Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Tempus Fugit Praeterhăc	By : Lucie Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 11505 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
A/N:*waves sheepishly and comes bearing fic*. This story was meant to be a twenty-thousand word one shot, but in the end I wasn't so much attacked by a plot bunny, as stomped to death by rampant killer rabbits from hell! It was written for Faynia's prompt, at Slashfest on Live Jounal she wanted to see Harry and Snape in Ancient Rome. There is mention of rape of a minor character, mention of underage sex.

So this is where I have been for the past three and a half months, writing and researching this story. It is 78,000 words long and it is complete. I'll be posting a chapter a day for the next eight days. I am now back working on my two WIPs Second Chance at Life and Concubine. New chapters should be up within the next week or so.

Thanks to the wonderful Cyndie, my darling Claudia and the amazing Emz, for all the betaing, hand holding and much needed support. Huge thanks also to the wonderful maculategiraffe, again on LJ who helped me with the Latin translations and gave me much needed advice on Roman history and customs. For anyone who likes reading slavefic. Mac has written an absolutely phenomenal, original series called The Slave Breakers, which I highly recommend and which can be found here. http://maculategiraffe.livejournal.com/10338.html (you'll need to paste and copy this link into your browser)

All mistakes and errors are my own.

Latin speech is in italics

Chapter One

The boy seemed to be hot and irritated. If it had been anyone other than Potter so obviously suffering in the unexpected heat then Severus might well have had some sympathy. Severus suspected that he probably didn’t like Rome very much either, judging from the sour look on his face. Potter had appeared far more content when he and Granger were traipsing all over Britain and living in that awful, battered tent than he was here, surrounded by the glory that was Rome. After all, it wasn’t as if the idiotic child could understand the culture or the history. The Granger girl probably appreciated it more, but she was stuck with the biggest pair of idiots that Severus had ever had the misfortune of having to follow for several precious days of his life. It seemed Granger had finally managed to track down Rowena Ravenclaw’s Diadem, which was not at Hogwarts as everyone had suspected, but here in Italy, of all places. They were currently en-route to retrieving it.

“Where are we going again, Hermione?” Potter whined. He was such a selfish, spoiled brat, Severus thought smugly.

“Are we there yet?” Weasley’s voice was even whinier than Potter’s. With his red hair and pale skin, Weasley didn’t seem to be coping with the heat at all; although he didn’t look very pale at the moment – instead, he looked like he’d been boiled. Weasley sounded pathetic, childish and petulant, just like Potter. All at once Severus almost felt a pang of sympathy for Granger; this strange expedition wasn’t her fault, after all. Severus knew that the girl must have worked hard to locate the Diadem and it certainly wasn’t her fault that the Dark Lord had a thing about dead Roman emperors.

Severus hadn’t realised that Rome could be so hot in March. He had been told that it was indeed several degrees warmer than was usual for this time of year. Not that anyone else seemed to think it was that hot. There were people strolling past them, for example, wearing jackets and cardigans; but compared to the damp rainy days they had experienced recently in Britain, Italy was practically tropical. The sweaty and bedraggled Gryffindor trio stood out plainly against the Italians that surrounded them, it being too early in the year for the city to be swamped with tourists.

“Oh, do stop it, the pair of you!” Granger snapped huffily, effectively ending Severus’ feelings of sympathy towards her. The girl was far too bossy. She didn’t look much more comfortable than the boys did, her hair had become even frizzier in the heat.

Severus still found it hard to believe that they had actually managed to track down the last Horcrux - apart from Nagini that was – not just to Rome, but to a particular statue; in fact, a statue of Julius Caesar. Apparently Caesar had been an ancestor of Rowena Ravenclaw’s. Potter and Weasley were obviously hazy on exactly why this statue was the only one that would do for the Dark Lord. Severus wasn’t completely sure either but, even if he didn’t like admitting it to himself, he trusted the girl; she wasn’t often wrong.

Granger had stopped at last. She was peering up at a sculpture of, in Weasley’s inelegant words, “yet another dead bloke.”

Granger looked at Weasley with impatience, perhaps finally realising what an idiot the boy was.

“He isn’t just some ‘dead bloke’, Ron,” she said, disdainfully. “This is Julius Caesar. Even you must have heard of him!”

“Erm…” Weasley mumbled, merely underlining his total imbecility, as far as Severus could see.

“Of course we have,” Potter interjected, ignoring Weasley’s blank look.

“Well, this is where Aberforth told me that You-Know-Who buried Rowena’s Diadem,” Granger said, whirling around on them triumphantly.

“But he can’t have done, Hermione.” Weasley was prodding the base as he spoke. “This is solid marble, or granite or something. You couldn’t bury anything here.”

Granger rolled her eyes, the very picture of irritation. Severus was actually quite impressed with her restraint, did Weasley have to continually demonstrate that he had less intelligence than a flobberworm?

“Well, he probably didn’t bury it! But I bet it is encased in here somehow! And if we want to destroy it, we’ll have to get it out.”

“But why would he want to put the Diadem here?” The odious Weasley boy was pouting now.

“I think that he identifies with Caesar,” Granger said seriously. “He sees himself as a great ruler.”

“Great prick, more like!” Weasley muttered, poking at the base with one sandaled foot. “Could he be more of a dickhead?”

Severus had to admit, for once in his life, that the boy might just have a point. He would not have used those words perhaps, but he supported the sentiment completely.

“How do you think we get at it?” Potter asked.

“Try Alohamora,” Weasley suggested.

“It won’t be as simple as that,” Granger scoffed.

It wasn’t.

They tried poking at the base, pushing it gently and whispering a series of spells. Nothing seemed to work. Severus longed to go over and shove the children out of the way as he was sure that he would have more success. They were totally inept as far as Severus was concerned.

Luckily the sculpture was in one of the less populous parts of Rome, because Potter got down on his hands and knees and started feeling along the base of the statue. He was muttering to himself under his breath about the heat, and Rome and the fact that the pavement was hot on his bare skin.

“Harry,” Granger hissed, “people are looking at us. We’ll have to come back later.”

Potter glared at her, seemingly in irritation; he was still running his fingers along a rope-like carving at the top of the plinth on which the statue stood. As those nimble fingers continued their questing the boy began to speak.

But the words that he spoke were not comprehensible to any of them.

“Harry, you’re hissing! You’re speaking Parseltongue,” Granger exclaimed.

Nothing like stating the obvious, Severus thought with a sneer.

A small doorway in the plinth slid aside.

For a moment Severus hated Potter even more than he usually did. How could the archetypal Gryffindor have such a wonderfully Slytherin talent? It didn’t seem fair to Severus, especially as the boy didn’t even seem to know that he was speaking it.

But a large, goofy grin split Potter’s face and he reached in to grab the Diadem.

“NO!” The word seemed to be torn from Severus, without him even being conscious of it.

Potter turned from his self appointed task to see who had shouted, a look of total astonishment on his face. Then Severus was running towards him across the piazza, faster than he had ever run before. But he was too late. Potter’s fingers wrapped around the object that his fingers sought. Severus heard a roaring sound in his ears as he reached the boy and grabbed hold of him, then he was blinded by a flash of white light and everything went black.
****************

The two of them landed with a crash, in a tangle of limbs. Severus was on top of Potter, who lay sprawled beneath him, not moving.

“Oh, fuck!” Severus said, under his breath. He placed two fingers at Potter’s pulse point, and was relieved to find that there was a pulse, even though it was very weak. He had to get the boy to a hospital; he refused to let all his hard work be for nothing. He had been following the three teenagers for a while, whenever he could get away from Hogwarts and his duties as Headmaster. He had managed to remain unseen by the trio for almost a year, helping them when necessary, but not letting them know who had helped him. He had been astounded when he had seen the boy reach in to retrieve Rowena’s Diadem from the base of the statue. Had the boy learned nothing from what had happened to Dumbledore?

He’d grabbed the boy out of harm’s way scant seconds before the magical explosion that had sent them flying into a crumpled heap. Now the boy was injured. Severus had no idea where to take Potter. He didn’t know whether there was a magical hospital in Rome, or even where a Muggle facility might be, but he had to find out quickly.

If only the boy had not been so impulsive, so idiotic as to try and touch the Horcrux without any preparation, without erecting any magical barriers. Severus looked around for the boy’s foolish friends; he could send one of them for help, but there was no sign of them. More worrying still was the fact that there were no signs of modern Rome either. There were no cafés, no cars, no street lights. Just a very narrow alley and hard baked earth instead of concrete. Severus sighed and wondered where exactly they might have been transported, a remote part of Africa, perhaps? Or South America?

Two children, a boy and girl, were standing nearby, watching them with close attention. They were wearing simple tunics in a plain buff colour, their feet bare.

The girl moved towards them, an expression of concern in her brown eyes, “Domine? Quid est?”

Domine? Master? Quid est? Something, wrong? Latin, they were speaking Latin?

Severus looked up at the sky. The sun was in the same place as it had been only moments before. But that and the heat were the only things that hadn’t changed.

Now that he had taken notice, he realised that everything else was different. The scents were pungent, almost overpowering, the noises were different, the buildings were much closer together and everywhere he looked there were Latin inscriptions and graffiti. Awnings overhung the alley in which they were situated, barrels were piled up against the wall and near where Potter lay there were piles of sacks, which were full of grains and fruit. There was a stall nearby that was surrounded by amphora which, going by the carvings on the outside, presumably contained wine. Bowls filled with grapes sat on a wooden table, helping to confirm Severus’ impression of a wine shop, and near the table a small dog was curled in the sunshine snoring gently. Apart from the dog and the children, the alleyway was deserted.

For a moment Severus was tempted to cling to his initial thought, that they had somehow ended up in Africa or South America. After all, everything seemed so dusty, so touched with poverty. But the use of Latin, both spoken and written, was too frequent to be a coincidence; they hadn’t left Rome at all, Severus realised, they were still in the same place to which he had followed the trio. He now had the dreadful feeling they were in a different time. It wasn’t the late 1990s anymore, but it was definitely still Rome.

Ancient Rome!

“Oh, fuck,” Severus said again, quietly. He took a deep breath and turned to the children, “Subvenite nos?” he asked. “Subveniatis?”

The girl gave him a small smile, “Estne servus vulneratus?”

Severus nodded. He thought the girl had asked whether Potter was hurt. “Subveniatis?” he repeated the plea for help.

“Certe,” the girl replied, she turned and headed towards the shop with the amphora outside. “Sequamini?”

Severus carefully picked the boy up. He was as floppy as a child’s rag doll and surprisingly insubstantial, much more fragile than Severus would have supposed. Potter’s head lolled so that it rested on Severus’ shoulder and, holding him carefully, he followed the children into the shop that sold wine.

***********

The boy was breathing easier at last and Severus didn’t think he was going to get any worse. They were in a small back room behind the shop that had become their refuge. The girl had been in and out, tending to them, watching them solemnly with those large, brown eyes of hers. Severus wanted to ask her so much, but his Latin was very shaky. It was one thing to have studied it and learned its rules, another to speak it in the real world.

The girl, her companion, a tall, pale boy with rust-red hair, and the woman that seemed to own the shop, all seemed to be treating him with respect, awe even. They had watched as he had stripped Potter down and applied salve to his wounds, of which there were many. The boy was covered in deep cuts and dark bruises. Thanks to the potions these had faded a bit, but not nearly enough in Severus’ opinion. Potter’s injuries had been pretty severe, though thankfully not life threatening. He also realized that the small stock of potions he always carried with him was almost exhausted and there was no way to replenish them any time soon.

He removed Potter’s overlarge t-shirt and the baggy khaki shorts he had been wearing, trying not to notice the lithe, young form that was beneath the bruises. Gods, the boy was beautiful!

He was also very pale, his right ankle was swollen, it looked like a severe twist to Severus, and he also suspected that Potter might have internal injuries. He had forced a Blood Replenishing Potion, a Bruise Potion and a potion to mend bone fractures down the boy’s throat, as he thought Potter’s ribs were most likely cracked.

He also suspected that it was the way that they were dressed that had given their rescuers a somewhat helpful impression of who they might be. Severus’ dark, heavy robes indicated that he was a man of some importance, whereas Potter’s scruffy garments suggested his status, too. They had watched Severus tend the boy and gasped as he had applied the salves. Finally they had screwed up the courage to ask him if he were a veneficus. Severus thought that the word meant many things: poisonous, magical, wizard.

But the little family who had helped him did not seem too upset at the thought that he might be a wizard; in fact, they could not have been more helpful. But that was not altogether surprising. If this was Ancient Rome, and Severus had no reason to think that it was not, then medical help was hard to come by, for the ordinary citizen at least, and the magic that he was using, even if he was being very careful and only demonstrating a very small part of what he was capable of, seemed to delight his new friends, not scare them.

Severus supposed it was not all that surprising as magic had been accepted in this time. It was only later, many hundreds of years into the future, that magic became a bad thing and wizards had to retreat ‘sub rosa’ to keep their lives and their secrets. As far as this family could see, Severus was obviously helping Potter, so he could probably be of help to them and it certainly would not hurt to have a wizard in your debt.

He told them that he was indeed a wizard and that he came from Hispania. He knew quite a lot of Spanish, and mixed with his adequate Latin, that would probably be enough to get them by. He doubted that he could have fooled a Roman soldier or a senator, but none of the people that he had met so far were likely to have ever travelled to such a distant province and, from his hazy recollections of Roman history, Spain had been conquered very early in the Empirical rule.

His pretended Hispanic influence also helped to explain his shaky Latin. He told his rescuers, haltingly, that he and his boy had been travelling to Rome, that they were here to open a shop. It was not until he searched his memory and finally remembered that the Latin for boy was puer, that Severus realised that these people did not think that Potter was his apprentice or his servant; they thought that Potter was a servus a slave.

Severus was coldly amused at the thought of how the spoiled, arrogant hero of the wizarding world would react when he awoke to find that he had been enslaved by default. But then, in some ways, it did make sense to play along with their assumption. Potter’s Latin was atrocious! Severus should know, he had marked enough of his pitiful essays. Ironically, as a slave Potter would belong to Severus as his property and be better protected than if he were merely a servant in Severus’ employ. Severus knew that he could easily pass for a citizen of Rome, he had been very careful when the family had been questioning him about his origins to be vague on specifics but clear as to his rank and status. He wasn’t sure exactly when they were, but he had found out that Augustus was Emperor, so luckily for them they had arrived in Rome during a relatively peaceful period in its history.

Under Augustus’ strict laws, he was a protected Roman citizen, even if he was from another province. No one would try to take a man’s property and Severus knew that Potter was a tasty plum indeed, who would fetch a tidy sum on the auction block if anyone suspected that he might not be a citizen. No, Severus told himself, Potter was definitely better off masquerading as a slave who already belonged to a good citizen, rather than risking trying to persuade the territorial, all conquering Romans that he was a free man from another country who had no Latin whatsoever. Everyone spoke Latin, it was the thread that held the Empire together and without it Potter was vulnerable.

“Vos facio medicina, Domine?” the woman, whom Severus assumed was the owner of the shop, asked quietly, breaking into his thoughts. She had watched him heal Potter, he could not hide the efficacy of his potions, and was perhaps wondering if this was how she could claim repayment in return for her kindness.

“Certe,” Severus replied, confirming that yes, he did make medicines. Though it would take him some time to find the ingredients that he would need. But then they might be here awhile anyway. Severus had no idea how they had managed to travel over two thousand years in time, which meant that he also had no idea how the fuck he was going to get them home again.

His affirmative reply had been enough for the woman who had taken them in. She immediately fired off a string of rapid Latin at the girl beside her. The girl scurried away, as directed, only to return moments later with a plate of bread and olives and a goblet of wine. Severus accepted the repast and tried hard to follow the woman’s speech. She apparently regaled him with an endless stream of ailing relatives who all seemed to need treatment of one sort or another and, with a mixture of simple Latin and hand signals, told him that her family would help Severus and Potter, if he brewed them potions for their various ailments in return.

********

The Potter boy did not awake that day or the next. He murmured in his sleep, begging softly for help from goodness knew who, but Severus tuned out Potter’s ramblings and opted instead to search his things. Finally, the family had left him alone. Communal living was the norm in Rome, it seemed, and modern ideas of privacy had no place here. Consequently, this was the first time since they had arrived that Severus had time to investigate the boy’s belongings without prying eyes watching his every move.

He wasted precious moments checking that the boy’s wounds were indeed healing well, casting several, surreptitious charms to ensure that there were no hidden, serious injuries and that the boy was indeed healing as he should be.

Potter had been wearing an overlarge t-shirt and a pair of baggy shorts until Severus had removed them to tend to his wounds. He had also had a small backpack with him. Now that Severus was on his own for a little while, he thought it would be a good chance to see what the boy had been carrying about. The backpack was strange, it looked like an ordinary Muggle bag, one of those mass produced, cheaply made things. The zip was as nasty as the rest of it, Severus thought, but it opened easily enough. There were far more things inside than the bag should have been able to hold. Some Muggle money was in a wallet at the top of the bag and he quickly discarded that, it was of no use to them in Ancient Rome. There were also changes of clothes, again useless for their current situation. More useful were the two wands inside the bag, one of which tingled under Severus’ fingers. Draco’s wand. What the hell was Potter doing with it?

He quickly and surreptitiously cast Tempus, the wand worked well for him. He was surprised when the glowing figures in the air read 7th hour. How strange! He smiled to himself. They were in Rome and the wand was showing the correct local time. In Roman time-telling, the day was divided into twelve equal segments, as was the night. The innate magic of the spell had reacted to the Ancient Roman method of telling the time.

Severus determined to put such thoughts aside for now, and instead continued his search.

Other things held promise for them, too. Potter’s Invisibility Cloak had been rolled up and tucked inside the bag. Severus smiled smugly to himself when he spotted that. There was also a strange leather covered book that Severus set aside to look at later that day. Last, but not least, a large bag that appeared to have a charm on it similar to the one on the rucksack, one that seemed to hold three times its size in Sickles, Knuts and Galleons.

Severus was surprised at how relieved he felt. They could survive. They would be all right. They could live here comfortably until they sorted something out, until they discovered how to get back. Severus bundled together everything that would be of use and hid it under the Invisibility Cloak. He did not want the family to find it, or Potter either, for that matter. The boy would be sure to do something foolish and end up putting them in danger.

Severus had always thought that Albus overindulged the boy, no doubt out of misplaced guilt for the way he had used him, but such treatment had done nothing whatsoever to curb his ridiculous Gryffindor tendencies. The more Severus thought about it, the more the slave idea seemed like a good one. No one here would stop him giving the boy a good thrashing if he tried to resist Severus’ instructions.

Severus didn’t even try to squash the thrill of sheer delight that ran through him at the idea of Potter resisting Severus’ tentative plans but he almost jumped out of his skin when a raspy voice interrupted his thoughts, calling him by name.

“Professor Snape?”

Severus whirled around.

A pair of green eyes were watching him. Severus fleetingly wondered if Potter had seen him hide the backpack, but after consideration he realised that he could not have done, Severus had obscured his actions well.

“Where am I?” Potter asked.

Severus felt his lip curl. “Are you not going to berate me, Potter? Last time you saw me, you were threatening to kill me!”

Potter sighed, “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I was much more naďve then.” He leaned back against the rough Hessian pillow on which he was lying and closed his eyes; somehow the room seemed darker without their viridian luminescence.

“Aren’t you worried that I’ll take you to the Dark Lord?” Severus spat. He felt unsettled by Potter’s comments. Why wasn’t the boy being rude? Potter was always rude. Severus ruthlessly squashed the thought, that rose unbidden and unwanted, and which suggested that Potter was rude to him because of the way he had always treated Potter.

“Why would you take me to the Dark Lord, from whom you have been trying to protect me for so long? Besides I can’t feel Him, so we must be a very long way away from where we were.”

Severus felt his jaw drop and closed his mouth with an audible clack.

“What are you blathering about?” he snarled.

The boy tried to lift his head to look at Severus again, but gave up very quickly with a small groan. Severus wasn’t surprised. Potter had landed quite heavily and had given his head a nasty bump.

“I feel him all the time,” the boy said. “Voldemort, I mean. He’s always in my head, an ache in my scar. I’ve felt him constantly ever since he possessed me in the Ministry of Magic, every minute, every hour. But I don’t feel him now, so we can’t be in Rome anymore; we must be somewhere much further away.”

Severus shivered, he couldn’t help himself. The thought of feeling Voldemort as a constant presence made him want to be sick. The connection with the Dark Lord that Severus shared was more than enough for him; he felt twinges in it occasionally, sharp pain when he was summoned, but to feel him all the time?

Potter, however, had given him a perfect opening, so Severus used it. “It is not so much a matter of where, Potter, as when. Thanks to your foolish behaviour we seem to have triggered a spell which has thrown us back in time. We are still in Rome, but we are in the Rome of Augustus, probably about twenty years before Christ.”

“Riiight!” Potter said.

“You don’t think that I am telling you the truth?”

“No, Professor, that is the problem, I do believe you.” Severus had been ready to tear Potter to shreds, rant about his arrogance and stupidity. He was used to the boy’s aggression; he didn’t know how to deal with a Potter who was listening to him, not arguing at all.

He wondered if the boy was in a lot of pain. The potion he had given Potter would have taken the edge off whatever he was feeling, but Severus could do no more than that; he simply didn’t have any potions left and was not about to risk using any of the wands to heal the boy. He did not want to risk being caught using a wand around Muggles nor was he sure quite how his magic would work here. Severus thought with relish that Potter would have to heal naturally.

“Are you hurting a lot?” he found himself asking.

Potter shrugged and then winced.

”I’ve had worse,” he said. “Erm… was it you who took my clothes off?” He still didn’t look at his ex-Professor. Severus thought that he probably couldn’t lift his head.

“I had to treat your injuries,” Severus answered shortly.

“Oh. Well, thanks. Er,…Sir, did I,…um, was there a backpack with me? When we arrived here? I was wearing it when I got blown up.”

“A backpack? What is that?”

“Er, it’s a bag that has two shoulder straps. Ron and I had one each. Hermione found a spell that made them larger inside; I had everything in it, all my special stuff.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Potter,” Severus sneered.

The boy paled even further. For a brief second a look of total devastation crossed his features.

“Oh,” he said in a tiny voice.

Severus felt a pang of guilt. What had made the boy look like that? The supposed loss of his wand? Or perhaps it was the Invisibility Cloak? Maybe Potter thought he would be able to sneak around here as easily as he did at Hogwarts? It would be a long time before he saw any of his possessions if Severus had anything to do with it.

The girl entered. She was carrying a goblet and a plate of what looked like cheese and olives.

”Hello, Sir,” she said in Latin her tone quiet and respectful.“How’s your slave?”

“Better, thank you. He’s awake.”

“Good,” she said with a smile. “Do you want something for him, Sir?”

“Some water would be good, please?” Severus responded.

The girl’s eyes had flicked over to Potter’s semi-naked form and Severus was hard pressed not to growl at her. Potter was his! He was not here for some chit of a girl to ogle. And where the heck had that thought come from?

“The water is not good, Sir. Perhaps you would permit him some watered wine?” Severus felt a thrill run through him; he discovered, to his astonishment, that he wanted no-one giving anything to Potter without his say so.

“Yes, I will permit him some wine, but I’ll be the one to give it to him. He’s new to slavery and he must learn that he belongs to me.” The girl nodded and hurried out.

Severus turned back to the boy, moving closer as he did so. Potter, who no longer needed to lift his head in order to see Snape, was looking at him again. He wondered if the boy had understood any of the conversation that had just taken place.

Potter unwittingly answered his question.

“She thinks that I’m your servant?”

Severus could not control the smirk that curled his lips. “Oh no, Potter, she thinks that you are my slave.” Potter’s eyes widened.

“Your slave?” he squeaked, causing Severus’ smirk to expand.

“By the time I realised that is what they thought you were, it was already too late.”

“Figures,” Potter said forlornly. “I guess that fits in perfectly with my wonderful fucking life!”

“It actually makes sense. You have no Latin, you could have a lot of problems if you were on your own. I will keep you safe until we can get back.”

Potter sighed, “I got that the girl was speaking in Latin. But you understood her, you spoke to her. You’re right…I couldn’t have done that. We could be in danger here, couldn’t we? I remember what Rome was like from school, gladiators and Spartacus and all that.” He sighed again, “What do I have to do?”

Severus was astonished. The boy had not argued with him. He was watching Severus with those beautiful green eyes of his, Lily’s eyes, and Severus had to ruthlessly squash an unexpected pang of guilt. He had expected the boy to throw a major tantrum, to rant and rave like his wretched father would have done. But Potter hadn’t. He had known more about Rome than Severus expected, but then he often forgot that Potter was Muggle raised. Muggles learned about Rome in primary school. Even so, the boy had accepted Severus’ explanation very easily and Severus thought that there was far more to be discussed, but not right then.

“Sit up first, I have something for you to drink. You must be thirsty.” Severus put an arm behind the boy’s this shoulders and helped him lift his head. He seemed very weak and sipped tentatively at the watered wine, pulling some very strange faces as he swallowed.

“Yuck,” he said finally, “that was disgusting.”

“Perhaps,” Severus said, “but you must not become dehydrated; that could happen all too easily and there would be no medical assistance here.”

Potter wrinkled his nose.

“You also have to do as you are told,” Severus continued. “I have some money, enough to keep us going for a while. We need to find somewhere to live, something to do that allows us to fit in whilst I… whilst we, find a way to seem part of this society. Until we can get back to our own time, that is. My Latin is rusty, I can get by at the moment, but no more. We must be careful.

“The girl brought some food for you, by the way. Are you hungry?”

Potter sighed again, much more deeply this time. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll do what you tell me, we’ll work something out. Erm…, no , I’m not hungry. I feel a bit sick, I think. Can I sleep now, Professor?”

Severus narrowed his eyes. The boy was still concussed, he had suspected that to be the case. Potter had been too malleable, had agreed too easily to Severus’ demands, and the nausea was the final indication. He determined they would talk again, when the boy was better.

“Call me Domine, from now on, Potter,” he replied. “We cannot take any risks; we are strangers here, we cannot afford for them to suspect anything. The Romans do not need much of an excuse to become violent. Human life means little here.”

“Yes, Domine, I understand, I get it.” Potter sounded a bit exasperated, “I will do as you tell me, I promise. I’ll do what I can to help get us home and not put us in danger here. I don’t always just rush about blindly, you know; I am capable of being careful when I need to be.”

Severus sneered at that, but didn’t speak. The boy did still look very tired and he had acquiesced far more easily than Severus thought he would. For today at least, it would be enough.

“Erm, what does Domine mean, anyway?” Potter said in a weary voice.

“It means master,” Severus said coolly. “Now, go to sleep.”

***********

Potter was sleeping again. Severus believed that the suspected concussion was still in evidence, but his breathing seemed easier at last. The girl who was, it seemed, the daughter-in-law of Modia, the Materfamilias who had taken them in, was called Hermia. She seemed to be rather taken with Potter. Severus thought that he would have to nip that in the bud. The girl had a perfectly serviceable husband, even if he seemed to be mute. Modia had asked him to dinner and Hermia was serving a stew of some sort, with bread. The stew was weak and watery and the bread was leaden and doughy, but Severus was hungry so he tucked in anyway.

“There is an empty shop in the next alley,” Modia said. “You could take that if you have any money saved, it is for sale.” She looked at him in a calculating way; Severus suspected she was thinking he could be a good addition to her list of patrons and, it was true, he already owed her a debt. This tentative suggestion was a way to cement their relationship. A relationship that could be useful for both of them.

“It sounds interesting,” Severus said carefully, still very uncertain of his Latin. “I don’t think it would hurt to look.”

Modia smiled at him.

*********

Modia took him to see the shop herself, directly after dinner. It was a mean little square room with a ratty curtain screening a doorway in the back of the shop. It was absolutely filthy, the dirt was ground in everywhere. But Modia was practically fizzing with the possibilities of it all, especially when Severus expressed an interest in also purchasing the empty premises next door to the shop. Rufus had accompanied them but Hermia had stayed behind, ‘to keep an eye on your slave.’ Severus would rather have left Rufus behind, especially as the boy could not speak, but he was not about to upset his benefactress by hinting that her daughter-in-law was flirting with Potter.

The girl was a freedwoman, she and Modia and Rufus all wore those funny little caps that Severus had read about. That meant that all of them had been slaves at one point and still owed their allegiance to their Dominus, though they would probably call him a Paterfamilias now. Severus suspected that the man owned most, if not all, of the alley where Modia had her shop. If Severus was well off enough to own his own premises he could be quite an ally for them. Not that Severus minded too much, this woman had a hard life.

He smiled at her.

“It is good,” he told her and he received an instant reward when her plain, solid face lit up in a smile that easily outshone his.

*******

He had to carry Potter to the shop the next day as the boy still couldn’t walk. If Severus had access to his workshop he could have easily brewed something, but he did not, so the boy would just have to get better in the Muggle way. He had managed a couple of quick spells surreptitiously, whilst no one was looking, to accelerate the healing process. But the boy’s bruises had faded considerably and Severus thought that, whilst still a bit sore, Potter’s ribs would not be the agony they might have been if Severus had not dosed him with potion. Modia had given Severus a sack for their belongings and he had buried Potter’s rucksack at the bottom, under the cloak that he had discarded in the heat. The boy wore only a simple tunic which Severus had transfigured from the baggy t-shirt that he’d been wearing upon their arrival, and nothing else.

He had protested a little at the lack of underwear but Severus had pointed out that as a slave he would not be likely to wear any. So Potter had stopped protesting, just like that. Severus couldn’t help wishing that they had been thrown back in time years ago; he rather liked telling Potter what to do and having him acquiesce so easily.

Severus had gone over all the rules again this morning, expecting the boy to protest now that he seemed to be recovering, but he hadn’t. He had just nodded, agreed to all the restrictions that Severus mentioned and ate his way slowly through the first meal he had eaten since their arrival.

The boy looked simply delectable in the plain tunic, well at least as far as Severus was concerned. He liked the fact that Potter’s long slim legs were on view, rather than hidden under the ratty clothing that the boy had always insisted on wearing; he liked the fact that the neck of the tunic exposed Potter’s collar bone and that the tunic had rucked up whilst Potter was in his arms giving him an uninterrupted view of a delectable thigh.

Severus was convinced that the boy would be back to his annoyingly disobedient self after a day or two, once the bruises had faded and he was feeling better; so, he determined to enjoy this new, meek Harry Potter whilst the apparent personality change lasted. There was no denying that when he shut up and did as he was told, the boy was mouth-wateringly attractive. It had always been his dreadful misbehaviour and odious personality that had repelled Severus in the past. If Potter stuck by his promises and behaved himself and kept out of Severus’ way, being in Rome might just be less of an ordeal. Severus, however, was not going to let his expectations be raised just yet.

The purchase of the shop and the empty premises next door could not have been easier. The man who owned them had been only too pleased to sell, something that Severus thought would bear further investigation, but as he and Potter were not planning on staying very long Severus was prepared to take a chance. He suspected that the sight of the Galleons was what had made the man’s eyes light up. After all, gold was still gold regardless the shape it came in; so, after a quick comment about the strange design, the coins were squirreled away in a leather pouch. It took just 45 Galleons to secure the purchase, leaving plenty left in the makeshift money-bag and Severus was handed a scroll confirming his ownership.

Severus was very pleased. The amalgamation of the two shops would give them a very roomy workshop and living space. A connecting door would be added so that Severus could have a Potions lab and adjoining store room. There was room for a shop and several small rooms at the back that could be their living quarters and behind the building there was a small, enclosed courtyard, filled with rubbish and rubble but with a lot of potential.

There was a broken down bed in one of the back rooms so he set Potter down on it and turned to talk to Modia. “It is good,” he said with a smile. “I need erm…things…for my potions.”

“You should go to the market,” Modia said. “I must go too. We go together?”

Severus nodded, their conversation was still very stilted, but he could understand her well enough. He had transferred some of Potter’s Galleons to a small pouch that he had transfigured from one of Potter’s socks. He needed to purchase cauldrons, or whatever their Roman equivalent was. He also needed bottles and jars for the finished potions and he needed to find out what ingredients he could obtain. Then, without saying another word, he wandered out into the sunshine.

The market was incredible. He didn’t think that he had ever been anywhere so vibrant and full of life. The unfamiliar noises, the vibrancy and movement were unlike anything Severus had ever seen before.

Shouts rang out. Friends welcomed each other and chatted and laughed, vendors hawked their wares. Laughter pealed through the streets, musicians played their instruments and children chased after one another in amongst the throng of people.

The stalls were of every shape and size, crammed with wares of every sort. Bright cloth was draped on strangely shaped tables, there were bowls of interesting spices, pots, amphora, baskets and slaves.

Slaves.

There was a whole area of the marketplace that was roped off, reserved for the dreadful commodity of humans. Modia didn’t even seem to notice, but to Severus their misery was palpable.

People were tethered to posts like animals. Some were tied tightly, hands pulled behind them and secured with rough rope. Others were chained, rusty links clinking as they moved. Some sat patiently, moving little, eyes fixed on the ground. This last group were probably the ones who were more used to their slavery, they had either been born into it or sold by their families or themselves. They were every size, colour and physical type but whilst the market thrummed with movement and life, they were distinguished by their stillness. Severus turned away.

Instead of staring at such sad examples of Roman society, he chose to look around and see what ingredients he could recognise, if there was anything available to create a base for potions. Modia was invaluable, she bartered on his behalf, located a pair of large baskets which Severus filled with ingredients, both herbal and mineral, and borrowed a slave to carry them back to the shop. Severus also arranged for a number of other items, from bedding to cauldrons to be delivered. Finally they made their way back to the shop.

It was tidier, much tidier. Severus was glad that the girl had stayed behind seeing as how she had used her time so industriously. Hermia had tied a makeshift apron around her waist and she was sweeping the earth floor with a broom. Potter came awkwardly into the room, he had fashioned a makeshift crutch out of two pieces of wood. He, too, had made himself an apron and he was clutching a large cloth.

He looked up as Severus came in, his face breaking into a smile. “Hi, Professor, how was the market?”

“You should be resting that ankle, Potter, or you will damage it permanently,” Severus snapped. He could have used the boy’s help to stow away his new potions ingredients but, as far as Severus could see, he was practically useless. “Do you never listen? And you should speak Latin.” The boy flushed and looked down at his feet.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Latin, Potter!” Severus hissed. “And call me Domine!”

**********
For the next two days the boy helped him clean the room that he wanted to use as a Potions lab, hobbling about on his makeshift crutch until Severus kicked him out. He was in the way, anyway, and Severus knew the boy was useless at Potions; he didn’t want him anywhere near his limited supplies. Potions were the only way that he had of getting them home. He had some ideas, one or two things that he might try, but he needed to experiment, he needed to research and he expected the boy to keep out of the room and out of his sight.

He had told the boy this, explained their predicament, underlined that they were only here, that he was only here, because of Potter’s stupidity. He emphasised that there was no guarantee that he would be able to get them home, but if there was any chance that he could, he would need to experiment, do research and that Potter would need to do his part. He would be expected to clean for them, run the shop and, most importantly, stay out of Severus’ way.

The boy had been unable to meet Severus’ eyes and had remained silent. Perhaps at last, Potter was finally realising how drastically his impetuosity had affected them?

Potter seemed subdued, anyway. His Latin was as execrable as Severus had expected. He stammered and stuttered through three and four word sentences. The girl popped in from time to time, but Potter couldn’t communicate with her with any more ease than he could with Severus, even if she did simper and flutter at him. Severus refused to answer the boy at all if he used English; he would just have to learn. Finally he lapsed into blessed silence and Severus was able to concentrate.

On the third day after they had moved in, Potter came into his lab again and Severus bellowed at him to get out.

“Please, Domine, man come,” Potter managed to splutter in his dreadful broken Latin.

Severus smirked.

“As eloquent as ever, Potter?” Severus said, in English, knowing that his comment would be lost on the boy if he spoke in Latin

“You’re speaking English!”

“Yes, but I can speak both languages. Until you can make yourself understood in Latin, you will not speak English and, if you do, you will be punished.”

Potter glared at him.

“Man come,” he said in a sullen tone.

“And what do you expect me to do about it?”

“You come see?”

“Well I don’t know, you have not been very respectful about asking me.”

“Please?”

“Please, what?”

Potter was gritting his teeth now.

“Please, Domine, man come, you come see?”

“Really Potter, you should have just said that in the first place!” Severus drawled, greatly enjoying the strangled sound that the boy made. Smirking, he followed him to the front.

The man in question had heavy features and appalling teeth.

“Good, afternoon, Sir,” he said, smiling in an oily sort of way as soon as Severus walked into the area that would eventually be their shop. “I sent your slave to fetch you. My name is Marcus Iulius; I run the flint and slate shop across the alley.”Severus looked beyond the man, the building which had been boarded up since they had arrived was now open and he could see piles of slate, presumably for writing and flint for lighting fires.

“I’ve been away,” the man said. “I didn’t know that this shop was up for sale, I know someone who would have been interested in purchasing it.”

“Really?” Severus drawled. “And whom might this person be?”

“Oh, er…my patron. He wishes to invest in this area; he has been searching for more premises here for some time.”

The man frowned, seemingly deeply perplexed. “I don’t understand. Vibius, the man you bought from, he knew my patron was seeking to purchase these shops and, yet, he said he would never sell!”

Severus smiled to himself, no wonder the property had been so reasonable. Marcus Iulius wore the cap of a freedman, he also sported the nomen of the man who had once been his master. The infamous Iulius Nocens, Severus supposed. They might have travelled two thousand years in time, but there were still minions in Ancient Rome, Severus told himself wryly.

Modia, had been very clever. Whilst never overtly criticising her patron, which was of course unthinkable, she had nevertheless given Severus the impression that she truly did not like him. This man, however, seemed to be a loyal servant, and a desired property had been whisked away from the Nocens family whilst Marcus had been elsewhere. No wonder he looked less than happy, Severus did not doubt his erstwhile master would have a sharp word or two for his servant.

It seemed to Severus that perhaps Gaius Iulius Nocens was not popular at all. The sale of the shop had been processed very rapidly and cheaply with the handing over of the money to Vibius. Severus had wondered why and now he had his answer. The people of this district felt that they did not need any more spies in their midst. He almost laughed at that; how little they knew!

It explained a lot to Severus: how he had been accepted so quickly, how he had managed to purchase the shop so easily and why he had received so much support from his neighbours. Severus had prevented Iulius moving another lackey into the lives of the people around him – and for that they were grateful and would give Potter and him a chance.

Meanwhile, Severus knew that he had a spy for a neighbour and he would be very careful about what he said and allowed the man to see. Perhaps a disillusion charm on the property would be useful? But, he would have to be even more careful using magic than he had supposed. He was once again glad that he had managed to hide Potter’s rucksack as the boy would never be able to control his wand waving, if he had been allowed a wand.

Not that the boy was being particularly boisterous right then at the moment. He was eyeing Marcus Iulius warily.

“My patron would be very interested if you were to consider selling to him,” Marcus said slyly. “I am sure that he would reward you handsomely. I hear that you are new here, from Hispania? There are many wonderful districts in Rome, most of them far more salubrious than this one. With the profit you might make you would be well suited to move further into the centre, near the circus perhaps?”

Severus allowed himself a sneer.

“Thank you, Marcus Iulius, for thinking of me, but my slave and I are very happy here, aren’t we Potter?” He turned to the boy as he spoke.

Potter was watching the interaction carefully, he nodded.

“Yes, Domine.”

Interesting, Severus thought, perhaps the boy was beginning to understand more Latin? That would be helpful; Severus could stop using English around Potter when he wanted the boy to understand what was required of him. If they had an observer living so close that would definitely be a good idea.

Marcus had turned to the boy and was eying the young, slim body with a very obvious leer on his face.

He reached out a hand and grabbed Potter’s hair, pulling him closer. “He would be very interested in purchasing this pretty little thing, too.” Potter flinched, but he didn’t pull away he just looked at Severus with wide green eyes.

“I thank you, Sir, for your kind offer, but if you do not take your hands off my slave then I will break your fingers one by one, tear them off and make you eat them,” Severus said evenly.

For a big man with such meaty fingers Marcus Iulius moved remarkably fast, he withdrew his hand from Potter’s hair and placed it by his side instead.

The boy rubbed at his scalp.

“I…I have been away far too long, I have work to do,” the man croaked as he retreated rapidly into the morning sunshine.

“Thank you, Domine.” Potter said, his green eyes, widening remarkably, shone with something that looked strangely like gratitude.

**********
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