Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or settings to be found herein.
A/N: A few weeks ago I invited readers of my livejournal to challenge me to write - within limits - any pairing and/or scenario of their choice. This is one of the results.
When Samuel Vimes Junior was nine his parents noticed that strange things were starting to happen, with increasing frequency, around him. There was the way that china on the other side of the room would suddenly disintegrate when he was scolded for eating with his fingers. The way that the fireplace in his room seemed to light itself in the mornings. And, of course, the fact that he was the only schoolboy in Ankh Morpork whose homework had genuinely been eaten by a rampaging seven eyed, eight tentacled monster, on the way to school. All of this led them to draw one inevitable conclusion.
Sam Vimes didn't like the idea at all. Generally speaking he didn't mind wizards; they didn't tend to create the kind of nuisance that he'd have to deal with. He was not however overly keen on the notion of his son joining their moon and star adorned ranks. Unfortunately, the strange phenomena that seemed to follow the boy around showed no sign of abating. If anything they were getting stronger. The previous week The Times had reported heavily on the fact that all of the clocks on Scoone Avenue had stopped at exactly quarter past eight in the evening. Fifteen minutes before young Sam's usual bedtime. It was therefore decided, after a long discussion in which Lady Sybil pointed out that an untrained, thaumatologically gifted boy living in close proximity to several hundred gastricly volatile swap dragons (not that there was any other type of course) was a civic disaster waiting to happen, that Sam should maybe have a word with Ridcully about him.
It was Wednesday teatime when Sam Vimes decided to brooch the matter with his son.
"Er…look lad," he said, not quite sure of the best way to tackle the issue. "Your mother and I, we've noticed that you seem to have a few special talents that most people, well… frankly don't, and we were wondering what you thought of the idea of being a wizard."
"I don't want to be a wizard," said young Sam, as he cheerfully stabbed at a piece of overcooked beef.
"You don't?" said his father, not quite sure how to proceed.
"No, I want to be a witch."
"But Sam," said Lady Sybil, looking faintly discomfited. "You're a boy."
"Just because I'm a boy it doesn't mean I can't be a witch."
"But surely a boy who was a witch would be a wizard?"
"Oh no, it doesn't have to work like that. I can show you if you want."
Both of his parents stared at him with expressions of uneasy confusion.
Young Sam then proceeded to calmly leave the room.
He returned five minutes later with a large tome bearing the title Magic, And Why Not To Use It by one Eskarina Smith, lecturer in Inverse Thaumatology at the Unseen University.
"This explains it," he said, opening the book to a preface entitled My Early Life As A Witch. "Borrowing sounds loads better than waving an old staff around."