Disclaimer: Terry Pratchett owns the Discworld, J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter etc., and I own a rather nice binder full of paper which allows me to write ridiculous fan fiction using their characters and locations.

A/N: Sorry about the long wait. Nothing of mine's been abandoned; it's just that I decided to take a rather lengthy break from writing because, quite frankly, for various reasons I was running out of ambition. Furthermore, as I don't have a beta reader I tend to do all of my editing myself, and when I edit anything—mine or someone else's—I always rip it to shreds before putting it back together.

In any case, this chapter gave me rather more trouble than most, but updates should hopefully be a bit more regular now. Everything's already written; it's just a case of editing it and posting.

Chapter Five

Severus Snape's Welcome to the City of Ankh-Morpork

'Enjoy' my walk? The word was rather out of place where Snape was concerned, but as he walked he thought that Ankh-Morpork wasn't such a miserable place after all, if it had people who were as irritable as Snape himself. There was nothing like a snarky comment or two to keep the brain sharp.

"I thought that vampires couldn't go out in the sunlight."

Snape turned around and looked at the patchwork man behind him. "What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I mean, it's just that you've got that skin and hair, you dress in black, you move like a bat—you must be a vampire, right? So why not join the Fresh Start Club, where death is where your life begins!"

"I am not a vampire!"

Reg Shoe looked at him and quietly backed away. "Yeah, sure, mister," he said, and ran—well, staggered—off.

"Bizarre man," murmured Snape.

Snape spun around as he heard a now-familiar snigger by his ankles. "I always gets the urge to frow 'im in a hole," chuckled Gaspode.

"Shouldn't you be chasing cats or something?" asked Snape irritably.

"Nope," said Gaspode, cheerful. "Filled my Dogs' Guild quota for that already this week."

Snape stared at his companion. "There's a Dogs' Guild here?"

Gaspode stared right back. "There's a Guild for pretty much everyone here," he explained. "Dogs, Thieves, Assassins, Beggars, Musicians, and—heh—Seamstresses…everyone's got a Guild, sooner or later."

"What, pray, is the purpose of Guilds for thieves and assassins?" asked Snape, curious.

"Crime control," said Gaspode simply. "They comes down real heavy on people what gets caught stealin' wif no licence." He indicated the formerly animate weathervane on top of the Thieves' Guild house. "They takes some money every year. O' course, it's not usually at a time the victim expects—these are thieves, after all—and they always writes a receipt so nobody gets stolen from twice in a year."

Snape nodded. "That explains the two rats I met upon entering the city. Of course, I expect they're human again by now."

Gaspode gasped. "Bad idea, mister. There'll be an Assassins' Guild contract on you before night," he yelped. "You sure you want to be out here?"

"If I am to find some way back home, yes," Snape snapped. "Where would be a good place to start?"

"I ain't sure, Snape, but I can show you around a bit."

"Then do," growled the wizard, impatient with his companion.

Eyes watched the greasy man in black as he and the little grey mutt walked past the Thieves' Guild. So this was the man who had done it…he had gotten away with far too much. It was time for some…Professional Help.

"This is the Street of Small Gods," Gaspode said. "Gods of all kinds have temples here—there are temples to Hat, Pishe, Fish, Offler, Om and Gufnork on this part of the street. If you need help you ain't found at Unseen, this is prolly your best bet."

Snape stared at the temples until he picked out the most imposing one. "Which one is this?" he asked, indicating the temple of Gufnork.

Gaspode whimpered, thinking about the last time he entered that building. "That's the temple of…" he gulped. "Gufnork."

Snape nodded approvingly. "A God with such an ugly name must certainly be a stern, powerful patriarch. I believe that I shall try this one."

Gaspode cringed. This would not be easy to explain. "But don't you want to know what he's the God of?"

Snape snorted. "Nonsense! It's clear that he's got a large number of followers—look at the size of the temple! If belief is as powerful here as I have been told, then there must be a large power base to work from."

"Yes, but—"

"Silence! I will investigate this place of worship!" And with that, he strode over to the door to the side chapel.

And was immediately rewarded for his trouble by being nearly submerged in a sea of fluff.

Coughing and sputtering, Snape and Gaspode waded through the mess and made their way to the High Altar. By now infuriated with the fluffy heap, Snape cast sonorous on himself and bellowed,

"SEVERUS P. SNAPE, GUEST OF UNSEENUNIVERSITY, REQUESTS YOUR AID AND DEMANDS THAT YOU CLEAN UP THIS MISERABLE EXCUSE FOR A TEMPLE IMMEDIATELY! IS THIS ANY WAY TO SHOW PROPER RESPECT TO YOUR GOD?"

"It is when he's the God of Fluff," said the High Priest, leaning in the doorway to the cloister and smirking a smirk worthy of Snape himself.

"Not to be persumshus, Snape, but maybe you could've handled that a bit better," Gaspode said as he trotted at Snape's side some time later.

"It's presumptuous, mutt, and Severus Snape does not tolerate cheek from idiotic Godbotherers," snarled the irate Potions Master.

"Yes, but did you really have to—"

"I will not be spoken to as if I were one of my dunderheaded students," Snape growled.

"But did you need to—"

"He deserved it. It's not like he needed them, anyway. Priests are notorious for it."

"Fine, fine, all I'm saying is that I ain't sure if it was necessary for you to remove his—"

Snape whirled around to face the dog. "Look, Gaspode, I will not have my actions questioned by a mangy little mutt who was stupid enough to catch a disease that only pregnant sheep can get. Once they clean up that sorry excuse for a temple, they will find his ears and they will reattach themselves with no further harm to that stupid ass of a high priest!"

Snape brooded by Pseudopolis Yard as Gaspode grumbled along at his heels. They had been walking for hours, and Snape's mood—already unpleasant—was souring noticeably. No progress had been made in their search for people who might help him return to his own world, and he was starting to despair of ever returning.

Think of all the things those dunderheads will do to my classroom in my absence. Will there even be a Hogwarts when I return, presuming that I can?

As if picking up on Snape's dismal thoughts, an explosion tore through the Watch House building three houses away.

Miraculously, the building remained intact, save for a hole punched through the roof. The cause of that hole was shortly revealed to Snape when a Dwarf—for it could hardly be anything else—landed smoking at his feet. The dwarf picked himself up and promptly fell to the ground again, rolling to extinguish a small fire that had ignited on his sleeve.

"That was a close one," he grumbled. "Note to self: Never add powdered troll tooth to tincture of wahooni when said troll has recently been taking Slab. Really, I'm getting tired of all this flying experience." He looked up and saw the mildly stunned Potions Master staring at him.

"Well, that's what caused it!" he said, defensively. "No other explanation. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll see if my laboratory is salvageable. Vimes'll go spare if I've wrecked it again…oh, hello, Gaspode. Who's your friend?"

"Well, I ain't sure if he's a friend, but this 'ere's Severus Snape. 'E's stayin' at Unseen University for awhile until he gets back to 'is own world."

The dwarf looked up at Snape again. "You're from the Dungeon Dimensions?"

Snape stifled a snicker. "Ah…not precisely. I'm a wizard."

The dwarf rolled his eyes. "Say no more. You don't get good wizards these days. My dad used to tell me stories about the old-time wizards and the wars they got up to. These days, they're a bunch of fat old conjurors who couldn't find their own arses with an atlas. Not like alchemists. We may blow things up, but at least we don't tear holes in the fabric of reality."

"I believe I shall let that comment pass for the moment," said Snape, the temperature of his voice dropping noticeably. Then he did a double-take. "You are an alchemist, then?" he asked, as calmly as he could muster. Ah, the serendipity! Perhaps I shall be able to get home after all! An alchemist has a lab, and thanks to Albus, I'm perfectly at home in one of those…

"Well, I was. Now I'm one of the lads—and ladies—in the Watch. My job is using evidence at the scene of a crime to determine if someone's guilty or not. In this case, I was trying to prove that Coalface the troll is guilty of selling Slab to troll children. He was in a fight with Sergeant Detritus during a raid and some of his teeth got knocked out. Unfortunately, Commander Vimes insists on more proof than just the suspect's presence when we caught him, in case the Patrician isn't satisfied with that. I was able to document the reaction between the powdered tooth of a troll who hadn't had any contact with Slab—that'd be Detritus—and essence of wahooni, a rather large yellowish fruit that smells slightly of earwax. Unfortunately, the combination of troll diamond, Slab and wahooni is incredibly volatile, as I have just discovered. I'm afraid I shan't be able to demonstrate it in front of anyone else. Alchemists have discovered over the years how to protect ourselves against explosions, but I can't make enough of the salve for everybody."

"Then perhaps you must find another way to demonstrate the difference," Snape sneered. "Have you a lab anymore?"

The dwarf's face grew worried behind his beard. "Er…I may. The beakers'll be all smashed up, though."

"I can fix them. Not all wizards are 'fat old conjurors who couldn't find their arses with an atlas'. Lead on, master dwarf."

The dwarf looked up at him suspiciously. "And why should I trust you?"

"Because," Snape drawled, "I am a Potions Master in both senses of the word, a teacher and an expert. It is clear that your incompetence has nearly caused a disaster, and professional etiquette demands that I put things right."

Gaspode muttered to the dwarf, "'E's a little on the prickly side, Corporal Littlebottom. It's just the way 'e is. 'E probably don't mean to offend you, miss."

"Oh, yes I do," Snape smirked. "However, I assure you that my assistance will be valuable—provided, of course, that you aid me with a task with which I am currently having trouble."

"What's that?" Littlebottom asked, slightly intrigued.

"Getting home," Snape said, bluntly. "I've searched the entire city and I've found buggerall to do with finding a way back. You may be my last chance, much as it pains me to say so."

Littlebottom thought for a moment. "Come with me, then, Severus."

"You may call me Snape," Snape hissed.

"Whatever," she snapped. "Come on."

"What about me?" whined Gaspode, unhappy at being left behind once again.

"Get back to the University. I trust you know the way."

A/N:

The chapter title is a deliberate play on the name of a great jig composed by Blair Douglas, "Nelson Mandela's Welcome to the City of Glasgow". I haven't been able to track down a full MIDI or mp3 of the tune for you to listen to, but a sample of the first three parts (about 50 seconds long) can be found at http:www. scotlandcreates. com/ aros/ music. htm under "A Summer In Skye" (the fourth one down).

According to Pratchett's book Men At Arms, Gaspode has "Licky End", a disease which (as Snape sneers) only occurs in pregnant sheep. I don't know if it's actually a disease in real life; however, it exists on the Discworld, at least.

I should probably also explain a few things about Corporal Littlebottom. Cheery Littlebottom, as she is called, is a former member of the Alchemists' Guild; she was expelled when she blew up the Guild Council. The reason for the switch from "he" to "she" after Gaspode calls her "miss" is, quite honestly, because female Discworld dwarfs are (as in Tolkien) indistinguishable from the males. In fact, the more traditional dwarfs have no female pronouns. As Pratchett points out, it therefore follows that the courtship of dwarfs is an extremely tactful process. Cheery (also known as Cheri at the end of "Feet of Clay", her first appearance) was the first dwarf to openly admit to being female; she was the first dwarf to wear a skirt (a rather hard leather one, in fact), and experimented with makeup, nail polish, earrings, and welding high heels onto her boots. Even so, she kept her beard and helmet. She has made many of the older dwarfs extremely angry; however, many of the younger female dwarfs have been following in her footsteps.

By the way, "Slab" is a drug on the Discworld. It's produced by and for trolls, and Sergeant Detritus has been organizing a campaign against it. The poster reads, "Slab: jus' say 'AarghaarghpleeassennononoUGH'"

P.S. black furry plot point Vimes may show up in the next chapter. Actually, he originally made an appearance in this chapter; however, he just wasn't co-operating with me and the resulting Vimes was so out of character that I might as well have re-named him.

Oh, and about the SS/OC thing—I agree that Snape having a love interest is definitely out of character, given that he is to say the least a very unpleasant person—but when the two interact I try to keep him as in-character as possible, though I must admit it's sometimes a bit of a stretch. This story, as I think I've pointed out before, is actually a sequel; in the original story, "Sing a Song of Hogwarts", I hadn't exactly planned for Geillis and Snape to fall in love. (Actually, it annoyed the heck out of me that it happened; I wasted a considerable amount of energy trying to write the story so that they were just two highly unlikely friends and finally somewhere around the last chapter I just gave up.) But given that the story ended that way, I figure that I might as well work with what I already have. If I'm going to continue with stories containing Geillis, it appears that the relationship (such as it is/will probably be) will definitely have its rough points. In any case, she does serve at least one purpose in this story—she goes looking for him and (eventually) brings him back home so he can be his usual snarky self in his natural habitat—so I hope that the highly unlikely occurrence of Snape In Love is forgivable in this context. Besides, the whole ridiculous scenario has given me a few rather irritating ideas that could be fun to exercise (and therefore exorcise). This is just all in fun, after all. )

However, I do promise that in my stories which contain him, Snape's hair will always be greasy, his skin always sallow, his teeth always bad, and his character as true to canon as I can make it while still writing the scenarios into which (despite my resistance) my highly bizarre mind seems set on placing him.

Additional Note, May 21, 2005: Okay, I know I haven't updated in a very long time; school kept me away (it was my final year of a four-year B.A. in English, so it was understandably kind of busy) and then my blasted computer decided it had had enough and wasn't going to work anymore. I lost my most recent notes and have been trying to reconstruct them ever since, as well as the progress I had made in writing my current works in progress. Everything--including this story--will eventually be finished, but until my laptop comes in (I've borrowed my brother's to type this out) I won't be able to update for real for awhile yet.