that Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, has been" – a deep breath – "m-murdered."

Spartacus' ears pricked up, waiting for the next words.

"It seems that Professor Dumbledore was subjected to the killing curse and thrown off one of the school's towers. Our reporters have been... on the scene taking eyewitness accounts. We are... unsure of who cast the killing blow, but we are sure that it was one of the Death Eaters, although eyewitnesses report seeing Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor Severus Snape fleeing the crime scene with one of the students, notably Draco Malfoy, the son of..."

Spartacus didn't hear any more of what the reporter was saying.

So the Death Eaters had stormed Hogwarts and Severus Snape, his father... had the reporter said he was one of the professors? He must have been mistaken; his father had been one of the Death Eaters surely... whatever the case, it seemed his father had killed Dumbledore.

Severus Snape, his father, had killed Dumbledore.

A wide grin slowly began to spread across Spartacus' face. His father had finally killed the 'great' Albus Dumbledore, and in doing so he had unknowingly freed his own son. It was so fitting that Spartacus had to actively stop himself from whooping and dancing around the room, as there was clearly more to be heard...

But as he tuned back into what the radio was saying, he heard a key in the lock of the front door. Panic spiked in him as he spun around, dropping the wireless on the ground where it smashed, and prepared to disapparate. But the air he turned into was solid and impenetrable, and he was left standing petrified in the living room as the front door burst open and a wizard with his wand in hand rushed into the room.

'You blithering idiot, Spartacus!' he thought as the wizard noticed him standing over the broken wireless. After all his training and all that Grindelwald had taught him, he had completely overlooked the possibility that the owner of the house might have cast a charm to notify him if someone broke in! And now Spartacus was stuck here, with no way of escape, as the wizard opened his mouth to shout.

" 'Oo the 'ell are you?" he demanded as Spartacus stood paralyzed with fear. "Come on, then!" the wizard yelled. " 'Oo are you?!"

Realising that he should probably say something, Spartacus mumbled "I was listening to your wireless."

The wizard glared at him. "I can't 'ear ya. Speak up!"

"I was listening to your wireless!"

" 'Choo listenin' to my wireless for?!"

"To hear the news!"

" 'Choo want to 'ear the news for?"

"That's none of your business!"

"Course it's my business! You broke into my 'ouse!"

"And?"

"What d'yah mea – you broke into my 'ouse!"

Spartacus' fear turned to anger and frustration as the wizard continued to glare at him furiously. Reckoning that there was probably no way out of this situation that wouldn't result in violence, Spartacus decided to employ something else Grindelwald had told him:

"If you are in a situation that demands violence, such as a duel or a brawl, always strike first, and without warning."

With a yell, Spartacus called his magic up from within and released it in a wave, blasting the wizard backwards. He hit the wall and slid down it, dazed, as Spartacus stormed over to him and prepared to blast him with the same fire that had killed Gretchen earlier. Gretchen... the woman he'd killed... the woman he'd killed...the image of her lifeless husk filling his brain as he remembered the sound of her screams...

Instead of immediately blasting the wizard, Spartacus faltered, and that gave the wizard the split-second he needed to take the advantage.

The wizard rolled over and pointed his wand at Spartacus, yelling something incomprehensible as Spartacus felt a force like an iron weight slam into his chest, knocking him backwards and driving the air out of his lungs. The wizard leapt up, and began firing more curses at Spartacus, who had to clumsily duck and roll to dodge them, moaning and wheezing as he did so.

He darted behind the couch, coughing, as a curse sped past his ear and demolished the window for the second time that night. Leaping up from behind the couch, he focused on his fear and rage and turned them into power, and he roared as he released a stream of fire from his hand that the wizard had to dive to the side in order to avoid.

Spartacus ducked back down to let a nasty-looking purple curse fly over his head and slam into the wall, with the impact shaking the very foundations of the house itself. Spartacus had time to briefly wonder at what the residents outside must be making of all this noise before he dived out from behind the couch and fired twin streams of raw energy from his hands, both of them hitting the wizard square in the chest and sending him flying back into the wall, which exploded on impact.

As the dust settled, the wizard seemed to be buried underneath the rubble, and Spartacus strolled forward triumphantly, about to make a witty remark when the pile of rubble blasted outwards and knocked him head over heels, making him tumble over and over as bits of rubble smacked into him until his head slammed against the back wall. Pieces of rubble continued to knock into him, leaving him once again breathless and bruised, possibly with a cracked rib. Spartacus ran his tongue over his lip, noting that it seemed much larger than usual, and suddenly tasted blood.

The wizard was standing unsteadily in the spot where the wall used to be, and he was glowering, his teeth bared in anger. One of them had been knocked out, and blood was running down the side of his face, turning it into a sneering mask of hatred. One hand to his side, the wizard limped forward and took advantage of Spartacus' dazed state, firing curse after curse from his wand, each of which felt like an ironclad punch when it hit him.

" 'Oo do you think you are eh?!" the wizard roared as another iron fist slammed into Spartacus' side, breaking ribs. "You think you can break into my 'ouse, and listen to my radio, eh?!" Another punch to the stomach. "And then you think you can attack me? Me! Coltor flippin' Aries, the greatest wizard of the age! 'Oo – the – bloody – 'ell – do – you – think – you – are!" The wizard punctuated every word with an iron-punch curse from his wand, and when he finally relented, Spartacus was bruised, battered, and broken, his whole body aching as he groaned on the floor.

He was in shock. Of that, he was dimly aware. He was in shock because this wasn't how it was supposed to be. He wasn't meant to die like this. This wasn't how he was supposed to meet his end. Not by the hands of some random wizard as a result of his own stupidity. Not for something as stupid as breaking into a house to listen to the news. And his father! His long-lost, hero of a father! How could he ever meet his him if –

Spartacus' train of thought was interrupted as the wizard kicked him in the ribs, making him cry out. "I'll ask you one last time'" the wizard warned threateningly. " 'Oo the 'ell do you think you are?"

"I'm Spartacus," Spartacus groaned as he rolled over onto his stomach on the floor.

The wizard crouched over him as he got to his hands and knees, inspecting him. "You're a funny one, ain't yah," he remarked. " 'Ow'dya do all this" – he gestured to their surroundings with his wand – "with no wand?"

In a last ditch attempt to escape from this situation alive, Spartacus called upon his magic to throw the wizard back. However, due to his weakened state, the most he could was send out a wave strong enough to make the wizard stumble slightly. The effort it cost Spartacus made him collapse on his stomach, crying out as he jarred a broken rib.

"Interestin'..." the wizard murmured slowly as he regained his balance. "Very interestin'..."

Spartacus looked up, nothing but anger and hatred in his face as the wizard gave him a crooked smile. "You might be just what I'm lookin' for, Spartacus," the wizard grinned. "I think we'll 'ave a lot of fun 'ogether, you an' me."

Spartacus tried to get up from the floor, but he had no strength left. He was well and truly beaten. After all Grindelwald had taught him, he had faced his first real test and he had been beaten. Broken. Defeated. If there was one thing that Spartacus was sure of, it was that Grindelwald would most certainly not be proud of him.

When he looked up to see the face of the man who had defeated him, the face of the man who called himself Coltor Aries, all that Spartacus saw was the boot coming in to meet his face as the pain washed away and the world faded to black.

End of Prologue