Standard Disclaimer: I own nothing in regards to Harry Potter or Spartacus Blood and Sand. All properties therein are those of their creators. I am only a writer working on my skills with worlds and characters that I love.

Further Disclaimer: No surprise to people that have seen the Spartacus show, but there will be a 'lot' of sex, violence, and blood. In regards to the sex… slavery is a big thing in this world so consent is going to be a bit dubious at times for some of these characters. Sorry, but I am writing for the world and shit happens.

-I will note that writing sex scenes is not my forte so I'm going to be using this as something of a platform to try and improve on that. Please be merciful with critiques in that regard as again, I am still learning and growing as a writer.

Note: This idea came to me on my latest rewatch of Spartacus Blood and Sand. As in all my favorite properties, I started to wonder what would happen if Harry Potter showed up there. I'm honestly surprised there aren't more of these stories posted yet as I've only found a few.

(Before you ask, this will be a straight pairing for Harry and it is likely to be multi-partner in nature. I only make that note because most of the crossover's I've seen for this show have gone the other way.)

Note: Gonna be a bit different from my normal style in that Harry isn't gonna be super powerful magically. It's a bit of a spoiler but he loses his wand early on and has to relearn certain things the hard way. Mwahahahahaha.

Note: This tale starts in the prequel season of the series, but it will lead into the main story eventually.

Note: I will try to keep what speech patterns from the show I can, but please understand that I am not the writer the men who wrote those scripts were. I merely have the skill that I teach myself.

Note: Yes I'm using the Department of Mysteries as my method of transport again. What can I say, it's the perfect universal mcguffin.

Chapter One - Welcome to the Roman World

'Well," Harry thought sarcastically as he heaved another boulder onto a cart, 'this is just a lovely turn of events isn't it?' All around him men toiled at their task, moving heavy objects, pulling carts already filled, all so the path to the other side of the shore was clear so the loading of ships at the dock could begin. All around him his fellow slaves kept their eyes down and went about their work as members of a fucking Roman legion stared down on them from on high to make sure no one caused trouble. They were newly captured after all and the empire wanted to make sure their financial investments stayed where they were.

'I'm pretty sure talking to myself like this isn't a sign of good mental health, but there isn't a hell of a lot of good conversational partners at present so I might as well keep at it.' he grumbled within his mind. 'If I had my wand I could get out of here in an instant, but 'no', Death wouldn't let me keep that.'

On that note, Harry found himself thinking back to the events that brought him to this hellhole. It had been the fight in the Department of Mysteries. He and his friends had gone out to rescue his godfather and surprise, surprise, it had all been a trap. The death eaters were waiting, the Order was unusually absent, (Either Dumbledore was idiotic enough to only have posted one guard that could easily be overpowered or he was up to something shady) and his fellow students were hopelessly outmatched. There had only been one choice, they ran. Through the halls they flew, dodging spellfire and falling debris, and all the while Harry watched his friends begin to fall to the destruction. Neville was knocked out by a falling orb. Ron ran into a door post and was summoned back screaming toward the following dark wizards, and Hermione…. She was hit with an Avada Kedavra right before his eyes. She was running ahead of him and to the right until the sickly green light struck her back, and when she fell only a blank glaze came from her eyes, leaving none of her beautiful intelligence behind.

There wasn't time to mourn however, nor was there any chance to make those fuckers pay for taking the girl he'd loved since he was twelve from him. All he could do was run and run until finally he reached a chamber with a large door and he slammed it closed with a latch snap. By then only Luna was still with him, and she was standing on a raised dais, examining an archway with a strange see-through curtain blowing in a non-existent breeze.

"Harry?" her head was twitching slightly, as if she were listening to something only she could hear."

"Yeah?" He huffed out as he made his way up to her, casting his wary gaze around the room and ceiling. Those death eater's could come from anywhere he knew.

"I think we were meant to die here. That prophecy, it said neither you nor Voldemort could live while the other survived."

"What are you saying Luna? The death eaters didn't know the prophecy."

"No, but Dumbledore did. The plaque said this prophecy was made for him."

Harry's heart grew cold at that piece of information, and with a groan of anguish he knew it to be true. So many things began to fall into place. How no help ever came for his life with the Dursleys, how no capable defense against the dark arts professor was ever really hired to teach at the school (Lupin was out for days at a time each month so he too sucked, fight me), how every time he went to a professor with a problem no aid was sent. It was a good thing he'd been working on his occlumency with the books Hermione had given him because otherwise his emotional dissonance from this revelation would have sent him staggering. "I think you might be right."

"I'm sorry, Harry."

"It's not your fault. You just figured it out first."

"Not about that. These people are here to kill you and there is no way out of this room. If Dumbledore really wants you dead then he won't come to help or send anyone to do so either. But I know that you need to survive, and not because a prophecy says so, but because you're my friend, and you deserve a life that is your own. This portal seems to know it too. Staying here means your death for sure but if you leave there is a chance…."

"Luna?" He turned to look at the girl only to suddenly feel a full body shove sending him stumbling backward over the threshold of the foreboding arch. The last thing he experienced of his own time was the snap of sudden apparition followed by Luna's face bathed in a sickly green light. As the world faded from view he knew he'd just seen his friend's last moment.

Harry wasn't sure how long he fell in that endless abyss. It could have been days, it could have been weeks, hell it could have been years. Funny how things as abysmal as time seemed to slip your mind in a void. But eventually his momentum halted and he found himself suspended in the air. The young man still could not see anything, but there was a distinct 'feeling' of something 'else' all around him.

"You are not dead." Its voice was a scraping hiss in the night.

Swallowing his fear and delving into his gryffindor courage, Harry answered, "No, I am not."

"Why are you here?"

"I was given no other choice."

Silence reigned for a moment before that horrible voice came back, this time tinged with something that sounded more than a bit like curiosity. "Strange… you are telling the truth. I've not had one such as you enter my realm in eons."

"Well if you let me, I'd happily walk on out of here too."

"In time, Child of Change. There is something I desire from you first."

The next thing Harry knew was agony as he felt his famous scar ripped open on his scalp, followed by the scraping of bony fingers searing across his skull while reaching in and pulling something out. The wizard was not ashamed to admit he screamed at that moment. Who wouldn't? But as soon as it had started, the agony ended, and the unknown entity cooed delightedly off in the darkness.

"Ah, yes. This little soul has eluded me for quite some time now, and with luck it will lead me to its friends."

"H-H-Happy to be so helpful." Harry wheezed, not sure what exactly had happened but more than willing to say what was necessary to get out of this.

"Indeed, you were invaluable, which leaves me at a loss. Ancient laws written in stone at the dawn of time must be observed, and one good turn deserves another. I cannot return you to your time, nor do I have control of where you will end up, but I will bestow upon you three gifts for what you have provided me."

Harry's body suddenly locked in place and he felt those same bone-like fingers pressing into his forehead, but mercifully this time they did not rip and tear. "First, you shall have the gift of tongues. Not a language has existed or will that you will be unable to speak and understand. Second, legilimency. I cannot make you a master, but I can grant you the natural skill to eventually become so. It is up to you to learn how to wield it. Third, this world is a dangerous place in all of its ages. I grant you the gift of advanced recovery. Understand that this will not make you immortal by any means, but wounds that would take months to heal will be seen to fade within days. Now go, our time is done and you've already tarried here too long."

There were so many questions Harry wanted to ask about that, but the next thing he knew he was plummeting down once more before suddenly landing with a crunch on solid green earth. Groaning softly, and literally feeling the musculature in his left leg shift back into place, he looked around and noticed several things that were strange. First, he was sitting alone amidst a pile of bodies. Second, a nearby town was on fire. Third…. A group of men dressed, weirdly enough, like Roman cosplayers were making their way right to him.

So it was that Harry had found himself captured and eventually enslaved by the Roman empire. It turned out that the village had been an outlier in Gaul that had refused to pay Rome's taxes and had been made an example of. There were some questions Harry heard about why a Briton was in Gaul to begin with, but no one had pressed him directly about it. The former wizard was just one of hundreds that had been chained in that mess, and without his wand at the moment he really was a 'former' wizard. Harry knew wandless magic was possible, and of course there was his supposed gift of legilimency, but he had a strange feeling that both would prove very time concerning to learn.

Thus it was a strangely fortuitous thing as a slave that all he really had was time to devote his mental faculties to that task. He worked all day doing meaningless tasks that left his mental state wide open to magical training. (infinitely more so considering time in his mind palace seemed to move at a fraction of the real world's pace). But the path they were working on mending was steadily getting cleared and soon enough the army would march again, loading all of their new slaves up on the freed sea crafts to be shipped off to who knew where.

As he continued his toil, Harry was suddenly broken from his internal musings on his abilities by an outbreak of noise, shouts, and grunts of pain. He turned to the source and beheld a man, perhaps five or six years his senior, on the ground and being kicked by four others; a fifth was off to the side eating a bowl of gruel that had no doubt been the first man's meal.

He should let it go, Harry knew that. Years of experience with the Dursleys had taught him that sticking your neck out for others rarely ended well. But that damned gryffindor instinct took off and he started running before he could stop himself. The first man didn't even see him before his knee was buried in his kidney, dropping him to the ground. The second got a punch to the throat that knocked him down, the third a kick to the groin, and the fourth… the fourth actually managed to get a few shots off, each of which Harry ducked or dodged, before the wizard stepped into his guard and nailed the man in the chin with an uppercut that sent him sprawling.

All in all, taking these four down hadn't even taken thirty seconds, and the last man with the bowl was practically shaking in his boots. Typical bully, he had no idea how to handle any situation in which he didn't have the numerical advantage. Harry reached out a hand slowly, his message clear, and the stranger quickly passed over the bowl before scampering off. A quick look around revealed that this disturbance had not brought the guards down on him. Sure, a few were looking his way, but they made no move to interfere. Of course to them this probably just seemed like a light scuffle between slaves, but the work was still getting done, and no one was dead, so why waste the energy of moving in themselves to actually do anything?

With the realization that he was in the clear, Harry sat down beside the downed man, who was slowly getting to his knees, and passed back the bowl. "Here. If we're going to survive all of this we'll need all the food and sustenance we can get. You can't afford to keep letting others take it from you."

"Much thanks." The man took the bowl and began shoveling the gruel into his mouth with his fingers. Clearly his own exertions had left him starved, and though he was roughly of a height with Harry, he was also full of heavy muscle. When he was finally finished he asked, "Why do this thing for me? Risk angering these men and the guards? You are not kin, not clan, nor do you even know me."

The wizard ran a slow hand through his hair before answering. "I honestly don't know. I guess… I've been the downed man before, and it always bugged me that no one stepped in. I could help you, so I did. Simple as that. Plus, if guys like that get to do what they want people like us always end up suffering later."

"Hm. Again, much thanks. What is your name?"

"Harry."

"I am called, Crixus."

Harry smiled at the introduction and clasped forearms with the man. "It's nice to meet you, Crixus."

"And I am pleased to have met you, even if you speak funny. I swear to repay what you have done for me this day."

"There is really no need."

"We shall see. For now, move feet back to your rocks and my own shall follow. I will aid in your task as mine is finished."

"I'd appreciate it."

It took the rest of the day to finish moving enough rock for the carts to make it to the ships cargo holds, and just as Crixus had predicted, he was able to repay Harry's kindness. The next day in fact. At breakfast that same man that had stolen the Gaul's gruel arrived with six men at his back. He spoke some drivel about showing everyone who was really the most dangerous man in the camp (guy seemed to have some weird idea that being top slave was important) but neither Harry nor Crixus felt like letting him prattle on. Before he'd even finished his monologue the two were lunging for the group.

Harry took the leader in the solar plexus with a right cross and Crixus tackled one man to the ground with enough force to send a second with him with his momentum. At the same time Harry was doing great damage with his close work. He kept his fists high, ducking in, weaving between blows, and punishing two others with body shots that left them gasping for air. The last man tried to get around behind him, but the Briton saw him out of the corner of his eye and stepped to the side just in time to dodge his grab and push his body into another man, sending them both to the ground where Crixus was waiting, having already dispatched his own opponents to the land of blissful unconsciousness. It seemed he was quite the wrestler.

The final man saw this and with a roar he charged the lone Briton, weathered his blows, and latched onto his middle, driving him to the ground. He tried to grapple and wind an arm up to Harry's neck, but the wizard had experienced such things before and was in no hurry to do so again. Instead, he latched onto that arm, spun his body to leverage his whole weight against it and jerked in place. The other man screamed bloody murder as his shoulder popped from the socket, and eventually fell into a pain filled stupor as his body went into shock.

The makeshift cafeteria fell silent as all present laid witness to the two gasping men rising to their feet over the fallen forms of six others. Then the whistles started and they all fell to the ground to avoid attracting attention from the twenty soldiers that came rushing in. As he was pushed to his knees, chained, and carried away, Harry should have figured something like this would happen. The other day he'd been relatively isolated, and no one else was really affected by the fight, so no one had cared when a few slaves got into a scuffle. Now though, breakfast had been disturbed, six men were down, and it was a mess for everyone.

Some time later as the ship began to get under way, Harry and Crixus found themselves chained back-to-back in the ship's hold. The guards had apparently decided that a little isolation would do them well. As with all instances of sheer boredom, conversation followed.

"Thanks for having my back, Crixus. You were a big help."

"I promised that I would. Of course I was helpful, a Gaul is a good thing to have in a fight. We learn from our fathers. One wonders where you learned to fight like that? Rarely have I seen one man best that many at once; and twice at that."

Harry didn't answer for a time, merely feeling the creak and rock of the hull beneath him. Finally he said, "I have not always been a slave, but for a time I was probably the next best thing. I was raised by my aunt and uncle, and their son was a terror to behold. One day, when I was eight, he and a friend of his decided they wanted to beat me up. They'd done it before of course but this time it was looking like it would be really bad. I honestly thought they were going to kill me, so for the first time ever I fought back… and I won. I put my cousin and his friend on the ground."

"When we got back to the house I thought my uncle would be angry about what happened, he always looked for reasons to punish me after all. I should have known something was wrong when all he did at the news of my outburst was smile."

Behind his back, Harry's fingers tightened into fists, an action that Crixus felt through their bound limbs. "There were places in Britain. Places where certain types of men liked to watch and bet on kids beating the shit out of each other. My uncle threw me into that mess, probably hoping that I'd make him a bit of money and then just die. That year, the two after, and every summer following those he threw me into the ring again, and again, and again; but instead of dying I learned something very important in that hellhole."

"Give voice to your thoughts and tell me." Crixus spoke.

"I learned that I'm good with my fists. I survived those fights, more than that, I dominated them. I broke more jaws than anyone else there and rightfully earned my reputation. Even still, I always wanted to get away from there. Now I have…. It's almost funny how cruel fate is sometimes."

"This is something my people understand well." Crixus agreed, before voicing something that he sounded like he'd been thinking on for a while. "We fight well together. Perhaps, wherever we end up, we keep each other alive?"

In spite of his current circumstances, Harry smiled. "It's always good to have a friend when the shit hits the fan."

"What does that mean?"

"An expression from my homeland. It means I'd be glad to fight beside you again, friend."

A clearly pleased Crixus answered, "Agreed… friend."

Four Years Later - Capua

Quintus Batiatus groaned as he left the current games grounds with his closest friend in tow. "Damn it, Selonius, my men are done in the rankings and it's not even noon! Between the two of us we've the best gladiators in Capua but we are denied the best matches in the afternoons!"

"Give it time," Selonius, his older and more wizened friend noted, "the new stadium is being built right now, and with a bigger audience more reward and chance to display our wares will present itself."

"It would present itself in the grand ceremony or the primus if we could but gain a patron's eye." Batiatus noted. "We must force an advantage before opportunity slips from our grasp entirely."

Selonius shook his head at that, his eyes locked on the slowly forming frame of the stadium ahead. "No, we must be patient. An act your father would counsel as well. He would venture slowly with respect and caution. We could write to him in Sicilia and ask his advice?"

"No, it is good he is not present as I can already divine the contents of his reply. He would deny any act above a 'simple lanista.' It is why he never rose above his humble station, and why I will. Fuck patience!"

"You have thought to put to this measure?"

"Yes, Tullius. He is but a merchant, but his purse is grand as is his reach. Even to the magistrate does his counsel and will extend."

"A high goal to be sure, my friend."

"Indeed, and why not? Tullius only now knows the subpar gladiatorial wares of that smug little piss Vettius. If he were to see the masterpieces we can offer such as Gannicus, Acadeus, Barca, he would remove patronage from that smug shite and grant it to we more worthy beneficiaries."

All further conversation was halted then as the sound of a scuffle came from the stoneyard ahead. A place owned by Tullius himself and known to be supplying the building materials for the new stadium. A muscular man of medium height, clearly a Gaul, was deep in a brawl with a bigger stone carver.

"Perhaps, good Tullius should not have traveled so far in acquiring his slaves. That Gaul is certainly troublesome."

"No," Batiatus noted, "The overseer is simply an idiot. What fool puts a Gaul and a Thracian in the same work detail?" Sensing opportunity at this outburst, the lanista was about to intercede when something miraculous happened. A third man flew into the fight from the side of the yard like a bird of prey, throwing his body into the bigger man enough to push him out of his grapple before coming back to the Gaul's side. Together they faced off against the taller foe as fists and legs began to fly, and oh did they fly.

Years of training to spot talent flew through Batiatus's eyes as he beheld the two men and at once that inkling of opportunity became certainty. As the big man fell to the ground from a kick to the knee via one man, and a punch to the jaw by the other, he ran forward as the overseer cracked down with his guards, ordering the two to be put in chains.

"Halt!" Batiatus ran forward, catching the overseer's attention. "Are these two of good Tullius's slaves?"

"They are."

"I would make purchase."

"Purchase?" Selonius demanded. "What are you doing?"

"Trust me, brother." Looking back to the overseer he asked, "How much is their combined worth?"

"They are labor, not for sale."

"Fifty denari." The lanista offered, easily worth three times the duo's market value.

Everyone present stared stupidly at that offer, including the slaves. "The Briton is perhaps worth twenty, but the shit Gaul? He's barely worth ten denari. Why pay so much for so little reward?"

"Little?" Batiatus scoffed. "Do you not see the promise in his eyes, the spark smoldering in his chest? This man is a champion waiting to be unleashed." Turning his gaze to the slimmer man he noted something else as well. "And this man here… there is a beast inside him as clear as day if you know what to look for. I would give Capua the gift of these men in the arena."

The overseer thought it over for a moment but could see no fault in this deal. He could give Tullius the market price for these slaves plus ten denari more to earn good favor while pocketing the rest himself. "Done, fifty denari and they are yours."

"Excellent." Quintus looked to his friend, "Selonius, lend me twenty."

As he reached into his purse to pull out the requested coins, the older man noted, "You pay too much for shit men."

"The men are nothing, my friend, this is to endear me to good Tullius. I take two troublesome slaves off his hands, give him a profit, and my name becomes known to him." Quickly marching back to the overseer once more he handed over the money.

"You are a fool to buy these piss stains."

Batiatus smiled good-naturedly at the man and stated, "Piss stains now, sure, but given the right training and incentive any man can rise above his station to become a god of the arena. Just wait and see."