Disclaimer: I only wish I was half the writer that Terry Pratchett is.

The Rat Catcher's Guide to the Discworld

"There he is," one of Dudley's hangers on screamed.

"Get 'im," Dudley bellowed.

Like a pack of hounds with the scent of blood, every boy was determined not to give things up until after Dudley's freakish cousin learned that it was not okay to be different or small or slow or any one of a number of reasons that they'd think up after the 'fight' had come to an end.

Harry's legs burned as he ran from Dudley and his gang wishing with all his might that he could be somewhere else, anywhere else and in a flash, he was.

IIIIIIIIII

Stibbons barely knocked as he raced into the Archchancellor's offer.

"Sir? We were trying to split a thaum particle and the detectors recorded a level 5 burst of magical energy, that's over five hundred cubed decaprimes . . . more than you normally see in a century!" Depending on the century of course, some were more exciting then others after all.

Ridcully barely understood half of what Stibbons said on the best of days, but the young wizard had been going on about their latest experiment in the High Energy Magic department so much that he was sure that this pronouncement was of their success.

"Excellent! Good job! Share a glass of this rather excellent Klatchian port with us!"

But Stibbons shook his head. "Er, no, Archchancellor. It's not good. We didn't do the experiment, but the detectors picked up the burst of magic from somewhere outside the University. /Something/ happened that involved an awful lot of magic."

"Awful, you say?"

"I'm afraid so, Archchancellor. If I had to guess . . . we haven't gone over all the data yet, and Hex is being a bit recalcitrant tonight; somehow an aardvark got into the ant hill earlier today and his processing power is way down, and I'd almost say he's pouting. I've never see him like this . . ."

"Your guess?" The Archchancellor was used to having to get his professors back on subject and exceeding good at ignoring most of what they said anyway.

"Guess? Oh, right. It's just a guess, you know. But its the same sort of magical burst we would expect to see if something broke through from the Dungeon Dimensions."

"Ah, bad stuff in those Dungeon Dimensions," the Lecturer in Recent Runes commented. "I remember one tentacled horror, this was before your day, Stibbons, that, well, it's kind of embarrassing . . ."

"If something did break through, then we have to investigate. We are wizards, after all," Ridcully remarked cheerfully, as he searched for his crossbow. A chance to hunt down and shoot unspeakable horrors wasn't something he got to do every day after all.

IIIIIIIIII

Samuel grinned as the last of the thugs pulled a Burleigh & Stronginthearm and pointed it with intent to cause serious if not grievous bodily harm.

"Safety's on," Sam said cheerfully.

"Not this time," the thug replied as his finger took up the slack.

The commander's grin deepened when a meaty thwack caused the remaining thug's eyes to roll up, thus signifying the end of the fight.

"Excellent timing Sergeant," Sam quipped.

"Uh . . . I'm over here sir," a hesitant voice replied from the other end of the alley.

"Then who in the hell did that?"

The only reply to Sam's question was the pitter patter of little feet fleeing into the night.

"Uh . . . someone else sir?" the Sergeant said nervously.

"Yes someone else," Sam agreed in a reasonable tone, "and why did someone else have to save my life?"

"Because your backup was somewhere else sir?"

IIIIIIIIII

The Patrician was expressionless as the clerk handed over the report. This of course didn't mean much since the Patrician rarely had any sort of identifiable expression on his face.

"Just the summery for now," the Patrician said, "please." It never hurt to be polite after all.

"Well, we believe that it's a street kid sir. Associated with the fourth street Choir Boys, though not actually a member of the gang . . ."

IIIIIIIIII

"What do you mean not a member?" Sam demanded. "I remember those gangs, you're either in or you're meat. How can he stay out of it?"

"He's the Rat Catcher sir," Sergeant Cheery Littlebottom explained, "and the owners and patrons of several Dwarf restaurants would be rather annoyed if anything happened to him."

"What's that have to do with anything?" Sam demanded. "So the boy catches a few rats."

"No sir," the dwarf said, "you don't understand. Perhaps I should have said he's THE Rat Catcher of Ankh-Morpork."

"Is this another Dwarf thing?"

"Yes sir."

"What do I need to know?"

"You know how king translates roughly to mine boss in Dwarfish?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

"Rat Catcher translates roughly to Guardian of the Mine Boss's Grain and He Who Supplies the Pantry."

"All capital letters and everything?"

"I'm afraid so, sir."

"So it wasn't a human boy after all," Sam said to himself.

"It was, sir."

"How in the hell does a human child get a Dwarf noble title?"

"He supplies all the best restaurants," Sergeant Littlebottom said quickly, "some of the owners got together and supplied the appropriate bribes. Let's 'em charge double to have their meat get supplied by a genuine Rat Catcher."

"Why'd they go to all the trouble?"

"Kid's the best," he . . . er she replied quickly, "has a pair of mongooses and I'm told that they're very selective. Little buggers go in and only take out the ones they've been told to."

"Well trained," Sam commented.

"Not trained sir, they're just very good at following orders and he's very specific with the directions he gives them."

"He speaks mongoose?"

"No sir."

"We'll, that's a rel . . ."

"But they all speak snake so they can communicate in that until he learns."

IIIIIIIIII

Harry reached into his bag and counted the day's take by feel, two more and they'd make their delivery. He paused to nod respectfully to the tiny figure in the black cloak, best to show a bit of professional courtesy to what was considered the unofficial head of his guild.

Make that one more, one more and they'd call it a day.

It had been several months since Harry had found himself in this strange city. Several months of living on the mean streets, several months of having to fight to get his fair share or somebody's fair share at any rate, and keep what was rightfully his, several of the best months of his life.

Just being able to fight back was something the young boy never grew tired of, so what if he broke a few bones along the way. Most of them did belong to other people after all and one of the things he'd always disliked about Dudders was the fact that the fat boy could never take what he so gleefully dished out.

"You, Harry the Rat Catcher?" a low voice asked from one of the shadows.

"Who wants to know?" Harry asked belligerently. He dropped his bag and reached into his pocket for the comforting presence of his new cosh. One of the best money could buy, no sense scrimping on something his life depended on.

"Just wanted to ask why you choose to break into a shop under guild protection," the voice said reasonably. Not even hinting on what the normal consequences for such an action was.

"Which one?" Harry asked. "The one last night or the one I'm gonna get after I drop these rats off?"

"Er . . ." This wasn't how it normally went when he caught up to an unlicensed thief, usually there was a lot more screaming and begging. "Last night," the voice replied with a trace of uncertainty.

"Oh, to pick up my groceries. I've got a much smaller list tonight," Harry said helpfully, "just three things."

"You know what happens to unlicensed thieves in this town right?"

"Who doesn't," Harry replied cheerfully.

"Then you know what we gotta do to you," the voice said firmly, attempting to get things back on track.

"Not the slightest idea," Harry said, throwing another figurative wrench into the man's mental gears.

"You broke into a shop, right?"

"Right," Harry confirmed.

"In this city, right?"

"Right again."

"And the shop had paid the guild, right?"

"Sure."

"Yet you still stole from it, right?"

"What?" Harry growled. "How dare you accuse me of stealing."

"Er . . . huh?"

"Stealing is wrong unless you're a member of the guild in good standing," Harry recited.

"Then . . . then what were you doing in that shop?"

"I told you," Harry sighed, "shopping. What else does someone do in a shop?" Harry shook his head in exasperation, this guy was obviously more then a bit dim. "Oh, and I left a business card so they'd know who to contact if they wanted to get rid of their rats."

"What would you call taking things without paying for them?" The voice tried another tactic.

"Stealing," Harry said. He nodded again to the small figure, and that was two.

"So you see, when you took things from the shop without paying that was called what?"

"I didn't take anything from that shop without paying for it," Harry said, "I left the money in the safe along with my business card and an itemized list of everything I bought."

"You broke into a shop in the middle of the night and paid for everything you took?" the voice asked incredulously.

"Yep, why?"

"I gotta kick this up the line," the voice said, "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do in this circumstance."

"Wait." Harry dug around one of his pockets before coming out with a business card. "Give this to your boss, special rates for de-ratting guild halls."

"Thanks."

IIIIIIIIII

The nervous looks on the faces of the staff told Sam that something was very wrong when he got home. With a growing sense of dread, he finally realized what was missing.

"Where's my wife?" Sam demanded.

"What wife, your grace?" One of the maids squeaked.

"Well," Sam growled.

"She went to the Shades sir," the trembling maid managed to reply, "we tried to talk her out of it but . . ."

"Damn," Sam cursed as he ran out of the house and towards the Shades. He knew better then anybody the sort of thing that happened in the bad parts of town and the Shades were worse then most since taking the title of bad part of town was much more difficult in a place like Ankh-Morpork which could be safely called the bad part of the Sto Plains if not the whole disk.

Scenes of horror flashed through his mind as he steeled himself for what he might find, god help the city if anything happened to Lady Sybil Ramkin for the watch surely won't.

Sam wasn't sure what he expected, but he was sure it wasn't what he found. His wife, Lady Sybil was marching though the Shades with a confused looking boy in tow. What's more, he was sure that he saw Gerty Picks, one of the roughest gang leaders produced by a very rough neighborhood crossing the street to avoid crossing the determined woman's path.

"Come along Harry," Sybil prompted, "don't dawdle."

"Yes ma'am," Harry agreed.

"Sybil," the Commander of the Watch said in confusion, "what's . . ."

"Imagine how I felt when one of your constables let slip about your close call," Sybil said with a smile, "I just had to go out to thank the person who saved you and let me tell you how shocked I was to learn that it was such an adorable little boy. Just look at his eyes."

"Uh . . ."

"I've invited him over to have supper with us," Sybil continued, "and he has been gracious enough to agree."

"I have to stop by a couple of restaurants first," Harry reminded the woman, "I promised to make my deliveries tonight."

"And you should always keep your promises," Lady Sybil said in approval.

The rest of the day was a blur to Harry and through no fault of his own and at Lady Sybil's insistence, he somehow agreed to become a semi permanent house guest at the Vimes estate.

IIIIIIIIII

There is a theory that states that tools developed for a certain purpose will always have some basic similarities; a hammer will always have a flat striking surface and a place to grip with a hand, your average ta'kleth will always have a beveled edge for slicing through the carth in the lat'nel, and the typical pain-in-the-ass-that's-going-to-get-murdered-by-his-students' teacher will share certain traits with every pain-in-the-ass-that's-going-to-get-murdered-by-his-students' teacher.

The police would probably be a lot more effective if they ever noticed this fact.

The instructor glared down at the students with barely concealed contempt.

"Today you will be learning the vulgar art of avoiding traps," he said with a sneer, "one that you shall have no trouble with if you aren't a complete dunder head."

"How sir?" asked a young girl from BlackWidow house.

"By taking a field trip of course," he said in a silky tone. "There's no better way to learn then by doing after all." And if the brat had an accident, well . . . that was no fault of his was it?

IIIIIIIIII

Sam awoke with a start to find the two beady eyes of a mongoose staring at him from the base of the bed.

"Shove off back to the boy's room," Sam growled.

The eyes seemed to narrow and the mongoose motioned for him to follow with a contemptuous wave of its paw.

"Damn it, what now?" Sam sighed. He followed the beast out of the house and to a small privacy hedge.

"Is that you, Commander Vimes?" Harry's voice asked softly.

"It is," Sam agreed, "what is it?"

"I was just wondering if you had any preferred method for dealing with a group of assassins?" Harry asked. "I'd normally just give them a cut across the throat before dumping them in the sewer, but I thought it'd be polite to ask you first . . . seeing that I'm your guest and all."

"What?" Sam took a step forward and was astonished to find the boy sitting on a group of unhappy assassins, looked like one instructor and several young students to his experienced eye. "What were they doing?"

"Lurking about, Commander Vimes." Harry replied. The expressionless boy grabbed the instructor by the hair and pulled the man's head back. "Should I give him a little slice sir?"

"Not yet." Sam grinned. "But would you mind removing his gag for a bit?"

"Yes sir," Harry agreed. He pulled the dirty rag out of the man's mouth.

"The Patrician will hear of this outrage," the angry assassin spat.

"I don't usually bother him with when I catch trespassers myself," Sam replied cheerfully, "what's all this about, then?"

"Merely a training exercise," the instructor said pompously, "had this been an actual attempt . . ."

"Then you'd be dead," Sam interrupted, "good work, Harry."

"Thank you, sir."

"Call me Mr. Vimes," Sam said as he checked the boy's knots, "you did save my life after all."

"Yes, Mr. Vimes," Harry said dutifully.

"And tell me something . . . "

"What is it, Mr. Vimes?"

"Why exactly were you lurking around here in the night?" And why the hell didn't you blunder into any of my traps? He thought to himself.

"Just wanted to get an idea of how the place was arranged, Mr. Vimes," Harry replied, "to find the best hiding spots and follow the runs, so the locals would know to move on."

"Very good then, shall we head back to the house? I'm sure that I could persuade Willikins to make you a bacon sandwich."

"Do you think that he's awake, Mr. Vimes?"

"I'm not sure he ever sleeps, Harry."

IIIIIIIIII

The girl endured the humiliation of being tossed into the back of a honey wagon (like she was a common seamstress for disc's sake!) to be transported back to the Guild of Assassins with the other students and their enraged professor. And she endured the lecture the professor gave when they returned, in which he explained that the night's events could all be laid on her shoulders (despite the fact that he was the first to go down after having stepped on something that squeaked), that she was a disgrace to the school, and that she never should have been accepted in the first place. Duchess or no Duchess.

A lecture that was cut short when a messenger summoned the suddenly white faced man to the Headmaster's office for a chat.

The girl's head tilted to the side for a moment as she contemplated her coming appointment and considered calling it off. Ultimately, she decided that there was no reason to be rude. They were family after all, despite their frequent disagreements.

IIIIIIIIII

Susan walked up Zephire Street to Weinrich & Boettcher, makers of the finest chocolate available and, after careful consideration, selected a small box of their best dark chocolate. Taking it, she retired to a convenient table that the owners would have sworn hadn't been there five minutes before and settled down to wait.

She looked up when a student from the Assassin's guild took the chair across from here.

"Good morning, Susan," the girl said cheerfully.

"Susy," Susan said in a clipped tone, "have you decided to give up your studies at the Guild in favor of a proper school?"

"No," Susy replied, "and to be honest, I'm still a bit surprised that you've decided to take the moral high ground here. Just because I want to have a closer relationship with grandfather . . ."

"Why don't we avoid that argument," Susan suggested, "we've already had it enough times."

"True," Susy agreed, "and even you have to admit that they've got one of the best libraries available."

"I'll concede that," Susan agreed with a sigh. "Aren't you going to tell me how your day went." Susan asked unemotionally.

"Another murder attempt," the girl replied blandly, "I've been giving serious thought to arranging an accident of my own." Should it prove necessary, she had a feeling that Lord Downey had already taken care of the problem. "This one is unusual in that it very nearly succeeded, though not in the manner the Professor intended I'm sure."

"Oh," Susan asked politely.

"The idea was to run me through Commander Vime's place and have me run afoul of one of the traps," she explained, "a bit better then the time he tried to rearrange the ingredients in poisons class, I'll admit." She sighed. "I'm still not sure exactly what happened, but we were somehow stopped by a boy with the greenest eyes."

"A boy," Susan said flatly.

"With eyes like emeralds," Susy agreed, "he's about my age."

"And he captured you and a fully trained assassin," Susan said slowly.

"Along with a couple of the more disposable students," Susy confirmed, "I'm not sure how he was able to do it."

"You said it almost succeeded?"

"He was about to drag a straight razor across my throat when I woke up," Suzy continued, "grandfather was there and everything."

"He's not usually wrong about these things," Susan said thoughtfully, "are you sure he wasn't there for the boy?"

"Positive," she said, "odd thing was the fact that the boy glanced at grandfather's shoulder for a second and then gave him a nod."

"I presume that he didn't go through with it or else you wouldn't be here any longer."

"You presume right," Susy said, "the boy stared at grandfather for a moment before remarking that it would be rude to kill us without asking his host first. Nothing of note happened after that."

"Does this boy have a name?" Susan asked.

"Harry," Susy replied with sparkling eyes, "he's about my age and I'm sure you'd love to meet him."

"I'll think about it," Susan said, "shall we meet next week at the same time?"

"I believe that I can find the time," Susy agreed.

IIIIIIIIII

Lobsang was waiting when Susan returned from her meeting, hoping that his sort of girlfriend sort of fiancée hadn't worked herself into another fury on the trip home.

"How did your meeting go?" Lobsang asked.

"I swear, it's like being a mother, except I have no father to blame her attitude on!" Susan grumbled to herself.

"Ummm, actually..." Time trailed off as his girlfriend glared at him.

"What?" She knew she was about to discover something else about their relationship that would upset her.

"Well, we personifications don't reproduce with each other like humans do. So, congratulations... its a preteen girl!" he called out with nervous cheer.

"What!?" Susan's hair coiled and uncoiled as it tended to do when she was upset. "Do you mean to say, we had a child and you didn't tell me?"

Time pulled at the neck of his robe. "Well she didn't exist before this moment, although now she's always existed, but that's occurred just now."

"I thought she was just a younger version of me," Susan questioned trying to consider being the mother of herself, or at least another version of herself anyway.

"Well, yes and no. She is a younger version of you, but one that made different choices at different times and it was caused by our 'close' association giving rise to another, as yet unnamed, aspect."

"Unnamed? I thought she wanted to be called Susy, although that's probably just to annoy me."

"She has Time and Helpfullness to draw on, from us, and probably a bit to do with Death from your side of the family, so as she gets older it'll be related in some way to what she ultimately chooses," he tried to explain.

"I always thought it was 'The child is father to the man'," Susan pointed out.

"Nah, if that was true birth would be a lot more painful."

AN: Polish by dogbertcarroll and meteoricshipyards. Title by fenriswolf001. Scenes by meteoricshipyards, dogbertcarroll, and one of the ideas was shamelessly stolen from The-Caitiff.

Omake: Susy

"You again?" Commander Vimes sighed, he looked down at the girl in the pit. "What are you here this time?"

"Um." The girl blushed deeply.

"Out with it," Sam barked.

"Can Harry come out to play," the girl asked hopefully.

Omake: The Wizards

"Excellent shot sir," the Bursar said dully.

"An owl on the wing by god," the Archchancellor cheered, "right here in our own University. Capital way to liven up a meal I'd say."

"It seems to have a note tied to it's leg Archchancellor," the Dean pointed out.

"Well out with it man, what does it say?"

"I can't bring myself to say it," the Dean growled, "take a look for yourself Archchancellor."

"Hogwarts . . . finest wizarding school?" The Archchancellor shouted.

Several sets of eyes narrowed, around the University bottles of poison were taken out of old cabinets and scorpion cages were dusted off. The staff of this 'Hogwarts' was going to learn what it meant to challenge the greatest center of learning on the Disk.

Omake by David

heh speaking of rincewind Here's probably how his meeting with Harry went

R: Let me get this straight... You are a Orphan

H: Mmhmm

R:Who had terribly and abusive aunt and Uncle raise you... until by magic you ran away from home and came to Ankhmorphk... Rincewind nods.. smiles weakly... hey whats that over there??

H: Hmmm?

Harry turns back to see a Rincewind shaped dustcloud.

Because Rincewind can detect a 'generic orphan hero hidden away' plotline a mile away and he sure as hell isn't going to get stuck int he 'wizardry mentor' role!

Omake by moshehim

The dwarf sat on Harry so he wouldn't be able to escape again. Then, to Harry's horrour, he began to sing:

"His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad, His hair is... who wrote that crap?", he asked. "Better come up with better lyrics, he exclaimed. "Hiho, hio, hihohihohiho," he said, clearing his voicec cords, then, he began singing anew:

"Gold, gold, gold, gold, gold, gold, gold, gold, Glod, glod, glod, glod... Gold, gold, gold,. gold... here, let's see? Defeated the Dark Lord, Gold, gold gold!"

He finally shut up, and let a mortified Harry Potter go.