Without wasting any time, the Serpent Court moved.
The moment the final chamber was declared safe, everyone sprang into action with the efficiency of people who knew exactly what they were doing—and how little time they had left.
Enchanted trunks were summoned one after another, their lids snapping open as layered space-expansion charms activated. From the outside they looked ordinary, barely large enough to hold a few books. On the inside, they were vast vaults waiting to be filled.
Gold flowed first.
Ancient Roman ingots, coins stamped with runic sigils, bars of gold and silver stacked in towering piles—everything was swept up and funneled into the trunks like a river changing its course. Cassandra handled the accounting charms, ensuring nothing was duplicated or destabilized. David and Joseph focused on weapons—blades forged with lost alloys, spears that hummed with dormant enchantments, shields inscribed with defensive arrays no modern ward-smith would recognize.
Charles and Marcus worked carefully with the artifacts.
These weren't things you simply grabbed.
Crystal orbs pulsed with suspended spells. Rings slept inside velvet-lined cases, each one sealed under pressure wards. Books—hundreds of them—were removed delicately, wrapped in protective charms before being stacked inside trunks designed specifically for grimoires and ritual texts.
Time mattered.
Their Italian visas were valid for only two more days. Even though none of them truly feared arrest—especially not with Cassandra present—they all understood the importance of discretion. The Serpent Court thrived in the shadows. Attention was danger.
So they moved quickly, efficiently, without unnecessary conversation.
Harry stayed slightly apart.
He let them work while he walked the edges of the chamber, eyes scanning the treasure that Arcanus had hoarded over centuries. There were things here that even Gringotts would kill to possess—and things they would never be able to understand.
That was when he noticed it.
In the far corner of the chamber, half-hidden behind a collapsed stone plinth, lay a small piece of jewelry.
A bangle.
It looked deceptively simple—dark metal polished smooth by time, its surface etched with dozens of intricate runes that twisted into one another like flowing script. They weren't aggressive runes. Nor were they defensive. They felt… quiet.
Harry frowned and activated [Observe].
For a fraction of a second, information tried to appear—
And then stopped.
[Item: ???]
Origin: Arcanus
Status: Unidentified
No description.
Just question marks.
That alone made Harry's pulse quicken.
Curious, he reached down and picked it up.
The moment his fingers closed around the bangle, a faint warmth spread across his skin—not painful, not aggressive. The metal shifted subtly, almost imperceptibly, and when Harry slid it onto his arm, it resized itself smoothly, fitting perfectly as though it had been made for him.
Jason noticed immediately. He didn't even let Harry finish admiring the runes.
"Take it off," he ordered sharply. "Harry, I'm serious. Artifacts that adjust themselves are never safe."
Harry nodded and reached for the bangle—but the moment his fingers attempted to pull it loose, the metal tightened like a living thing.
Not painfully.
Not to cut circulation.
But firm, unyielding, shrinking just enough that no amount of force or magic could slip it free.
Harry tried again, slower this time, attempting to push it upward on his arm.
The bangle responded instantly—contracting even tighter, hugging his wrist with the certainty of an enchanted shackle.
Jason hissed through his teeth.
"Stop. Stop, stop—don't fight it. Ancient artifacts respond badly to being resisted."
Harry relaxed.
And just as suddenly as it had tightened, the bangle loosened, expanding into a perfectly comfortable size around his wrist again.
A soft pulse of warmth rippled beneath the metal, almost like… acknowledgement.
Cassandra stepped closer. "Try again?"
Harry shook his head. "No. It's responding to intent. The moment I try to remove it, it clamps down."
Jason was already drawing his wand. "Stand still."
For the next several minutes, he unleashed spell after spell—diagnostics, curse-revealments, enchantment tracings, ward-mapping visualizers. Ribbons of blue, gold, and green light wrapped around the bangle, sank through it, scanned the runes, and lifted away.
Nothing reacted.
Nothing triggered.
Jason frowned harder with each passing second.
"I'm not seeing any dangerous enchantments," he finally said. "No curses, no blood-binding, no parasitic runes, no soul hooks, no cursed traps. As far as I can tell… it's stable."
"But?" David asked.
Jason exhaled slowly.
"But this thing is thousands of years old. I don't know every form of Roman sorcery. And Arcanus wasn't just a battle-mage—he was a war engineer. His magic was… unconventional. Unpredictable. Half the stuff he built doesn't make sense even by modern curse-breaking standards."
"So you don't know if it's safe," Cassandra summarized.
"I'm saying," Jason replied, "that right now, I can't detect anything harmful. But that doesn't mean it can't become harmful later. Or that its purpose won't activate unexpectedly."
Harry looked down at the bangle again.
The metal was still warm against his skin.
It wasn't hostile.
If anything, it felt… patient.
Like something waiting to be understood.
"I'll keep it," Harry said quietly. "It chose me. And it's powerful—maybe even unique. Something Arcanus used personally."
Jason muttered something about reckless children, but he didn't argue.
In the end, they all understood the same truth:
Artifacts didn't choose lightly.
And whether the bangle was gift or curse, it was bound to Harry now.
It took a long while—longer than any of them expected—but eventually the Serpent Court stripped the Chamber of Arcanus clean.
Jason, with his curse-breaker instincts sharper than ever, even uncovered two hidden annexes behind runic walls that hadn't been found by Harry. Inside were mountains of coins—gold, silver, even rare Roman wizarding currency that no longer circulated. They filled enchanted trunks until the metal clinked like rainfall inside the magically expanded spaces.
Cassandra limped across the room carrying a bundle of scrolls. Her robes were torn at the shoulder, still stained dark where a metal spear had grazed her. Jason walked beside her with a hand pressed to his ribs, trying very hard not to wince. David dragged an overflowing trunk behind him, his wand trembling slightly from exhaustion.
Every single one of them was injured.
Every single one of them was smiling.
Even with pain spidering through their bodies, the glow of triumph was unmistakable. The treasure room felt brighter—alive with victory.
"We're going home filthy rich," David muttered with awe, staring into the golden mound inside his trunk. "And with knowledge even richer."
Jason snorted, though his grin betrayed him. "If I ever see another Roman ward again, I'm burning it on sight."
"You won't," Cassandra said dryly. "Because Harry will drag you to whatever next ruin we find."
Harry only smirked.
They still hurt—terribly, in fact. Arrows, blades, shattered stone, burns—every injury was patched only by temporary potions. The Pepper-Up kept them upright. The Wiggenwelds eased the bleeding. The numbing draughts masked the sharpest edges of pain.
But potion-healed flesh was not permanent. Once they wore off, the agony would return, and several wounds would require professional treatment. Their HP bars (in Harry's eyes) were up, but the others did not have such convenient invisible numbers to reassure them.
Harry walked with a careful limp, pretending he had not already been fully restored when he leveled up.
Cassandra had her left arm bound.
Jason had a cut above his eyebrow that refused to stop bleeding, even with three applied charms.
But none of them complained.
None regretted staying to fight.
They had survived Arcanus' Chamber—his statues, his traps, his arena, his sentinel, and his wards. They had seen combat that wizards only whispered about in dusty libraries. They had walked through history and come out victorious.
Now, the real world awaited.
"Let's get out of this place," Jason said at last. "Before another enchanted corridor decides to wake up."
With the last of the trunks secured, the group retraced their steps through the labyrinthine dungeon. Harry sealed the treasure chamber behind them—out of instinct, respect, or superstition, he wasn't sure. The stone obeyed, sliding shut with a deep, ancient finality.
As they retraced their steps through the dungeon, the weight of what they had survived settled heavily on everyone's shoulders.
They passed the shattered treasure hall first, beyond that lay the arena of the elemental heartstone golem, cracked from crown to core, its once-terrifying presence reduced to rubble and dust. Every room they crossed was a reminder that they should not be alive.
And then they returned to the Colosseum.
The moment they stepped through the archway, every single one of them stopped.
The vast arena was no longer empty.
It was full.
Where once only silence and scorched stone remained, now rows upon rows of metallic soldiers stood in perfect formation, stretching from the arena floor up into the stands themselves. Thousands—no, tens of thousands—of warriors made from steel, enchantment, and ancient magic filled the Colosseum. Each held a weapon: swords, spears, shields, polearms—all polished, all raised, all ready.
The same metallic figures that had once sat motionless as spectators now stood as a legion.
Joseph's breath caught painfully in his chest. Cassia, still leaning on her staff, felt her legs nearly give out. Angela's fingers tightened around her wand, knuckles white.
"This…" Joseph whispered hoarsely, "…this is the end."
Even the hardened veterans among them felt it. There was no fighting this. No spell, no clever tactic could overcome an army built by a Roman sorcerer-king whose ambition had once shaken nations.
The metal soldiers drew their weapons fully.
Steel rang across the Colosseum like thunder.
Several of them took instinctive steps back. Some raised their wands even though they knew it was pointless.
And then—
Harry's bangles began to glow.
Golden runes etched into the ancient jewelry flared to life, light crawling across Harry's forearm like living script. The glow intensified, filling the arena with a low, resonant hum that vibrated through stone, metal, and bone alike.
Everyone saw it.
Before anyone could speak, something impossible happened.
The metallic army moved.
One by one—row by row—every metal warrior dropped to one knee.
The sound was deafening.
Thousands of armored constructs kneeling in perfect synchronization sent shockwaves through the Colosseum. Shields lowered. Spears tilted downward. Swords were reversed and held out, hilts-first, in offering.
An entire ancient army bowed.
Silence followed—absolute, overwhelming silence.
Jason stared, mind racing, eyes wide with realization. He looked from the kneeling legion to Harry's glowing bangles, then back again.
"…Harry," he said slowly, reverently. "I think I understand now."
Harry didn't speak. He couldn't. The weight of the moment pressed down on him like gravity itself.
Jason swallowed. "That bangle… it's not just an artifact."
He took a step closer, voice low, awed.
"I think Arcanus used it to command them. Every construct. Every legion. This entire army."
Harry's heart pounded as the realization settled.
Jason finished quietly, the words heavy with meaning.
"That means they're not guarding the chamber anymore."
He looked straight at Harry.
"They're answering to you now."
The metallic army remained kneeling, weapons offered, awaiting command.
And for the first time since entering the dungeon, no one was afraid.
Because they understood—
The greatest treasure Arcanus had left behind was not gold.
It was an army.
And it now belonged to Harry.
Marcus kept grumbling all the way out of the Colosseum, muttering about "wasted opportunity" and "madness beyond reason." To him, the Arcanus Legion was priceless—worth more than all the gold in the chamber combined. But Harry simply walked in silence, letting Marcus rant until even the mercenaries began exchanging helpless looks.
By the time they reached the stairway that led back toward the surface exit, Marcus finally exploded.
"You're giving it away!" he barked. "Harry Potter, do you realize what you just did? The goblins didn't search for centuries because they wanted a little gold. They didn't care about the man's books, his spells, his rituals. They wanted the army—that army. If there's ever another war between goblins and wizards, the goblins would have used Arcanus' constructs as their trump card!"
Angela nodded grimly. Even Cassandra, healed enough to walk on her own despite still looking pale, admitted, "He's not wrong. That legion… its value is beyond anything we can comprehend."
Everyone turned to Harry.
Harry simply shrugged.
"I don't need an army," he said calmly. "Not right now."
The group stared at him as if he were insane.
Harry continued, patient as ever, "Even if the goblins stumble onto the Colosseum, they can't control the constructs. Without this bangle, the legion is nothing more than metal statues. And we took all the notes Arcanus left behind. That means they'll never be able to recreate new bangles, either."
Jason ran a hand through his hair, frowning. "…He's right. The control mechanism is unknown magic. Even goblins can't decipher what we saw."
Harry nodded. "Exactly. And whenever I need the legion, I can always come back. It's not going anywhere."
Marcus opened his mouth—then shut it. There was nothing to argue with. Not when Harry's logic was painfully airtight.
Once they exited the dungeon and collapsed by the hillside, exhaustion finally hit them. Marcus created a portkey to the Italian Wizarding Hospital, and within half an hour, the entire Serpent Court—plus Marcus and Angela—were lying on beds as healers tended to broken ribs, burns, bruises, and fractured bones.
Everyone except Harry.
He sat beside Cassandra's bed, arms folded, watching a healer mend a deep gash on her side. When the healer offered to check Harry as well, he simply smiled and said he was fine.
Marcus, lying two beds away, huffed loudly. "Of course he's fine. Why wouldn't he be? Just waltzed through a Roman death maze like it was an afternoon stroll."
Cassandra laughed weakly. "Stop shouting, you idiot… my head is splitting."
After an hour, the worst injuries were stabilized, and the healers left them alone. Cassandra sat up, stretching carefully, while Jason and David reviewed the trunks full of treasure with gleaming eyes. Angela made a list of which potions they'd need once they were home. Joseph snored loudly, still sedated.
Harry stepped forward.
"All right, listen," he said quietly. "Cassandra and I have to leave first. Our time end tomorrow. If we stay longer, the Ministry will get suspicious."
Cassandra nodded. "We need to leave through official channels. As tourists."
Harry turned to his team. "Which means you four can't use international Portkeys. Not with this much treasure. You'll be stopped. Questioned. Probably arrested."
Jason grimaced. "Then how are we supposed to get thousands of kilos of magical items across a continent?"
Harry smiled.
"You'll manage. Either drive a Muggle van across Europe or fly brooms at night. Both options are safer than customs checks. Just get everything to Slytherin Castle before anyone notices."
David let out a bark of laughter. "Drive a Muggle van across Europe? Merlin's beard—Harry, I haven't even touched a Muggle steering wheel."
Jason slapped him on the shoulder. "Then you're about to learn."
Marcus raised a brow. "Does this castle of yours have space for… all of this?" He gestured vaguely toward the enchanted trunks.
Harry only smirked. "More than enough."
They all chuckled.
Then his expression softened.
"Thank you," he said quietly, his voice filled with warmth. "For everything. We survived because of all of you."
Cassandra stepped beside him and squeezed his shoulder. "Come on, birthday boy. Our Portkey's waiting."
And just like that, Harry and Cassandra walked out of the hospital looking like two ordinary tourists—sunburnt, tired, and carrying nothing but a small backpack.
Behind them, the Serpent Court prepared for the long, dangerous journey home—with trunks full of treasure and secrets worth killing for.
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