Thanks for your comments/reviews since my last update, and also, a shout-out to those who have added the story to your alert list, c2, or favourite list, it's almost as good as a review, 'ya know! And, virtual cookies to Kingdark, who correctly concluded Harry was using a time-turner.

Warning: alcohol, drugs, dubious consent.

Posted March 11, 2014.

SUMMARY: 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.

26: PLOTS OF THE SNAKE

Unknown dates, 73 BCE

Unknown date, 73 BCE

Harry let out a grunt, and mentally groaned. How many times had he landed in some sort of hospital? He found himself once again in the ludus' infirmary, with a number of people hovering, looking concerned. He'd been stripped of his cuirass, and lay on one of the stone slabs, the medicus applying a white paste to a nasty wound on his right side.

"Gratitude, but I'll take it from here," said Harry, reaching a hand to a spot on his left side, causing his rucksack to appear. He pulled out a large bottle with a tall neck, pulled the stopper from it, and consumed the contents.

"The bodies of the enemy. What is being done?"

"We move to dispose of them with haste," answered Doctore.

"Please don't. I would like to have a look at them and what they might be carrying. After which, I would suggest they be burned to ashes. Things such as these... Gods above, they were strong adversaries. I have faced stronger, but with the assistance of many magical friends."

"You are a sorcerer, then," said Crixus.

"Yes. A wizard, a practitioner of magic, as were those we faced this morning. A secret which none of you here should know. When this heals, I will need to address the entire household, as I have to perform a charm that will ensure that secret remains here within the household, and not end up spread throughout the mundane world."

Harry thought for a moment, seeing Batiatus frowning.

"As for Gnaeus, I will pay for his replacement, since it was one of my kind who ended his life. Once this is healed, I will also take care of any damage caused to the grounds, since once again, it was one of my kind behind it."

"The gesture is welcome. Though equally, you have my gratitude."

That earned a nod from the young wizard.

"I would suggest, that everyone be given a day of rest. This incident will unsettle even the hardest of hearts, an unclear head will only lead to distraction and unnecessary injury. You have all witnessed unspeakable evil at work."

"Our young friend speaks the truth," Doctore agreed, "There have been stories, but to see such things give us all pause."

"Can we expect this again?" Batiatus asked.

"Honestly? I would bet on it. Where there are a few, there are always others. Guess I shouldn't be surprised to run into that sort. Always those in my world that want to cause problems for everyone else."

Harry closed his eyes, let out a sigh, and opened them, a frustrated look crossing his face.

"You know, it's a surprise that the non-magical world hasn't found out about us en-masse yet. Considering the number of dark witches and wizards around. Always have something to prove. I am truly sorry this has happened here."

It was well after sunrise before Harry finally regained his feet. He quickly produced his chest, and entered it, to find Pietros occupied with an old geography textbook. Harry mentally noted that there were a few books that should be moved to a more secure location—particularly two books that belonged to a certain Daedric prince.

"All is well?" Pietros asked, seeing Harry enter.

"It is now. I just have a few loose ends to tie up. If you'll bear with me for a few minutes, I do need to get cleaned up, and I'll tell you what happened."

"I eagerly await your tale."

Harry entered his bedroom, and was gone for several minutes. When he re-emerged, he looked even more tired than earlier. Still, he took the time to explain what had happened that morning, by pulling out his pensieve and drawing a stream of memories. It also gave him a chance to dissect the incident, and properly process what had just happened. Gods, the casualty count could have been much worse.

It was near dinner time before he finally re-emerged from his chest, and sought out Batiatus. And, about twenty minutes later, the entire household was assembled, whether it be in the square, or on the balcony.

"For all of you standing with me against the terrible threat against all of us this morning, you have my deepest thanks. There is power in numbers, even against something which most of you did not understand. All of you likely know by now—and some have likely suspected up until now—that I have some sort of unusual power. The fact is, I'm a mage. A practitioner of magic, as were the three individuals who invaded the villa this morning."

Harry produced his wand, and summoned the damaged gates from the rocks below the cliffs. They were roughly seated back in the gaping hole where they belonged, and another gesture from the wand restored them to near-pristine condition.

"There are good and bad sides to magic," Harry continued, now that he had everyone's undivided attention. "Just as it can maim, and kill, it can be useful, helpful. It's all about choice, and intent.

"However, it is forbidden for your world to know about mine. Under normal circumstances, a group of mages would alter your memories and ensure you don't remember what happened here. Unfortunately, I am a single wizard, and considering I seem to be trapped here for the foreseeable future, I have to do something else. It's something called a secrecy charm, which will prevent anyone here from discussing the existence of magic, or the fact that I am a mage. It will also prevent you from mentioning what happened here this morning, since the two topics are somewhat intertwined."

"Will such a thing cause pain?" questioned one of the gladiators.

"The application will cause no pain," Spartacus answered.

That had the rest of the men in the square looking at the man. The young wizard had trusted their champion already?

"Let us see it done," Batiatus decided. That got a simple nod from Doctore, since the man's word was final.

A few of the men were somewhat reluctant to allow Harry to cast any sort of magic on them, given the incident that morning. Doctore, however, made sure all of the gladiators received the charm. It was Batiatus who saw to the rest of the household, including the guards. Harry viewed them as mercenaries rather than soldiers.

It proved to be a very tiring few hours, after which there was the matter of fixing the rest of the grounds, and restoring the upper entrance to the villa, and so it was after dark before Harry retreated back to his chest and a warm bed. He was not seen the following day, with Pietros delivering a message to Doctore to the effect.

However, if the men believed they had heard the last about the incident, they were mistaken. Now fully rested, Harry approached Doctore just as the men gathered in the square for the beginning of the day's training.

"If I might conduct the lesson this morning."

Doctore gave a nod, and turned to the assembled group. "Attend."

"I am honoured to say that I have trained among you. The lot of you exhibit tremendous combat prowess, that would be more than a challenge against other trained men where I come from.

"That said, the attack by magical foes two days ago demonstrates you have a weak spot."

Without warning, Harry thrust out a hand, and a yellowish-green bolt of magic struck Spartacus in the chest. He went over, his body frozen in the position it had been as the bolt struck—his hands coming up to block whatever it happened to be. The others began shouting in protest, until Doctore's whip sizzled through the air, ending with a noisy crack.

"Enough!"

"Luckily for your champion, this spell is not fatal," Harry continued, "However, considering his prone form, it would allow me to do just about anything to him, magical or otherwise. Or, to perhaps escape, if the target happens to be particularly dangerous."

Spartacus finally came free of the spell, and scowled at the young wizard as he climbed to his feet, not appreciating either the spell, nor the fact he'd been singled out.

"The spell I used was only a paralysis spell, but what if that had been the spell cast by the dark mage? This spell's colour wasn't quite the same, but how do you know?"

That sent the men muttering once again, shifting uncomfortably in the square.

"The killing curse, does exactly that, as Gnaeus found out. It doesn't matter where it makes contact, whether it be against exposed skin, the clothes you wear, or the shield you wield. If even a hair's breadth of that spell makes contact with you, you are dead. D. E. A. D. Dead. So. Varro, what lesson do you take from this?"

"To avoid allowing the spell to strike at all."

"Exactly."

Harry thrust out a hand again, this time picking a gladiator at the far end of the square. This time, it was a purple bolt of magic that lashed out. Unlike Spartacus, the man hit the deck, and the spell sailed past, to impact with the wall, making a sparking scorch mark.

"Well done. Had that made contact, it would have been rather painful," said Harry, pacing in front of them, while the target of the attack scrambled back to his feet.

"None of the spells I will be casting this morning will be fatal. However, they will be humiliating, embarrassing, or painful. So. We will be practicing dodging and avoiding. Most of what you have already learned in this square will come into practice, only against a different type of attack."

When they finally broke for lunch, there were more than a few men muttering and cursing Harry's name, and just about everyone sported singed skin or bruising in one place or another. The young wizard had been formidable with a blade; with magic, he was absolutely terrifying. He'd used stinging hexes, tickling jinxes, shock spells, petrification, and a myriad of other tactics, all in the name of making everyone dodge, jump, and avoid his attacks. By the end of the lesson, they'd all progressed quite well—though, some far better than others. Even Doctore had experienced the pain from Harry's spells. And if he had to admit, the teacher of Gladiators had a new appreciation for the young wizard and his skill.

More time passed. Harry guessed it had been at least a half-year, if not longer. There had been many visits to the arena, where Spartacus' fame had gone to new heights. When he marched out onto the sand, he worked as a man possessed, leaving a pile of bodies in his wake.

During that time, he also witnessed the near-feud between Batiatus and a fellow lanista, a man named Solonius.

"We had been close friends," Batiatus had explained one evening, when Harry asked of their history.

"A... difference of opinion."

"Of course," said Harry, nodding along. However, the images and memories he was picking up painted a very different picture, summed up in a single word: betrayal. He could pretty much see how that would end up—one of them dead.

A few days later, Harry found his morning studies interrupted, as a group of new slaves were brought into the training square. He packed up his books and notebooks, just in time for Batiatus, Lucretia, and Ilithyia to step out onto the balcony. He mentally groaned. There went the morning.

Then he could barely hold in a snort, picking up the mental images of what Lucretia had just been up to only minutes before her husband returned. A quick glance at Batiatus' memories proved his assumption correct. The snake believed she was pulling the wool over his eyes? Not. He turned his attention back to the square.

There were six new recruits, now lined up at its centre, a guard buffering either end. The rest of the gladiators were for the most part out of sight, although Harry could hear them; they were likely all gathered under the overhang.

"Excuse me," said Harry, and he made his exit before becoming entangled with the two women now on the balcony. He went inside, then Disapparated, only to appear at the bottom of the stairs which led from the ludus into the villa. He stepped out into the square, and stopped to stand beside Crixus, just as Doctore began his initiation speech.

"What is beneath your feet?"

The initiates all appeared confused, unsure of how to reply. The seconds passed by, with them shuffling uncomfortably, until one was brave enough to speak up.

"Sand?"

The gladiators exploded into laughter. Perhaps it was correct logically, but definitely not the right answer, Harry quickly realized. Doctore cracked his whip, bringing silence back to the square.

"Spartacus. What is beneath your feet?"

"Sacred ground, Doctore! Watered with tears of blood!" came the crisp, smart reply.

"Your tears. Your blood. Your pathetic lives, forged into something of worth," Doctore continued, pacing in front of the recruits, "Turn your eyes from your gods and fix them upon me. Listen. Learn. And perhaps, live. As gladiators. Now, attend your master!"

As Batiatus picked up where Doctore left off, Harry chose to simply observe. The recruit on the left was a monster of a man, with tangled hair with many tiny braids. Then there were two rather imposing brothers—it had been the one at left who had given the wrong answer to Doctore's question. It made him look the fool, even though the answer had been logically correct.

Harry also realized at this point, these six new recruits would need to be memory-charmed, since training also now included Harry's instruction. He covered most of the dodging and parrying lessons, as had been the routine for the past few months.

He was brought out of his musing, as Batiatus called down from the balcony.

"Doctore! Our honoured guest wishes to assess the recruits' virtues."

The gladiators burst into laughter, while the recruits looked rather confused—until Doctore again cracked his whip.

"Remove your cloths!"

It was humiliating. Harry easily felt for the six men now being forced to remove what little covering they wore, and stand nude in the square, to the jeers of the gladiators. However, as much as he might disagree with it, he was still only a guest, with no say in the matter. As ugly as it was, the brutal training regimen did forge powerful men. Strength through adversity and all that. It was suck it up, or die.

The huge man on the left now left nothing to the imagination, including his manhood. Bloody hell...

"Harry. Step forward," said Doctore, simply, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"Uh... right." Harry stepped away from the rest of the gladiators, to stand beside Doctore. He noted that both Lucretia and Ilithyia had vanished back into the villa.

"Attend my assistant."

Right. Harry quickly realized where Doctore was going. The memory charm.

"In addition to the training Doctore will be covering, part of the time, you will be under my instruction, as I cover protecting yourself against attacks which do not come from the sword. Guards, if you will step to the edge of the square. Rest of you, put your cloths back on as to reduce distraction."

The pair of guards scattered to the sides of the square, while the recruits quickly redid their cloths to cover up their private areas. Harry waited patiently for them to finish.

"Rather than attempt to explain what I will be teaching, I will instead demonstrate."

The gladiators knew what was coming next. Harry flung a hand forward, nailing the man who had answered Doctore's question. He fell over, frozen like a statue. The rest of the recruits all hit the deck, cowering at what they had just witnessed.

"Last one to rise will sample my next lesson," said Harry, as a purple glow formed in his left hand. The recruits all scrambled to their feet, and true to his word, he nailed the hulking man with a shock spell, him being the last to gain his feet.

"What... what are you?" one of the brothers asked, as the hulking man fell to his knees, heaving and twitching.

"I am a sorcerer, a practitioner of magic, and a guest of your master. I have been assisting Doctore in areas which cover dodging attack. Though you will likely never suffer an attack by magical means, while fighting on the sands of the arena, my lessons can most certainly still be applied there."

Harry thrust out a hand, casting a healing charm on the hulking man.

"Before we begin that, however, I must place a charm on each of you that will prevent the knowledge of my abilities from leaving these walls."

With a strong handle on Occlumency, Harry did quite well at remembering peoples' names. So, as he cast the secrecy charm on each man, he politely asked their name, committing it to memory.

That evening, he found Spartacus had once again entered the chest, which had been left open in Pietros' cell. With the wards being relaxed to intent only, it had become a common thing to have a number of people visiting in the evening. Harry said nothing, but visited the bathroom and got cleaned up, before addressing his friends. He seemed even more tired than he'd been when he had stepped into the chest, but it was only fair he give attention to his friends.

"You have been awake for far too long, see to some rest," Spartacus said.

"I can wait an hour," Harry answered, dismissively.

"You will replace Doctore one day," said Spartacus.

"No. I don't belong here, both of you know that. And I would never displace such an honourable man. He puts his heart and soul into what he does, and whether you might believe it or not, he cares for each and every one of you. He pushes you all to collapse only for your benefit. He demands the best, am I right?"

"This is true," Spartacus agreed, "It grieved me so, to betray him as I did."

"I'm sure it did. And he's likely not so easily forgiven, nor forgotten." Harry let out a sigh, then yawned. "Enough dark thoughts. Your thoughts on the recruits?"

"The German brothers, Agron and Duro... they both have potential, as does Segovax."

"The Gaul."

"The one with the horse-cock," said Pietros.

Harry burst out laughing.

"Gods... about sums it up, I think," he finally recovered, "My friend Mazhe would be filled with lust."

"One thing I am certain of, they will certainly not forget your lesson, Harry."

"The point of the exercise. They know I mean business, and not to take me lightly. It's one thing my friends have taught me: to take my trainers seriously, to never make light of any lesson they teach. Where I come from, it can mean the difference between life and death, it's that simple."

"Here, more so," said Pietros. "Not all recruits receive the mark." He gestured to the large 'B' branded to his forearm.

"All Doctore and I can do, is show them the way. It's up to the recruits to follow it."

"Spoken like a true teacher."

"There are a few who would like for me to teach. I've been doing this sort of thing since I was ten," Harry answered, "And I've told you about incompetent teachers I've had to deal with at Hogwarts. I have to wonder, how has the school fared this year, without a meddlesome headmaster at its helm? Gods... Ron and Hermione would be finishing up sixth year about now, I think."

In the early evening a few days later, he found himself invited up to the villa's triclinium—a space that served as the main dining room, and he mentally groaned, finding it was Lucretia who had asked for him... and worse, she was not alone. Harry was not surprised to find Ilithyia there, since she was a frequent visitor. The three others, however—were all immensely beautiful, including a tall blonde woman who could easily pass for Ilithyia's sister. After introduction, Harry learned that Licinia was the cousin of Marcus Crassus, a tremendously wealthy businessman in Rome.

The wine, incense, and opium was spared no expense, and as the evening wore on, the young wizard found himself completely ensnared by the five very attractive Roman women. He found himself engaging in activities that he would never have permitted while of a clear mind uninhibited by alcohol and opium. And perhaps, it was a good thing that by this point he had become most efficient with the application of memory charms. The three visitors would never know different.

At one point, they decided to summon one of the gladiators, and while Ilithyia had wanted to summon Crixus, it was Licinia who suggested summoning the current champion. Harry was by this point hopelessly entangled with two others.

So it was, a short while later, Spartacus was escorted into the triclinium by two guards, and his mouth twitched, seeing his young friend's predicament. He and Harry locked eyes, and the young wizard simply gave a pleading look, shaking his head.

"He stands as Mars, ready for war," Licinia spoke, rising to caress the man's chest.

"He's our champion," Harry slurred, "He's always ready for war. Some wine for our friend!"

Lucretia looked scandalized, but realized at this point she would look bad if she didn't appease her other, rather important guest. He'd certainly been very loose with his coin purse, something neither she nor Batiatus wouldn't soon forget. So if Harry wanted to offer a slave wine, it was simply done. Even if that meant the champion, presently in their company. This was likely going to end very badly.

"Naevia, see to it."

"Domina."

A cup was quickly filled, and Spartacus was most certainly appreciative, as it was passed to him.

"Bound hands might be an issue. Surely, with the guards and myself present he would not pose a threat," said Harry, then let out a grunt, feeling a hand press in some place he would never allow while sober. A sloppy gesture from a free hand undid the shackles, and sent them flying toward a nearby guard, who caught them expertly.

"But if he should escape—" Aemilia protested.

"I would not make three steps," said Spartacus, his eyes meeting Harry's.

"Why would he want to escape?" Harry questioned with a shrug, "He lives for the glory of House Batiatus, that's all you need to know."

The three guests seemed to digest that for a moment, while Spartacus took a drink from the cup. Harry almost gasped, feeling a hand reaching up his robe to touch his back.

"Is there truth to the legends? That gladiators share the blood of the gods?" Licinia wondered aloud.

"The mighty Crixus, most certainly," said Ilithyia, doing her best to hide a smirk. At this point, Harry was not sober enough to catch the nuances.

"Now there was a man! Truly blessed by the gods!" Caecilia exclaimed, and then took a sip of her wine.

"When will we see him in the arena again?" Aemilia asked.

"Very soon," Harry answered, "He is training once again, though his wounds are still a little sore."

Lucretia gave him a warm smile, as if to thank him for answering the painful question.

"What of you, Spartacus? Are you a blessing to us?" Licinia prompted, running a hand down the man's back almost seductively.

"To some," answered the champion, "To others, a curse." He flicked his eyes to Ilithyia.

"The duality of his kind. Admired as a gladiator, yet despised as a slave," said Ilithyia, appearing unfazed by the glance.

"He is much more than a common slave. You can feel it radiating from his flesh."

Licinia turned to Lucretia.

"I have heard tale of a champion's blood possessing many restorative powers."

Aemilia stopped her groping the young wizard. "A few drops in a glass of wine is said to make a man hard for days!"

"Such are the legends," said Lucretia, dismissively.

"I would test them for myself, if I could?" Licinia persisted.

"Of course. We will send messenger with a vial—"

"I would have it now."

The rest of the visiting women tittered and giggled excitedly, and Harry mentally groaned again. On top of dealing with the aftermath himself, he would likely be seeing to injuries foisted on Spartacus as well—if they didn't actually kill him. No. He would intervene if that sort of thing looked to be a possibility. To hell with niceties. A few memory charms would make everything right as rain. Then again...

"Excuse me." Harry untangled himself and rose from the couch. He forced himself to remain stable, lest he crash into one of the couches and knock himself silly. There was training in the morning, right? Gods, his head felt like it was six times the size.

"Spartacus... your arm for a moment." Harry produced his wand. "Licinia, your cup."

"Oh. Of course." Licinia handed over her empty wine glass, while Spartacus held out his arm. Harry touched his wand to the exposed skin, and muttered a spell, causing a brief spray of blood to arc from an invisible wound, to land in the bottom of the cup.

"The legend does call for the blood of a dead gladiator, does it not?" Ilithyia protested. She let out a sigh. "Such details should not concern us. Spartacus will die soon enough to the roar of the crowd."

"I do not believe he will ever fall in the arena," answered Licinia, swirling the dark crimson fluid around in the cup, "He is a god among men."

"He is nothing but a Thracian dog. His treachery dishonoured Rome," Ilithyia spat.

"It is your husband who bears the dishonour," Spartacus spoke, coldly.

"Spartacus!"

Lucretia looked scandalized, while Harry arched an eyebrow and shook his head.

"Spartacus, don't."

But the champion angrily charged on, "He abandoned defenceless women and children, left to be raped and murdered!"

Lucretia looked furious. "Guards!"

"No. It is not his fault. I would see him stay."

Lucretia was now being pulled in two different directions, by her guest, and an unruly champion of Capua. The guards had moved to remove the man, but Lucretia finally waved them off.

"Spartacus. Please. I'd rather not attend your Crucifixion," said Harry, darkly. "Gods... need to sit down."

"What bold tongue!" Aemilia exclaimed.

"Apologies, I have spoke out of turn," said Spartacus.

Harry could tell, however, the anger was smouldering beneath the surface. If there came another outburst... And now he found himself pulled back onto the couch by Caecilia.

"Were he my slave, I would have him crucified!" Ilithyia finally exclaimed, no longer masking her hatred for the man.

"For what? Speaking the truth?" Licinia asked, "We have all heard the rumours about your husband."

Ilithyia flushed, while the others tittered, seemingly amused at their friend's discomfort.

"Ladies, ladies," Harry placated, "Perhaps we should find a lighter subject. Since we have freely offered blood..."

Harry reached into his satchel, and pulled out a small vial.

"The opium is nice, but this might send all of you over the moon."

In reality, it was one of Vekel's nefarious concoctions. Perhaps next time they would think twice about indulging in unproven legends, he smirked in his head, as he poured part of the bottle into the cup, and swirled it around.

"Take only a sip, the contents are very powerful."

"If the legend is true, we can only hope," Licinia tittered, excitedly.

The remainder of the evening passed in a blur, with more of Vekel's potent mixture blended with blood and wine, Spartacus not being the only donor. The tongues were most certainly loosened, in more ways than one, and hands... many hands... exploring places Harry would most certainly have protested against with a clear head.

Harry did not remember exactly when the party ended, or how he came to be in his own bed; only that his head felt massively inflated, and there was someone pounding on the lid of the chest. Moments later, Pietros entered his room.

"Doctore demands to know your whereabouts."

"Bloody hell... tempus," Harry muttered. '10:58 a' wafted from the end of his finger in red.

"Gods... send him my apologies and I will be in the square momentarily."

"He also seeks Spartacus."

Harry arched an eyebrow.

"He's likely down here. Check the other rooms. Someone brought me down here last night—"

"This morning," Pietros corrected.

"Might need a bit more time then. Just tell him we'll be up soon."

Harry summoned his satchel, and reached inside, looking for an anti-hangover draught, then groaned. The potions didn't work on Vekel's concoctions. Worse still, as he stood up, his body ached in places he didn't know actually could ache. What the hell did they do to him last night?

"I'll have to do this another way."

They found Spartacus asleep in the room Tommy had claimed. Harry carefully woke the man, knowing he would be in a state, if he remembered the previous night correctly.

"Jupiter's cock..."

"My thoughts exactly. We're late for training. But if your head is like mine, we won't be doing anything for the next eight to twelve hours."

"The legend—" Spartacus began, but Harry burst out laughing.

"Gods, they were all full of shit. I only played on their foolish superstitions. The mixture I added to the blood was something a friend of mine cooked up. I did tell you about Vekel?"

Both Spartacus and Pietros nodded.

"His concoctions can actually give people brain damage, if taken too much of. The amount used last night should give Licinia and her friends something to think about, if not a pounding head."

Harry reached into his satchel again, and pulled out a sleeping potion.

"Here. Other thing I can give you—"

"Training..."

"Can wait. I'll be joining you in slumber after I have words with Doctore and Batiatus."

Stepping outside into the square was a painful experience, as the bright sun nearly blinded him, and only amplified his pounding headache. Still, he pressed on, seeking out the dark-skinned teacher.

"Doctore. A moment."

"You are late."

"Regretfully so, and likewise our champion. We were detained last night on account of Lucretia's guests. Neither of us are fit to attend any sort of training today."

Doctore frowned.

"Do not make this a habit."

"I don't plan to. I equally require a word with Batiatus, for several reasons. Hopefully it won't result in my spending more coin to cover damages."

Doctore arched an eyebrow. Did he want to know?

Harry, meanwhile, made for the stairwell that separated the ludus from the villa, opening the gate with a quick gesture of a finger. He quickly secured it again, and made his way up the stairs, only to stop, hearing shouting from the atrium. He picked up at least four raised voices, along with several female—the guests from last night were still there, he realized. Perhaps then wasn't the time to seek out Batiatus. He Disapparated back to the chest, deciding to first view a pensieve memory of the events, and figure out how many fires he had to put out... and perhaps a headache remedy potion.

The pensieve memory revealed a raucous, scandalous evening. Spartacus had went off on Ilithyia on two more occasions, though by that point everyone was too out of it to really take any sort of action... a miracle in that, perhaps. Luckily they would not remember it.

Far worse, the reason for Harry being so sore in so many places. Gods, even his penis was sore from end to end. There was a limit to how many times someone could orgasm, right? And who would have thought... they were more than pretty faces... they had the stamina of stallions.

He blanched, seeing the next block of memories. Now that explained why his arse was sore. Lucretia's guests weren't the only ones with the stamina of a stallion. He would end up apologizing to both Spartacus, and his wife's ghost should he ever meet her perhaps... bloody hell. He once again found himself cursing the blonde snakes for such scandalous behaviour. Oh sure, they'd all found it immensely funny. What would Batiatus think of his wife abusing a guest in such a manner?

It was then he felt a surge of magic touch him from head to toe, much as it had two years prior—just before he found out about his name being drawn from the Goblet of Fire. What now? For now, he sighed, and retreated back to his room, to get a few hours' rest.

It was after dinner before he awoke again, hearing voices from the common room. He threw on a shirt and a pair of shorts, then wandered out.

Varro had joined Spartacus, seated in the comfortable chairs across from the fireplace.

"He at last awakens," said Varro, cheerfully.

"Piss off," Harry muttered, plopping down into a vacant chair.

"Still sore are we," Spartacus questioned, his mouth twitching.

"I owe you an apology. I should not have let them coerce us into such dreadful actions."

"I do not blame you, Harry. It is only because of you that I was not crucified."

Varro arched an eyebrow.

"Do tell."

"A single word," Harry answered, "Ilithyia. The hate she has for Spartacus could fill this room a hundred times over. The suggestion of drawing his blood for entertainment, I could see it in her eyes. She likely would have murdered him right there. Gods, I loathe that woman.

"Unfortunately, like me, she is a frequent guest of the villa, so I have to make nice. Still, she is coming very close to being added to a very exclusive list of people I will mete out justice to."

"It is unfortunate someone of your age has such a list," said Varro, regretfully.

"Agreed. So is my life, though. And last night..." he sighed. "Fucking snake den."

Spartacus let out a chuckle, while Varro couldn't help but laugh. Harry wanted to be mad, but in the end he had to laugh, too. In some ways, it was amusing, and really... Spartacus had landed a few nasty barbs on the blonde bitch... and got away with it. Score points for the champion of Capua.

It was the morning after that before Harry once again made an appearance in the square, and he was immediately summoned up to the villa by Batiatus.

"Your coin has been appreciated. However," Batiatus said, dangerously, "Whatever the fuck that was you administered to the guests of my wife, it will not happen again. Are my words understood?"

"It will not happen again. I only wished to look out for your investment, which was threatened by Ilithyia's schemes. I don't know all the details about what she did to gain his ire, nor do I really need to. All that I know is, she had murder in her heart."

"Spartacus should not have been summoned, such as I have told Lucretia. Throwing them together only invites calamity. Nor should you be summoned. As I have also told my wife."

"Are Ilithyia and her friends still feeling ill?"

"Yes, they're fucking ill, or we would not be having this conversation!"

"I do regret causing lingering discomfort. But as I said, Ilithyia was going to kill your champion. I won't let that happen. Not outside the arena."

Batiatus softened. In the year the young wizard had been there, the friendship formed between him and the gladiators had only gone on to strengthen the position of the ludus. There had been enquiries from Pompeii, and even Rome, about his wares, something not heard of in decades. Harry was just as valuable as his gladiators.

"Lucretia works to earn the favour of Marcus Crassus."

"A powerful businessman from Rome," Harry remembered.

"Good Crassus owns the fucking heavens, even if he is not currently favoured by his fellows in the senate. As such, Licinia plans another visit."

"I will plan on being elsewhere, and with your permission, I will be sure Spartacus is unavailable also."

"You have my gratitude, both for the night previous, and the future. You know the worth of our champion."

"As I would protect any of the men I teach. All of them have great potential."

That got an incline of the head from the lanista.

Dismissed, Harry quickly returned to the ludus, and to training. He smirked, seeing and hearing the groans and rolling eyes.

Doctore cracked his whip.

"Attend!"

Harry smirked again, and suddenly thrust out a hand, sending a violet bolt of magic toward one of the new recruits. He was learning, but still a little slow, and the spell connected with an exposed arm. He collapsed to the ground, twitching.

"Good morning. Let us begin..."

A few nights later, as Harry sought out Spartacus, he found him in the bath... in a disturbing circumstance. He'd been drawn by the scuffling and grunting sounds, to find two of three men present embroiled in a deadly fight. Crixus' wound on his abdomen had reopened, and he'd been stabbed by a tool used to scrape mud and dirt off the skin. Spartacus, meanwhile, lay half-submerged in the water, heaving—Harry was still unsure of exactly what had put him in such a state. Segovax, the enormous Gaul, was wrestling with Crixus, brandishing the scraping tool.

Harry thrust out a hand, and the disarming spell was strong enough to send both men sprawling, the tool clattering up against the far wall. Another thrust of the hand had Segovax stunned in the corner.

"Guards! Baths! Now! Summon Batiatus!"

Another thrust of the hand had Segovax bound in heavy ropes, while several guards stormed into the room, weapons at the ready. Doctore was along only a few moments after.

"What is this madness?" he demanded, while Harry was already seeing to Crixus' wounds.

"Sit still, you'll open it further," Harry warned, drawing a finger over the wound. It closed somewhat, but some blood still leaked from it. "Doctore. I came on some sort of fight. I will wait on Batiatus before I ask questions. What I did see, was Segovax attempting to murder Crixus with a scraping tool."

He indicated the tool, which rested by the wall.

Batiatus entered the room, took one look around, and Harry could read him quite well at this point. He appeared about ready to just turn on heel and go back the way he came, not wanting to hear whatever disaster had beset them.

"What fucking disaster do I walk into this time?" he seethed.

"Attempted murder. I think, before any sort of punishment is meted out, we need to find out exactly what happened."

Harry looked at Spartacus, who had climbed to his knees in the middle of the bath. There were a pair of ugly welts around his neck.

"First off, are you okay?"

"I am well enough. Gratitude to both you and Crixus. Your intervention was timely."

"What happened?" Doctore asked, looking severe.

"Segovax. Assailed me from behind," Spartacus answered, indicating a pair of ropes on the ground nearby. "Crixus gave me aid, and suffered for it. Harry entered as they were fighting."

"Crixus. Is this what you found?" Doctore questioned.

"It is so."

"See him—" Batiatus began.

"Wait," said Harry, "There are three persons involved here, so three stories. Though, since Spartacus and Crixus seem to be the target of the assault, I would question Segovax differently."

He reached into his rucksack, and pulled out a vial containing a clear liquid. He then gestured with a hand, laying Segovax out flat.

"Someone help prop his head up."

Batiatus nodded to a guard, who did so, while Harry un-stoppered the vial, and pried the recruit's mouth open. It was full of blood, a few teeth missing. Crixus had nailed him good, and that could cause problems... but a gesture of the hand saw the teeth replaced and the blood vanished. Now, he allowed three drops of the potion to fall into the man's mouth, and forced it closed, then waited a few moments.

"Now, to get some answers. Rennervate."

The spell had immediate effect, as Segovax opened his eyes.

"Can you hear me?"

"Yes," came the whispered reply.

"Did you attack Spartacus a short time ago?"

"Yes."

"Why?" came Doctore's question.

"To kill him."

Both Spartacus and Crixus moved to mete out their own justice, but a gesture from Harry had them both deciding otherwise. At this point, it was Harry's show.

"Why did you wish to kill Spartacus?"

"I was ordered to."

"By who?"

"My Domina."

"Who is your Domina?"

"Ilithyia," Segovax answered.

Harry mentally added the blonde snake to the very exclusive list he kept in his head. He would one day deal out his own sort of justice on the bitch. And to think, the woman had her claws all over him not long ago. He mentally sighed.

"Anyone else have any further questions before I administer the antidote?"

"None," said Doctore.

"None," Batiatus agreed, looking furious.

Harry gave a grim nod, before producing and administering the antidote.

"Segovax. You betrayed every man in this household. You spit on the friendship Spartacus was offering you. You betrayed me, by attacking my friends and students. I can only hope that your next great adventure is better than the pitiful excuse of a life you have led. May the gods have mercy on you, because I strongly doubt your master will."

Harry turned to Batiatus. "Do as you will, I'm done here. Spartacus, you able to walk on your own?"

"Well enough."

"Let us get Crixus to the infirmary, my healing spells can't close a wound that serious, and I'm out of healing potions."

As the three of them left the room, Crixus being carried between Harry and Spartacus, those remaining could only shiver at the cold malice the young wizard was easily broadcasting. The rage that smouldered beneath the surface could set a city alight. Far worse, they knew should he decide to actually unleash such a fury on someone, it would be worse than the fate of someone falling over the cliff—at least in that instance, there would be remains to scrape up.

As they made for the infirmary, Harry tuned out the horrible cries coming from the baths. He knew that during the last minutes of Segovax' life, he would know pain and agony beyond anything previously experienced. Yet, he really didn't care. As much as he'd fought against it, Harry had formed a bond with Spartacus and a number of the men in the ludus. Just as he had formed a bond with Tommy nearly two years prior. Segovax had attacked a close friend, and that... he couldn't ever let that slide.

And yet, that wouldn't be the last he would hear of the blonde snake. As much as he loathed the woman, it seemed she was around more and more, giving further concern. Having Ilithyia in the same building as himself, let alone Spartacus, was inviting danger.

So it was, that one afternoon, there was a commotion of such epic proportions inside the villa, that Harry was forced to drop his afternoon studies, and venture inside to investigate.

"Lucretia?" Harry produced his wand, hearing the woman shrieking, the sound of pottery shattering against the walls. What in the gods...

He rushed into the bedchamber, to be greeted by a sight that stopped him in his tracks. Lucretia stood in the middle of the room, absent her wig, looking absolutely volcanic with rage, poised to throw an ornate vase. The marks on the wall were indicators of the source of the crashes. Vials and bottles containing various perfumes and oils had been smashed on the floor and walls, their smells combining to form a most putrid odour. He had to duck, as she flung the vase in his direction. It missed, to crash against the wall, though Harry had swiftly produced a strong ward, just in case.

"Lucretia?"

"GET OUT!"

Her rage was terrifying, and Harry turned to escape, only to run into Batiatus, who had entered.

"My ears suggest a tempest, but eyes reveal a wife gone fucking mad!"

"Look to that bitch Ilithyia as the cause," Lucretia seethed.

"Uh, I'll see my way out," said Harry, uncomfortably, "I, uh, was concerned."

"Gratitude. Strike it from further concern, I will see to my wife."

Harry was only too happy to retreat to the chest, his heart still pounding in his chest. Gods, that had been just a little frightening. She had nearly nailed him with a vase.

Then, as if that weren't enough, several evenings later, Harry found Spartacus being dragged through the corridors by a pair of guards, his skin covered in some sort of golden paint. A careful enquiry uncovered the reasoning: a certain blonde snake, yet again—was it really that much of a surprise at this point? She moved up yet another slot, now sitting above Miraak on the shit list. It was time to begin meting out punishment in his own way. But first, he would need to learn of where the bitch lived...

UP NEXT: Ilithyia's husband visits the villa rather unhappy about some unexpected visitors at his home; Spartacus has a strange dream which sends Harry on an expedition that has far-reaching consequences ... and Numerius celebrates his 15th birthday with a party at the villa, with unexpected outcomes.

CHAPTER NOTES: So, Harry might have gotten a little entangled, now, eh? However, we see what sort of schemes both Lucretia and Ilithyia can hatch, and it's an unfortunate side effect that Harry gets drawn into them. I need not say, there will be further consequences in Harry's present.