Disclaimer: I own a lovely bunch of coconuts; here they are standing in a row. However I do not own a lovely bunch of rights to the Harry Potter IP, even though some are as big as my head. True story!

Note: I also couldn't be arsed to proof read this beyond a basic spell check, so feel free to point out any errors, Also, as a good quantity of this story will be set in classical civilizations, there will probably be a lot of historical errors made by me (the one too lazy to do the proper research) so again any suggestions by budding historians amongst you will be greatly appreciated

Adin

The first thing harry saw when he next woke was that same smiling face, He blinked, and tried to rise. Doing so however caused him to feel a little nauseous. Harry decided he'd just lie back down for a while. The woman's smile grew broader.

She started to talk to him, gesturing and occasionally poking parts of him to make a point, at least he assumed that was what she was doing, because he couldn't understand a word she was saying. He shook his head in confusion, and then quickly decided to stop. His head really hurt, where was the Firewisky when you needed it?

Seeing his incomprehension she stopped, and picked up a wooden bowl, into which she poured a brownish liquid, which she offered to him. Harry briefly considered that it may not be wise to drink something from someone he barely knew, in an unknown location, where he couldn't even shout for help. Then again, even death would be preferable to this headache, so he took the bowl and, in a macho show of manliness, downed the lot!

He promptly threw it back up.

"Eughtshe!" he shouted in disgust. "What was that?"

But that only served to send her off onto another rant, which was as incomprehensible to him as before. He searched his brain for inspiration. What to do when confronted with someone who doesn't speak your language? Well in the case of the French the obvious solution was to shout everything, but otherwise harry had no idea. He did remember something about a spell of translation, but Flora Peckham's arse had been particularly fine and very distracting in the lesson in which it was taught. So that wouldn't help him.

Harry fell back to his fall back plan (as, he reasoned, that's what fall back plans are there for) and decided to flirt outrageously with the closest female. As it turned out she was a very fine specimen, with good posture and a nice rack. After downing (and retaining) the second batch of mystery brown liquid, he found he was able to stand without undue discomfort, and decided to proceed.

Harry then proceeded to prove that the process by which one goes about attracting female attention has stayed fairly constant through both time and space. That is to say that the man postures and poses and generally makes a fool of himself for the amusement of all present, at which time the women all walk away shaking their heads in amusement and resignation.

Depressed by the utter failure of his fall back plan Harry decided that there was really no need for him to be conscious and collapsed back to his bed in relief, contemplating his lack of ability to concentrate in seemingly useless lessons.

**

Harry awoke the next day feeling much better, and decided to get up and do some exploring. Looking around he saw that he was in some sort of infirmary, although a very rudimentary one at best. Upon further exploration he discovered that some of the other beds were also occupied. The first one contained a lady, well more a girl really, with straight long black hair, and an impish smile on her face. She was quite pretty Harry decided, although the bedding did conceal the more important parts, and as such Harry was unable to pass judgment.

The next bed contained a very big man with short brown hair and slightly chubby cheeks. He seemed to be restless and a frown marred his face. Occasionally he would toss and mutter something that sounded suspiciously like "again, do it again," which Harry's admittedly juvenile mind found far too amusing if the truth be told.

On the other side of the room there was a tall red headed man and a short bushy haired woman. Both looked peaceful and motionless, the only really remarkable thing about them being the amount of blood staining there cloaks and bedding (and in the redhead's case armor).

However interesting they all might be however Harry decided that since they were out for the count they wouldn't be able to do much about his most immediate need. Food.

His search took him outside the house and into the hustle and bustle of the town market. Feeling totally out of place in his robe (not to mention a little bit warm) he hastily ducked into an alcove, where he removed his cloak and stuffed it into his magically enlarged back pocket of his jeans. He then took out his key (which looked a lot like the big hand of a clock) and traced a rune onto his clothes and concentrated on the word.

Stepping back out into the street he felt a lot less conspicuous in his new tunic. In fact he felt is accented his nicely toned arms, well, nicely. Feeling a lot more confident he proceeded to stroll confidently down the street until he spotted a stall selling food. This was when It occurred to him that if he did not speak the language, it was likely that he would not have the correct currency.

Looking around though he soon saw coins of bronze and a few silver, although there were rarely actually given up, and decided the easiest way to acquire his own would be to steal it. Morals be dammed, not that he had many to begin with, but where his stomach was concerned, even they disappeared. Spying a slightly obese man in what looked like an expensive tunic Harry grinned, and set off again.

Several minutes and a few distractions later Harry was the proud owner of a small pouch of money, which he immediately used to buy himself some food, although he suspected that the stall owner may have used his poor grasp of the local lingo to rip him off, harry didn't mind. It wasn't exactly hard earned money was it now!

Harry proceeded down the street, feeling much better for his food (a strange type of bread, that none the less tasted very good) and in a generally good mood Harry spotted the woman from the day before standing at a door. Deciding that it couldn't hurt to try learning a bit of whatever language these people where speaking He headed in her direction.

**

Harry woke to the sight of yet another unfamiliar ceiling. He looked around and couldn't help but notice that he wasn't alone. Judging by the state of undress he was in, the ability to communicate was not strictly necessary in the casual courtship process.

He was soon brought to a more unpleasant state of awareness when the important looking (and now slightly poorer) man burst into the room, and upon seeing the occupants let out a cry of what harry assumed to be rage. Gesturing to two burly looking men behind him, he cried something which harry hoped was along the lines of "seize him!" and pointed in his direction.

Deciding that protesting would be more trouble than it was worth he decided to go along with them, after all, it wasn't like he'd broken any laws or anything, well except maybe one about stealing, and possible trespassing. And he realized he didn't actually know if the woman was single, or in fact anything about her. Communication hadn't been feasible or in fact partially desirable. Harry decided to add adultery to that list. Wait was he guilty of adultery; after all He wasn't the one who was potentially married, wait … bugger. Harries head hurt …

He was dragged out of his deliberations by the sound of an angry mob. It's one of those sounds you never quite forget once you've heard it, and is not a little unnerving when you're on the receiving end of its angry shouts. Harry decides that now was probably a good time to start looking for escape routes.

The important man stood on a stone as the crowd formed a ring around Harry and his captors. They quieted as he started to speak loudly and with passion, punctuating his speech with expansive gestures and the occasional pointing finger, soon the crowd began chanting something and someone passed forward a knife. Now Harry wasn't by any means a coward, but when surrounded by angry people with knifes it's often a good time to start thinking of a escape plan.

Closing his eyes Harry bowed his head, and spoke a word of power.

"Metus." The word rippled through the crowd, which edged backwards, his captors dropping his arms which he promptly used to conjure fire which he shot over the heads of the crowd ( not too high, they had been threatening him with knives after all ) who all looked suitably impressed.

"Sursum," Harry cried, and lifted himself into the air where he remained hovering over the heads of the now frightened mob. Deciding that a complex victory speech was likely going to go straight over their heads, Harry instead settled for pointing at himself and shouting "Emperor!"

**

The next few weeks passed quite quickly for Harry. The villagers seemed to think that he was some sort of god, and provided him with the best food, clothing and wine that they had to offer. He also started o pick up some of the language, which allowed him to discover that he had slept with the village leaders daughter ( and stolen his purse ) which was why the guy was so upset.

A few days had been spent in contemplation of what he was doing here, last thing he remembered he had been about to overpower he-who-must-not-be-named, with a particularly amazing rune sequence. There had been a huge flash of light, which seemed to come from you-know-who, and he woke up here. Perhaps his magic had gone wrong, or maybe he-who-must-not-be-named had discovered some archaic spell of running away, or had decided to try to escape by sending all his adversaries to far away locations. Whatever, it suited harry fine, he didn't want to get involved in the first place, and had only ended up in that stupid glade because of that Dwarfs stupid drinking games.

Harry sighed. No more drinking games from now on, he promised himself. They only ever get me into trouble he thought. Except maybe spin the bottle (the muggle version) since there wasn't much that could go wrong with that, and maybe that game with a cardboard box that you had to pick up of the floor with your mouth. Other than that though, no more drinking games. Especially not dwarfish ones.

He was sitting in his room, after a particularly good meal prepared by a motherly villager, when a messenger burst into the room and shouted something about another stranger, and the end of the world. Harry decided it would be best if he investigated.

He arrived at the house where he had originally woken, and was greeted by the sight of a very frightened wizard surrounded by even more frightened villagers.

"Where am I? Who are you" the strange wizard shouted. "Please put that down," he asked a pitchfork armed villager.

Harry would have normally found the whole situation quite amusing, and would have settled down with whatever food he could find, to enjoy the show. However he had noticed that this stranger also seemed to speak the Queens good English, and decided he might know something about their current predicament.

"Alright, back of you stupid inbred peasants. There's a real man coming through here!" Although the villagers may not have understood exactly what Harry had shouted, most recognized his voice and had the good sense to move out of the way.

He walked up behind the more enthusiastic villagers who either hadn't heard him the first time, or thought he was encouraging them and shouted "I've shagged your daughters and your missus's, and they both said I was much better than you!" which seemed to do the trick nicely, and Harry was able to approach the captive man, and raise his hands in a gesture of peace.

"Hello, who are you?" Harry asked

"Neville Longbottom. What is this place? What am I doing here; the last thing I remember is fighting against Voldemorts army."

"Don't say his name!" Harry winced. "That's the last thing I remember as well. Do you know who the others are?" Harry gestured towards the room Neville was currently using to cower in.

"I know Ron and Hermione. They where the two on the other side of the room, but I've never seen the one with black hair. Are we safe here?" Neville asked, sending the villagers a nervous glance.

"What this bunch? They're harmless, watch," and with that Harry sent gout of flame flying over the heads of the villagers, who took the hint, and walked away, looking just a little bit disappointed with the lack of pitchfork action. Harry gazed after them fondly. "They're just an angry mob at heart."

Neville gave him a look, but he seemed happy that the villagers had gone. This was unsurprising in Harry's opinion. The villagers had been threatening the poor guy with pointy sticks. Honestly, if he was going to have to spend more time in this village he was going to have to lay down some ground rules on etiquette, and possibly re-write so marriage laws. Multiple wives were defiantly in!

"What's happened to Vold…" Neville was cut off by a nasty glare from Harry.

"Sorry, what's happened to you-know-who?" Neville asked.

"I don't honestly know" Harry told him. "And frankly I don't much care; it was only that stupid drinking game that landed me in all this mess. No more drinking games, you hear me!"

Neville began to look worried again.

Harry decided he'd probably best stop scaring what was likely to be the source of the only of intelligent conversation he'd have for a while.

***

Neville was having a bad day. First he'd woken up to a village full of angry villagers, with no idea how he'd got there. The last thing he remembered was fighting in the battle, then there was a huge flash of light, and he woke up here.

Not that he had any idea where here was, the villagers didn't speak a word of English, and the Ron and Hermione where still asleep, or unconscious. In fact the only person who he could understand was a slim man, about his own age, who seemed to be slightly stupid, and was now rambling on about some dwarf and his misfortune. He also claimed to have been involved in the fight against Voldemort, although he didn't like to say the name, so Neville supposed he must not be terribly brave.

However the strange man, who claimed that he was now the emperor of the village after a recent upset in the minor nobility, which Neville took his word for, had fed him, and shown him to his room, which was small, and the bed was just a mat on the floor, and try as hard as he might, he just couldn't get to sleep until the early hours of the morning.

Neville spent the following week in the somewhat bewildering company of Emperor Harry. Emperor Harry claimed that he'd come from the same battle as Neville himself, and had woken up in this strange village almost a week ago himself.

He learned how to cook, and clean and generally look after himself. Emperor Harry also seemed to enjoy magically putting him into totally inappropriate situations that had Neville blushing and stammering apologies to bewildered and embarrassed natives, and Leaving Harry with the unfortunate task of comforting the poor traumatized women. Neville didn't really know how he did it, but they always seemed happy in the end.

Neville had tried to explain several times the need to get back to the battle, but his new friend seemed to dislike the idea, and refused to help him wake up Ron and Hermione, and as Neville had no idea how to do so himself, he had to content himself with waiting for them to wake as he had.

***

Harry chuckled to himself as he heard a shriek from inside the room whose door he was currently listening at, it seemed as though Neville had again gate crashed a very private party.

A look of horror fixed to his face, Harry rushed in to 'comfort' the distraught lady.

Life was good.

Note: I will probably redress this chapter and the next few after the first segment of the story is posted.