Disclaimer: This is a piece of fan fiction. Harry Potter and all characters, magic, events, royalties, etc., are the ideas and property of J.K. Rowling and whoever she designates to translate them to book, recording or film. I hope you'll enjoy my own take on this particular universe, even though I don't own it and didn't invent it.

The icy street was filled with cars. The light was red. Professor Severus Snape, in disguise and on Order business, waited for the 'walk' signal. As soon as it appeared, he stepped down across the dirty slush that filled the gutter.

"Look out!"

He wasn't sure who had yelled. A car, unable to stop in the ice, sped through the intersection.

Snape stepped back, but misjudged his distance. His heel rammed against the curb and he fell, his head hitting something hard. Then, he knew nothing.

When he awoke, he was laying on a gurney in a Muggle hospital's hallway. Other patients were around him, some groaning, some just lying still. A young woman with a scarf over her hair came along and he put out his hand to stop her.

"Excuse me, Miss. Could you tell me where I am?"

"Saint Valentine's, Mr..." She consulted the chart on his bed "...Mr. Jones. We've notified the address on your license, someone is coming to retrieve you."

She walked on without a second glance. Snape couldn't understand it. Was the girl completely impervious?

And, why had she called him 'Mr. Jones'?

He mulled over that one for a while, then came up with a reasonable answer: He must have been travelling incognito. After all, his face was known through Wizarding circles worldwide. Now all he had to do was figure out why the girl didn't react more favorably.

He was still occupied with his musings when he saw the form of a sprightly older man dressed in a crumpled brown suit coming toward him, his beard falling in disarray down his chest, his sober blue eyes aimed right at him. A look of relief spread over the man's face when he saw that Snape was sitting up and awake.

"Albus!" Snape greeted him, extending his hand broadly. Of course the old headmaster would be glad to see him. Wasn't everybody?

"Johnny Jones!" Dumbledore said, adopting the same hearty tone Snape had used. He grasped Snape's hand and pumped it hard. "We were near distraction when we heard you'd been in an accident," he whispered.

"Well, no harm done! The girl said you'd come to 'retrieve' me. Let's get out of here!"

"You'll have to dress first."

"Oh. Of course."

Snape looked down at his hospital gown and winced. "I can't imagine how I must look! I'm glad now that girl didn't recognize me. I must be a fright! Well, off with the rags and into the finery... Er, where are my clothes?"

Another woman with a scarf came along and Dumbledore stopped her. "Excuse me, sister, my friend is to be released and he needs his clothes."

"He'll have to wait to be examined before he can be released."

"We have a private doctor. I've got papers from the office..."

The woman scanned them, then leaned down and pulled a bag from below the gurney. The soiled clothes Snape had been wearing when he was brought in, were in the bag. He took them and went into a room the sister indicated, to dress.

When he came out, he was even more distressed than when he went in.

"It's gone from bad to worse!" he told Dumbledore. "That thing they had me in was at least a decent color. This clashes with everything about me. It doesn't match my hair, or my skin tone, or my eyes. And could you please explain this horrible wig I'm wearing?"

Dumbledore led him out of the hospital and around the corner where Arthur Weasley was waiting in a Muggle car. He especially liked driving the members of the Order around, now that he'd replaced his spelled Anglia which now lived in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts.

"How are you doing, Professor?" Arthur asked as Snape climbed into the back seat.

"Oh, very well. Very well indeed." Snape turned to Dumbledore. "Who is that man?"

"Arthur Weasley. Surely you recall him?"

"No... But I do recall he had some boys. Ron, George, and..."

"Fred," Arthur supplied from the front seat.

"That's right! Fred. And, wasn't there a girl, too?"

"Ginny."

"Yes. Ginny."

"Better get him back to the house quickly," Dumbledore said, giving Snape a worried glance.

The only problem was, Snape couldn't find the house. Professor Dumbledore had to tell him the secret all over again before he could see number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

"Fascinating!" Snape exclaimed with joy. "I'll have to put that into my next book. It'll have its own chapter: Disguising one's property against demonic infiltration. Wonderful!"

Dumbledore took Snape's elbow and guided him into the house.

Arthur had gone ahead and alerted everyone to Snape's odd behavior. So when he was brought in, no one batted an eye when he criticized the decor of the hallway.

"You'll have to read my book about Magical Design," Snape told Molly Weasley, flashing her a brilliant smile.

"Oh! I... I suppose I will," Molly said, not sure if she should take him seriously or not. In either event, she was very taken with the change in Severus. He seemed like a completely different wizard.

"I don't like this," Minerva McGonagall whispered to Albus. "He's acting very out of sorts. We ought to take him to see Poppy up at the school. You just can't tell with head injuries."

"I suppose we must. I thought bringing him back here would help, once I saw how he was. But, I suppose we'll need Poppy's expertise."

Snape had Molly and Tonks backed up against the wall beside the staircase, entertaining them with a fantastic story about a bog boggart he claimed to have captured. Molly was acting nearly as giddy as Tonks, both of them staring at him with what seemed to be growing adoration.

"Here, now, Molly," said Arthur, taking her by the shoulders and casting strange glances back at Snape, "How about some lunch for the weary travellers? Eh? The professor here just got out of hospital, you know, and needs something hot."

"Oh. Oh! Of course! I am so sorry!" Molly said, clutching Snape's arm and smiling up at him. "If you'll just wait a moment, I'll have some nice, hot soup for you."

"I'll help!" said Tonks. She and Molly went into the kitchen, neither of them taking their eyes off of Snape until they banged head-first into the door and had to look around to negotiate their way through. They fought over who should go first, too, Tonks insisting that Molly took precedence, while Molly opted for 'youth before beauty'. Finally, though, the door swung shut on them.

"Why don't you go upstairs and change into your normal clothes?" Minerva said, to get Snape out of the hallway.

"Wonderful idea, Minerva. You know, you ought to wear your hair like that more often. It softens your features."

Snape skipped onto the steps and was soon swallowed by the shadows above the landing.

Minerva turned to Albus. "What did he mean by that?" she asked. She felt the Muggle hairstyle she had adopted for her own excursion earlier that day, a soft, short style that she often saw Muggle women of middle age wearing, then made a mirror appear in her hand to study how she looked in it.

"He's... been injured," Dumbledore replied, confused, and went upstairs to see to Snape.

Clothes were spread all over the room. Some were on the bed, others were on the floor or piled on the chair. Snape, still in his Muggle disguise, stood in the middle of it and turned helplessly around.

"There's absolutely nothing to wear!" he exclaimed when Albus entered.

Albus swung the door half closed and took the black shirt and trousers off the hook. "Here are the clothes you were wearing this morning," he said, handing them to Snape.

Snape examined them critically, first his usual black, high-necked shirt, then the trousers, cut very conservatively, and tossed them into the heap on the bed.

"I never wore anything that depressing in my life!" he declared.

"But, you just wore that this morning. Those are your clothes. I think you got a worse bump than we thought, Severus."

"Severus? Who's Severus, now? First, it was Johnny Jones. Which I could abide, since I was travelling incognito at the time. But, Albus, we're alone now. There's no need to create an alternate personna for me. Just call me by my real name, there's a good man."

Albus Dumbledore regarded Snape with a growing sense of alarm. "If you're not Severus Snape, then who are you?" he asked.

"Why, Gilderoy Lockhart, of course!" Snape laugned. "Surely you could tell the difference between me and that ill-natured quack who teaches Potions! Oh, by the way. I will be teaching Defense again this year. My calendar is quite free."

"He thinks he's who?" Poppy couldn't believe her ears and had Dumbledore repeat it twice more, until it sank in. "How could he possibly... Hasn't he looked in a mirror?"

"Constantly. He thinks someone put a spell on him. He refuses to wear his own clothes, calls them 'depressing'. Referred to himself as an 'ill-natured quack' as well when I called him by his right name. You can fix him up... can't you?"

"Yes, I can, but it will take some time. And I do wish it was anyone but him! I need a potion brewed to treat the condition. We don't usually have any on hand since Trauma Transference is so rare these days."

"I may not be up to Severus's standards, but I flatter myself that I can brew up what you need," Dumbledore replied.

"Good. Severus has a Pharmaceutical in his lab. I'll give you a list of potions I need replaced as well... If you don't mind," she told him.

"No, I don't mind. It's been a long time since I've had much to do with potion making. It'll be a relaxing change."

Dumbledore trotted off to the dungeons to open Snape's stores.

Poppy went back to her patient, her only patient since Christmas holiday wouldn't end again for another few days. "Severus..."

"How often do I have to explain it?" Snape asked with a patient, tired smile. "Someone placed a spell on me so I would look like Severus Snape. Probably to protect my anonymity while I was out."

"Of course. Severus, I'll need you to lay down and try to get some sleep. You've had a bad morning, and sleep is the best thing."

Snape sighed. "I'll do as you request, under one condition: You must call me 'Gilderoy'. Is it agreed?"

Poppy sighed herself. "Agreed," she answered.

"Let me hear you say it, then," he coaxed with a compelling grin.

"All right. Gilderoy." And Poppy gave him one of her brightest smiles.