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Draco barely had time to wake up when Snape dragged him out of bed and bodily shoved him into the fireplace. The last thing he heard before the green flames engulfed him was Snape's voice shouting something that must have been a destination.
When he stumbled out of an unfamiliar fireplace, he was looking at a huge desk covered in magical junk, and behind it loomed the slightly translucent face of – Albus Dumbledore.
Draco gasped and staggered backwards, but there was no way out other than crawling back into the fireplace which was not advisable without Floo powder. He realized belatedly that Snape had actually sent him to the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts.
"Ah, Mr Malfoy, I'm glad you could come on such short notice!" Dumbledore's eyes had lost nothing of their twinkling, even though you could see right through them. Draco pulled himself together. The old fool would not see him lose his self-control again.
"What the hell am I doing here?" He had intended to sound commanding, but it came out as a rather petulant whine. Dumbledore beamed at him. "It's for your own safety, my boy. I'm sure Severus has told you that Voldemort is looking for you, and he has been close to finding you on several occasions now. Since Severus is needed elsewhere and can't guard you forever, I've been looking for a safe hide-out for you, and I'm happy to inform you that I've found the perfect place."
The silvery shape of Dumbledore's ghost rose from behind the table and pointed towards a Slytherin robe that was hanging on the hat stand. "Please put this on, you can't very well go in your pyjamas. Don't forget the hat, it's important where you're going."
Draco eyed the pointy black hat with distaste. It was part of the official Hogwarts uniform although it was only worn on special occasions, and Draco hated it with a passion. In his opinion, it made him look like one of these ridiculous garden gnome things that Muggles kept on their lawns. However, he didn't dare contradict Dumbledore who was calmly floating out of the door, so he put the damn thing on his head and followed the silvery shape into the dark corridor.
+++
"This is where you're going, Mr Malfoy." Draco looked along Dumbledore's outstretched hand – visibly blackened even in its translucent form – and frowned. "I'm supposed to hide in the Restricted Section?"
"Not quite." Not even death had managed to wipe the infuriating, all-knowing smile off Dumbledore's face. "Let's just say you're hiding on the other side of it, where an old friend of mine is awaiting you. Just make sure that you turn left at every eighth shelf."
"But then I'll walk in circles!"
Dumbledore only smiled again. "Off you go, Mr Malfoy."
With a shrug, Draco reached for his wand, whispered "Lumos" and set out into the parchment-filled darkness.
+++
Wherever he was going, he was obviously not at Hogwarts any more. Draco had been wandering between the shelves for at least an hour now, dutifully turning left at every eighth shelf, and he still had to pass the same shelf twice. The books he walked past were looking strange, some chained to the shelves, some tied shut with leather straps, others shaking and rattling, their pages flapping in a non-existent breeze. It was pitch dark but for the small point of light that emanated from Draco's wand, and the feeling of the magic that radiated from the books was getting more and more unfamiliar with every step.
Draco clenched his teeth. Where in Merlin's name had the old fool sent him? He didn't believe Dumbledore's ghost would send him to a dangerous place on purpose, otherwise Snape would not have delivered him into the dead Headmaster's hands, but the man had been half-mad even when he had been alive…
Draco stopped abruptly when he heard a faint noise. There was movement somewhere in the darkness. His heartbeat was suddenly very loud in his own ears when he raised his wand into a defensive position and ventured a rather squeaky, "Hello?"
For a moment, there was no reaction. Then there was a sound high above his head, and a huge dark figure dropped down from the shelves and landed right at Draco's feet. Draco jumped back and raised his wand higher. "Who… WHAT the hell are you?"
The figure turned towards him and gave him a grin that showed a frightening array of huge yellow teeth. Then it raised a long, hairy arm and made a gesture that looked as if it was beckoning him.
Draco took another step back; those teeth were nothing you wanted to get close to. "You want me to… follow you?"
This question caused the figure to start jumping up and down, which seemed to be an affirmative. The hairy arm pointed to a spot between the shelves where Draco saw a door that he could have sworn hadn't been there a moment ago. "You want me to go through here?"
The figure gave him another scary grin and replied, "Ooook!"
+++
Outside the door stood a plump young man with a complexion the colour of something that lives under a stone. He was wearing robes of some kind that were covered with both sequins and stains. He held a garishly yellow pointy hat in his left hand; his right hand was stretched out towards Draco.
"Hello, I'm Ponder Stibbons, Reader in Invisible Writings. I've been asked to take you to the Archchancellor."
Draco cautiously shook the proffered hand and let go as quickly as possible - just in case this kind of fashion sense was catching. "My name is Draco Malfoy." Never let it be said that a Malfoy forgot his manners in times of crisis. "Can you tell me where exactly I am here?"
Ponder gave him a strange look. "At the UU, of course. What did you expect?"
"The what?"
"The Unseen University. How can you be a wizard and not know what the UU is?" Ponder surveyed him critically. "You are a wizard, aren't you?"
"Of course I am!" Draco hadn't meant to snap at the young man, but he wouldn't allow anyone to doubt his magical abilities.
Ponder shrugged. "No offence, my friend, but from the way you're dressed…"
"What exactly is wrong with my clothes?" There was only so much Draco was willing to take from someone who had the fashion sense of a deranged magpie.
The young man shrugged again. "O, nothing, I suppose you do things differently where you come from. Still, I would advise you to get some pointy shoes and a few pounds of glittery stuff for your robes and hat if you're planning to stay for longer, unless you enjoy being laughed at by the students. Do you at least have a staff?"
Draco frowned. "What would I need a staff for?"
From the way Ponder's eyes widened, this had been a stupid question. "What you would need it for? How are you doing magic if you don't have a staff to channel it?"
It finally dawned on Draco that this strange fellow was probably talking about a wand. He lifted his hand, which was still clutching his wand, and waved it under Ponder's nose. "Oh, that. Of course I have one. See?"
"THAT?" Ponder's grin almost split his face in two. "You're doing magic with THAT?"
"What's wrong with it?" Draco was getting seriously irritated. It didn't help that Ponder was howling with laughter now.
"That… that's all you've got? Oh boy, you must be very secure in your self-esteem if you can make do with a stick the size of a pencil!" Ponder was wiping away tears and fighting for breath. "You call that a staff?"
"No, I call it a wand, and if you don't stop laughing this instant, I'll hex you into next week with it!"
Ponder, totally ignoring the threat, sobered instantly. "Wands are for fairy godmothers. Don't tell me you are…"
Draco pressed the wand into Ponder's chest. "Don't finish that sentence if you treasure your health."
Ponder threw his hands into the air. "Fine, fine. No need to get all worked up, I really don't care. Come on, the Archchancellor is waiting for you."
Draco gave the young man a final glare before following him along the vaulted corridor.
+++
If Draco had ever believed Albus Dumbledore to be barking mad, that was because he hadn't known Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully back then.
"The old chap managed to send you over, then? Jolly good!"
The Archchancellor clapped him on the back with such force that Draco almost fell to his knees. "What's your name, son?"
"Draco Malfoy… sir," Draco replied cautiously, rubbing his shoulder.
"Weird name," Mustrum Ridcully said with a shrug, "but it's a weird place you're coming from, isn't it? How's that old fellow doing?"
It took Draco a moment to realize that this strange huge man in his strange multicoloured robes was talking about Dumbledore.
"Er – I'm afraid he's dead…"
"Dead?" Ridcully shrugged again. "Well, it happens to the best of us. He didn't happen to tell you what we were supposed to do with you, did he?"
Draco was starting to sweat just from the exertion of watching the Archchancellor. The man seemed unable to stay in one place for longer than two seconds. "Didn't he tell you?"
"Sadly, no." The Archchancellor didn't seem overly concerned by this. "Said you needed to hide from some Dark Lord fellow or something for a while and that he'd send you via the library because…"
"Because of L-space, sir," Ponder Stibbons supplied helpfully.
Ridcully gave him a look. "Right. You know what that is?"
Draco, at a loss for words, just shook his head.
"Never mind. Let's just hope you'll figure it out when you want to go back, huh? But for now, we need to find you something to do. Can't have you sitting around all day, eating our food for nothing, huh? You are a wizard, aren't you?"
"Of course I am!" Draco answered for the second time that day, "I am of age, and although I didn't take my NEWTs yet, I'm fully qualified!" He tried very hard not to ponder the comment about going back at the moment.
Ridcully blinked. "What are you taking newts for?"
"N-E-W-Ts, not newts! They're a sort of…"
Ridcully cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Whatever makes you feel better, son. Our bursar takes dried frog pills, and they do him a world of good. Fully qualified wizard, eh? You're bloody young for that. What level are you?"
Draco gave him a blank stare.
The Archchancellor sighed. "I've been telling that Headmaster of yours that your world is lacking in wizarding standards. Do you at least have a staff?"
"He's got a wand, sir," Ponder pointed out with a remarkable amount of glee in his voice. Draco could have kicked him.
Ridcully's eyebrows rose. "A wand? You're not a fairy godmother, are you? Let's see it!"
Realizing he didn't have much choice, Draco gloomily handed over his wand. He expected to be laughed at again, and he wasn't disappointed; the Archchancellor laughed so hard that the windows rattled.
"Oh, son, I see we needn't be concerned about your virtuous lifestyle as long as you're here," he finally said while he was wiping away the tears with his beard, "here, have it back, and do whatever you can with it. But seriously now, what are we going to do with you? Is there anything you're good at?"
Draco gave him an icy glare. "I happen to be the best Potions student in my year."
Ridcully, frowning, looked at Ponder, who only shrugged helplessly. "Potions? What kind of wizarding skill is that supposed to be?"
"Just give me a bloody cauldron and I'll show you!" Draco's patience was wearing thin. Still, he couldn't help noticing how Ponder blanched at his words while the Archchancellor's face darkened.
"A cauldron? Young man, witch magic is nothing a respectable wizard should be meddling with! Wherever you come from, there are some things I won't tolerate from anyone at my University!" He gave Draco a calculating look. "You aren't some sort of transsexual, are you?"
Draco gasped. "How dare you…"
"Well, you shouldn't show up here with a fairy godmother's wand and ask for a cauldron if you don't want people to jump to conclusions!" growled the Archchancellor. "I've heard enough of that nonsense. Until I decide what to do with you, I guess it will be best if you help out at the library. Our librarian's aide seems to have run off again, and he's rather short-handed at the moment."
He looked expectantly at Ponder, who, belatedly recognising the Archchancellor's idea of a pun, chuckled dutifully.
"Shall I escort Mr Malfoy back to the library, Archchancellor?"
"Do it, man. And tell him a few basic facts about appropriate behaviour for a wizard on the way. Off you go!"
Draco breathed a sigh of relief when he was ushered out the door. In the corridor, Ponder gave him the kind of look people usually reserve for the very young, the very old, and the terminally stupid. "Well," he said cheerfully, "that went well, didn't it?"
+++
Since Draco expected to be dragged back to the library, he was rather surprised when Ponder grabbed his elbow and dragged him... somewhere else.
"Didn't that Archchancellor of yours say that I was supposed to go to the library?"
Ponder gave him an almost horrified look. "Yes, but he didn't mean NOW!"
"And why not?"
"Because it's dinner time, of course!"
+++
A dining hall full of wizards can be a frightening sight for the uninitiated.
Draco was seated far down at one of the long tables in the huge hall, a plate full of... something in front of him, and hoped fervently that this would turn out to be just some kind of nightmare that he was having. His surroundings were a blur of robes in every garish colour of the rainbow, sequins and glitter, pointy hats and pointy shoes, of greasy beards and huge bellies, of bowls and platters shining and glistening with their artery-clogging contents, and the omnipresent flashes of attacking cutlery. While hardly anyone was speaking as every wizard in the hall was busy grabbing the best bits before his neighbour got to them, the hall was filled with the kind of noise that is caused by the presence of a lot of hungry diners and the total absence of any kind of table manners. And he had thought witnessing Crabbe and Goyle at the dinner table was bad.
When his stomach was starting to heave, Draco tried closing his eyes, but quickly found out that it was no good since it made the sounds worse. Desperately searching for any kind of distraction, he turned to his chaperon in the seat next to him who was busy dismembering some kind of roasted animal. "So this place is a university for wizards?"
"Mphmnp?" Ponder obviously realized that wasn't a very enlightening answer, so he nodded empathically. After some hasty chewing and swallowing, he added, "The University for wizards. There is no other place to seriously study magic on the Disc. Really, where are you from? Howondaland? Xxxx?"
When Draco only stared blankly (he realized himself that he was doing it a lot lately, but the word "Disc" had left him speechless), Ponder shrugged and continued, his fork and knife already moving into attack formation again, "You aren't a wizard unless you hold a UU degree, so those who are born with magical talent come here to be trained. The wizards on this side of the room are members of the staff, although some of the eldest usually dine in their rooms. The students are seated over there where they're hard to spot from the faculty tables; we wouldn't want the sight of them to put us off our dinner, would we?"
Draco cautiously scanned the room. He was surrounded by men in various stages of advanced age and very advanced weight. "And where are the witches?"
Unfortunately, Ponder had his mouth full again, which led to a lot of coughing and spluttering that Draco really could have done without. Half-chewed roast on sparkly robes is not a pretty sight.
"Are you nuts?" Ponder's face was turning an interesting shade of red. "As if we would let witches in here! What is it with your fixation on... female stuff?" His tone made it clear that he was mentally chiding himself for using such a dirty word at the dinner table, and he gave Draco a baleful look. "Listen, we all get these thoughts from time to time while we are young, but make sure to put them out of your mind. A cold shower usually helps, I'm told."
"What?" Draco had finally got the picture. "Are you telling me that wizards here must have nothing to do with women?"
"Of course not!" Ponder's face was now reaching purple shades. "Hey, after the wand and cauldron thing, I really didn't expect I would have to give you the cold shower speech! Can we please change the topic now? I'm eating here!"
Draco's mind was reeling. "But then... I mean, where do the wizards come from? If you mustn't..."
"Oh, not the birds and bees too!" Ponder threw down his cutlery in disgust. "Listen, thanks to my seven older brothers, I know how these things are supposed to work in theory, and that's already more than I ever wanted to know about it!"
"Seven brothers." Draco took a deep breath. "You have seven brothers who are... not wizards?"
"Of course not." Ponder seemed to have resigned himself to the fact that he would miss a perfectly good meal to enlighten an idiot from the back of beyond. "How could they? I'm the eighth son, I'm the wizard. That's how it goes. Or are you saying that you aren't?"
"I'm an only child."
Now it was Ponder's turn to stare. "How can you be a wizard, then?"
This was going to far. Draco might have been stranded in a living nightmare, but he was still a Malfoy. "Because my father is a wizard, and my mother a witch, of course," he informed Ponder icily. "I can trace back my family line to the time of the Conqu... well, a very long time, and all my ancestors were wizards and witches! Have you never heard of pure-blood wizarding families here?"
Ponder's mouth was hanging open. "Wizards and witches are marrying where you come from? Having children?"
"Didn't I just say that?"
"But that's crazy! How can you risk that? You must be knee-deep in sourcerers!"
Draco blinked. "In what?"
"Never mind." Ponder was getting up from the table, dragging Draco with him. "I've had enough; you're giving me the creeps. I'm taking you to the library NOW. Come on!"
+++
"Oook!"
Draco stared, and then stared some more. He'd run into him before, yes, but he'd had no idea...
"THAT is your librarian? But he's a – "
Before he could finish the sentence, Ponder had unceremoniously grabbed him by the collar and yanked him behind the nearest bookshelf. "Listen, don't say it, all right? He doesn't like being called a monkey."
"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeek!"
The blood-curling shriek was how Ponder found out that the Librarian had followed them.
"Of course he wouldn't," Draco said mildly as he watched the orang-utan's impressive attempt to unscrew Ponder's head, "he's an ape, after all."
The Librarian looked up. Over the yellow-toothed grin that Draco had seen before, a pair of surprisingly intelligent eyes met his gaze. Then one of them winked at him.
He couldn't help feeling that he had just met the one sane person in the madhouse he was stuck in.
+++
Conversation with a sapient orang-utan was a lot easier than Draco would have imagined.
"This means you were once a human wizard?"
"Ooook." It was quite impressive how a creature that didn't possess any kind of neck could nod so empathically.
"And you got changed into an ape by..."
"Oook oook eeeek!" Gestures, Draco realized, were a lot more expressive if your arms were twice the length of your body and you could use your feet to point, too.
"...a magical accident?"
"Ooook."
In a second, Draco had his wand out. "But in this case, it's just a matter of reversing the transfiguration. I'd be happy to – "
"EEEEEEEEK."
"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing." It was a relief to be able to handle something in this crazy place. "Finite inc – hey! No, wait, don't break it! And don't eat it, either!" Draco watched in panic as the Librarian carelessly bit into the wand he had plucked from Draco's hand. A green ball of light emerged and hit the orang-utan between the eyes.
The Librarian blinked a few times; then one leathery hand came up to rub his face while the other one handed the wand gingerly back to its owner. Draco hastily pocketed it; only now he realized how badly his hands were shaking.
"I take it," he said weakly, "that you don't want to be changed back?"
"Ooook." The Librarian flashed him another one of his fearsome grins.
Considering what the poor creature would have to wear if he were human, Draco could even understand his choice of species.
He took a step back. "I apologize, then. I've been told that I'm supposed to be your aide for the time being."
"Ooook." The Librarian agreed with another neckless nod and beckoned Draco to follow him. After a moment's hesitation, Draco went after the ape, who knuckled ahead along a row of shelves until he reached a desk that seemed to be a workplace of sorts. Among jars of glue and scraps of leather and parchment, Draco spotted a huge book on the desk.
It had definitely seen better days; the leather cover was tattered and worn, and the yellowing pages were coming loose and flapping sadly in the nonexistent breeze.
"Oook." The Librarian pointed at the book, then looked at Draco expectantly. Draco frowned. "You want me to repair it?"
"Oook oook." The leathery hand reached for one of the glue jars and held it out invitingly.
Draco wrinkled his nose. "I think not. I may be far away from home, but I'm not a Muggle!" He whipped his wand out, careful to keep it out of the Librarian's impressive reach. "Codicem reparo!"
Time seemed to slow down as his wand channelled the magic to do his bidding... magic that was unfamiliar. It flowed through him in the same way it always did when he spoke an incantation, and yet it was – different. It was like taking a breath in the rainforest when you had spent all your life in the desert – you could still breathe the air, but the feeling was absolutely not what you were used to.
Draco realized with a pang of dread that he probably was a lot farther away from home than he'd thought.
Meanwhile, the Librarian was inspecting the book. He turned it over, sniffed it thoroughly, nibbled a bit at the shiny cover, and then regarded Draco with a look that bordered on respect.
"Oooook! Ooook oook ooook!" The red-furred arm came down to clap him on the shoulder, although – thankfully – a lot more gently than the Archchancellor had done it.
"My pleasure," Draco said weakly. "Can I ask you something?"
"Ooook."
Draco took a deep breath. "Where am I? I mean – what exactly is this place?"
+++
Draco had no idea how long he'd been staring at it now, willing it to change, to go away. It was strangely unmoving, but it remained what it was: a flat, circular mass, balancing on the back of four huge elephants which were standing on the shell of a giant turtle. The sea through which the turtle seemed to be swimming was star-spangled.
His face ashen, Draco finally raised a shaking hand and pointed at the picture. "That's... this is really where we are? Where I am?"
"Oook." The Librarian gently took the open book out of Draco's unresisting hands; the horrible picture disappeared when he closed the book and put it back on the shelf.
"Oh my God." Draco tried to steady his breathing, but he was pretty sure that the immediate future would contain a full-blown panic attack. "That old fool! How could he – what am I supposed to do now?"
The Librarian cocked his head and seemed to ponder the question for a moment. Then another yellow-toothed grin spread over his leathery face; his arm shot out to grab Draco by the shoulder. Draco found out quickly that there was no resisting this grip; after a brief and pointless struggle, he allowed himself to be dragged to whatever place the Librarian had in mind.
+++
The Mended Drum, Draco thought, was a terrible name for an inn – but since it was clearly also a terrible inn, that was probably all right. By the time they were climbing down the stairs into the poorly-lit, beamed bar, he'd resigned himself to blindly stumbling along with the Librarian, who still kept a firm grip on his shoulder. He was therefore quite surprised when the orang-utan pushed him into an empty seat at a table in the corner and set out towards the bar without him.
Blinking in the hazy, smoke-filled air, Draco assessed his surroundings. After a moment, he was wishing he hadn't.
The walls were stained with dirt and smoke, the floor a compost of old rushes and squashed beetles that reeked of sour beer and other things Draco really didn't want to think about. Still, the interior of the Mended Drum managed to appear sparkling clean and well-kept compared to its clientele which added their own flavour to the overpowering stench. The noise was ear-splitting; there seemed to be a brawl of sorts going on in a corner, if the sound of breaking glass and shouts (which could be expressions of anger, pain, encouragement, or all of these) were any indication.
Draco ducked just in time when an axe flew over his head and buried itself in the wall behind him. A remarkably short man with a huge beard, wearing chain mail and a helmet, came running after it, murmured "Sorry 'bout that..." while retrieving the axe, and dove back into the thick of the fight. Draco stared after him, carefully not pondering which species this person might belong to.
He still wasn't done staring when someone very close to him said, "That's my favourite chair you're sitting in."
Draco looked up. And up.
The man towering over him seemed seven feet tall and almost as wide. His face was a mass of scar tissue; the glazed look of his tiny eyes and the way he was gently swaying on his feet suggested that he'd already had one drink too many. Draco swallowed dryly, suddenly desperate to have 300 pounds of orang-utan back at his side. "I'm sorry, I mean, I didn't know, I'll just..."
The man didn't even seem to have heard him. "I don't like it when people are sitting in my favourite chair." His speech was slurred, but the ham-sized fist he slowly raised was remarkably steady.
Panic, Draco realized, made for some very quick thinking. He'd be squashed to a pulp in the next moment if he didn't defend himself, and the only defence he had was magic. However, hexing this giant in plain sight of everyone was no defence, but a rather original way to commit suicide. The alternative was a bit... fishy, but then, he was so far out of his depth that the fish had antennae anyway.
He'd never had his wand out so fast. "Imperio!"
The glazed eyes became even more glazed when the man slowly lowered his fist. Draco hastily looked around; no one seemed to have noticed. "Listen to me," he said in a low voice, "you will now go over to the bar and keep drinking until you keel over. You will not start a fight, and you will not remember any of this. Go!"
Obedient like a well-trained puppy, the man turned around and made for the bar. Draco slowly breathed a sigh of relief and discreetly pocketed his wand.
At that moment, another voice from somewhere above him spoke up. "You're not s'pos'd to do dat, dontcha know?"
Draco looked up again. And up.
And UP.
With the kind of total clarity that often comes with near-death experiences, he realized that Imperius had never been designed to work against mountain ranges.
+++
"Ooook!"
When Draco's eyes snapped open, his entire field of vision was filled with the Librarian's slightly worried face.
He quickly closed them again, hoping against hope that he was having a particularly weird nightmare.
When he opened his eyes for the second time, the Librarian was still there, but now he was grinning and offering Draco a peanut.
"Are you all right? I assure you that Sergeant Detritus didn't mean to frighten you." The speaker was a young, muscular man in a shining breastplate with hair in a shade of red that even the Weasleys hadn't managed yet. Draco quickly scrambled to his feet, slightly horrified by the idea that he'd been in full-body contact with that floor.
"Yes, I think I'm all right," he said, rubbing a sore spot on the back of his head, "but I have no idea what just happened..."
"You seemed a bit startled when Sergeant Detritus addressed you," the young man replied, "and I think you tried to get up, but you knocked over your chair and hit your head on the wall behind you. The Sergeant wants you to know that he is very sorry."
"Where is he?" Draco hastily looked around, but the walking mountain range was nowhere to be seen.
"He had to break up a fight on the street outside." The young man gave Draco a kind look. "I'm Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson of the Ankh-Morpork City watch. I suppose you haven't been here for long, Mr Malfoy?"
"Something like that," murmured Draco, who still felt a bit dizzy and definitely didn't remember telling the man his name.
Carrot nodded. "And since I saw you do magic, I guess you are a wizard?"
Draco only nodded. Carrot gave him a bright smile. "In this case, allow me to inform you that, like Sergeant Detritus tried to tell you, you are not supposed to use magic on non-wizarding members of the community. There is no law against it, but there are guidelines that the wizarding population of this city is usually careful to follow."
Draco blinked, only now remembering the drunken giant and the Imperius curse. He considered telling this City Watch person that he wouldn't have had to defend himself magically if the Watch were doing their job, but decided against it after a glance at the Captain's biceps. "I'll keep it in mind."
At that moment, he felt something nuzzling his knee. He looked down and discovered a big, yellow dog sniffing at his leg. "Oh, don't mind her," Carrot beamed, "she seems to like you."
The dog raised its head and gave Draco a look that was far too intelligent for anything that walked on four legs. Draco felt the hair on his neck starting to rise. That was no dog... the snout, the ears, Merlin, that was not even a wolf...
"That's a werewolf, isn't it?" He was surprised how calm he sounded. This was probably what happened once your mind had passed through all the possible stages of panic and come out on the other side.
Carrot seemed genuinely impressed. "Oh, very good, Mr Malfoy! It's rare for someone to recognize Sergeant Angua's nature at first glance."
Draco took a deep breath. "I have some – personal experience with werewolves," he said, carefully keeping his voice neutral. "Am I free to go now, Captain?"
"Of course!" Carrot saluted smartly. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr Malfoy."
"Likewise," Draco murmured, slowly edging away from Sergeant Angua. He bumped into the Librarian who had been sitting on the floor behind him, happily going through a bowl of peanuts.
"Ooook?" the Librarian said in mild surprise when Draco tripped and almost landed in his lap.
Draco gave him a pleading look. "Thank you for trying to make me feel better. Can we please go home now?"
+++
Draco was abruptly woken in the wee hours of the morning by someone shouting "Bugger!" at the top of his voice.
Blinking, he scanned the unfamiliar room. If he had interpreted that specific "Oook" correctly, it belonged to the Librarian's current aide, which unfortunately meant him for the time being. It was just a small chamber with a single window and contained nothing but the bed, a huge wardrobe – and a tall hooded figure leaning against the windowsill. It was wrapped in a black cloak, and for a moment, there was a flash of something bone-white underneath the hood…
Draco's heart skipped a beat.
"Father?"
The figure seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then it said, in a voice reminiscent of funeral bells,
I DO NOT THINK SO.
It turned to face him, and for a moment, Draco felt the urge to pull the blankets over his head. Underneath the black hood, what had appeared to be a grinning white skull mask was... a grinning white skull, period. Inside the eye sockets, two little lights shone with a bright blue glow, but the whole figure seemed to emanate darkness. Belatedly, Draco also noticed the scythe held by a hand that was just as skeletal as the face.
"Who - what are you?"
The skeleton gave him a look that, insofar as a skull is able to express emotion, seemed puzzled.
I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT THAT WAS OBVIOUS. I AM DEATH. THE GRIM REAPER, THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS, THE THIEF OF YEARS, THE ULTIMATE REALITY, YOU NAME IT.
Twenty-four hours ago, Draco might have been shocked into silence. However, after the last day's experiences, he felt it took a bit more to intimidate him.
"How can you be Death? Death is not a person."
AH, THE RATIONAL APPROACH. YOU ARE, OF COURSE, CORRECT, BUT YOU MIGHT CALL ME AN ANTHROPOMORPHIC PERSONIFICATION. I FEEL IT IS MORE PERSONAL THAT WAY.
"But that's all in people's minds! Why can I see you?"
YOU SEEM TO BE A WIZARD. ALL MEMBERS OF THE MAGICAL COMMUNITY CAN SEE ME. HOW IS IT POSSIBLE YOU DO NOT KNOW THIS?
Draco sighed. "I'm not from around here."
THAT MUCH IS OBVIOUS. Death took a step closer. I DO NOT KNOW YOU. WHAT IS YOUR NAME?
"Draco Malfoy."
Death shook his head. He - was Death a he? Draco vaguely recalled his French lessons; he was pretty sure the word for death was a feminine noun in French. It made him wonder what a French wizard would see in his place - a skeleton with broader hips in a more tasteful cloak?
God, he was going barmy in this place.
Meanwhile, Death was inspecting him with some sort of discomfort. I REALLY DO NOT KNOW YOU. I AM PRETTY SURE I HAVE NEVER SEEN A LIFETIMER WITH YOUR NAME ON IT. THIS IS RATHER EMBARRASSING.
Draco was not sure he wanted to know what that meant. "Oh, really?" he managed to reply somewhat weakly.
OF COURSE. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHEN I NEED TO SCHEDULE AN APPOINTMENT WITH YOU?
Draco perked up at this. "Does that mean you're not here for me today?"
INDEED I AM NOT. ARCHCHANCELLOR RIDCULLY IS RUNNING AROUND WITH HIS CROSSBOW AGAIN. HE USUALLY MISSES, AS YOU MIGHT HAVE GUESSED FROM HIS EXPLETIVES, BUT EVERYONE IS BOUND TO GET LUCKY ONCE IN A WHILE.
Just as Death finished speaking, a crossbow bolt hissed through the open window and buried itself into the wardrobe, pinning a mass of black feathers to the wooden surface. There were splatters of blood on the floor all of a sudden.
Outside, an angry voice shouted, "Where did the ruddy bird go?"
Death raised his scythe. The mass of feathers stopped struggling. Draco thought he'd seen the vague outline of a crow stretch its wings and take flight, but it was gone before he had time to look closer.
Slowly, he let out a breath he only now realized he'd been holding.
I MUST LEAVE YOU NOW.
"Wait a moment!" Draco did some very fast thinking; he'd become astoundingly good at it in a very short time. "If you don't know me, does that mean I can't die while I'm here on this world?"
Death didn't seem pleased by the question. IT IS... POSSIBLE. THIS IS MOST IRREGULAR. I ASSURE YOU THAT I WILL LOOK INTO IT.
The next moment, the skeleton was gone. If it hadn't been for the blood and the feathers on the floor, Draco would have thought he'd dreamed the whole encounter.
He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a bit better for the first time since he'd come to this place. At least it seemed he wasn't going to kick the bucket while he was here.
All in all, this day had started somewhat more promising than the last one.
+++
Draco's good mood lasted for another twenty-three minutes. It ended the moment a bleary-eyed Ponder Stibbons knocked on his door to inform him that the Archchancellor wanted to see him in his office right now.
+++
Despite the expansive presence of the Archchancellor, Draco's eyes were immediately drawn to the person standing next to him.
The woman was short, fat, and so old that her face looked like a shrunken apple, split in half by a wide grin that revealed exactly one tooth in her mouth. In stark contrast to the sequin-covered glory of the Archchancellor's robes, she wore what looked like a heap of threadbare black rags; just as black was the pointy, wide-brimmed hat on her head. The only dash of colour came from her red boots that almost matched the colour of her cheeks. A huge, one-eyed cat was hanging limply over her shoulder, filling the room with a smell that would have caused sinus trouble in a dead fox. At least, Draco hoped the smell was coming from the cat.
It didn't escape Draco's notice that Ponder was careful to give the woman a wide berth when he sidled over to whisper in Ridcully's ear. Draco was sure he'd heard the words "cauldron boy," which put another dampener on his already quite dampened mood.
"Well, my dear Mrs Ogg," the Archchancellor boomed as soon as Ponder had finished, "here's the young man I've been telling you about. We've been trying to decide what to do with him, but it seems he falls more into your line of work. You, son – " he turned to face Draco, "meet Mrs Gytha Ogg, one of the finest witches on the Disc..."
"Shush," the woman silenced him, "I want to talk to the lad." Ponder blanched, but Ridcully looked more perplexed than outraged; it probably had been decades since anyone had dared to interrupt him, and he seemed to have forgotten how one was supposed to react to such an occurrence.
Meanwhile, the alleged witch had taken a few steps in Draco's direction. Since the smell accompanied her, Draco took just as many steps back until he bumped into the wall.
The woman didn't seem to notice. She looked Draco up and down with a look in her small, beetle-like eyes that made Draco very wary all of a sudden. She might appear like a crazy old crone, but something in her eyes told him that Mrs Gytha Ogg, witch, was not to be trifled with.
"Hmmm," she said when she was done with the inspection, "those wizard fellows tell me you've got a wand, my boy. Care to let me see?"
With great reluctance, Draco handed it over to her. She gave it a wave in the direction of Ridcully and Ponder - which made the latter try to hide behind the Archchancellor's back - and shook her head.
"It's not a fairy godmother's wand, that much is certain."
"Of course it isn't," Draco snapped, "it's mine, no-one else's!"
"How can you tell?" the Archchancellor, completely ignoring Draco, demanded to know.
The woman gave him a friendly grin. "Well, you're not a pumpkin, are you?"
With that, she gave the wand back to Draco, who pocketed it hastily. "No godmotherin', or godfatherin' in your case, then. Hmmm... I hear you're good with a cauldron?"
"I said I'm good at potions."
She seemed to consider that. "Sounds useful. Rare to find a wizard who knows anything else than making things go bang. What kind of potions?"
"All kinds!" Draco was getting tired of being questioned like a schoolboy – which he technically still should be, but that was beside the point.
She grinned again. "Let's see, then. What kind of ingredients would you use for a potion that cures boils?"
"Dried nettles, crushed snake fangs, stewed horned slugs, porcupine quills." Draco didn't even have to think about it; this was a first year recipe. "The quills must be added after taking the cauldron off the fire. If they're added before, the mixture produces a cloud of acid green smoke, hisses and melts the cauldron."
She nodded knowingly. "Not bad. And how about... a sleeping potion?"
"Asphodel in an infusion of wormwood; valerian roots, and sopophorous beans." When she continued to nod along, he added, "If you don't want the drinker to ever wake up again, that is; it's called the Draught of the Living Dead for a reason. You don't know anything about potion making, do you?"
"Nope." The woman smiled brightly at him. "Young Magrat is good with this kind of stuff, but I never could be bothered with cooking up more than cough syrup. You, however, seem very sure about yourself when it comes to potions."
"I told you, I'm good at it." Really, what was the point of having an ignorant crone interrogating him if she didn't know the first thing about the subject herself?
"You don't happen to know how to ride a broom, too?"
What did brooms have to do with cauldrons? "Of course I do. I was the best flyer in my House back at school." Somehow, the fact that a certain bespectacled Gryffindor had been that essential bit better didn't seem to matter much any more. Draco felt almost wistful for a moment when he remembered the times when Quidditch had been the biggest concern of his life. Happy days indeed.
The strange woman had turned back to the Archchancellor. "You're lucky I'm the travelling sort; you would have kept wasting your time with him if I hadn't been around. Good thing it wasn't Esme, either; she'll be having a fit as soon as she hears about this. Granted, it is a bit unusual, but they boy seems to have talent, and if you want me to train him, I can give it a try."
Before Draco could even open his mouth to protest, a voice from the direction of the door replied coldly, "Thankfully, that will not be necessary."
+++
The thing about mind-numbing terror, Draco found out, is that it only numbs your mind as long as it has you utterly terrified. The moment you start seeing that first distant silver line on the horizon, the mind-numbing aspect is gone, and all you're left with is terror.
This was probably not the greatest philosophical insight ever achieved by mankind, but it was exactly how he felt when he saw Severus Snape standing in the open door of Archchancellor Ridcully's office.
He stared at the greasy-haired professor in his black robes, the usual contemptuous sneer on his face, and all he could think of was, "Oh my God, this is real."
A split second later, Snape was almost knocked backwards by something that had definitely never happened before, which was one of his students hugging him.
"Mr Malfoy," Snape said in a tone that was somewhere between disbelief and exasperation, "this sort of behaviour is rather uncalled for."
Draco didn't give a damn. He hung on for dear life, determined not to let go until Snape had taken him out of this place and brought him back safely to the world to which he belonged.
Behind him, Archchancellor Ridcully was murmuring (in what he probably believed to be a low voice), "I knew at first glance that the boy was bent."
"Says the man with more glittery stuff on him than a Hogswatch tree," came Mrs Ogg's cheerful reply. The rest of the conversation was drowned out by Ponder's frantic coughing.
Finally, Snape forcefully pried Draco's arms off his neck. "That will be enough, Mr Malfoy. I expect you to pull yourself together now; you've embarrassed yourself enough in front of these people."
Meanwhile, the Archchancellor, who was used to being the centre of attention in every room he occupied, had moved closer and inspected Snape with a haughty expression. "And who would you be, charging in here like that?"
Snape inclined his head. By a fraction of a millimetre, but it was probably the thought that counted. "My apologies, Archchancellor. I came here by following the instructions left behind by my predecessor, and I'll take my student back with me to the place where he belongs."
Ridcully's eyebrows rose. "Since you know me, would you mind telling me who the hell you are?"
"This is Professor Snape," Draco cut in when he saw Snape's frown, "he is – was – the Potions Master at the school I went to."
The Archchancellor shook his head. "Another cauldron fellow, then?"
"Actually," Snape said stiffly, "Mr Malfoy's information is outdated. I am currently Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Several gasps followed this announcement. Draco's was about the Headmaster part, Mrs Ogg's probably about the idea of a school for witchcraft, and Ponder's definitely about the concept of a school where wizards and witches were taught together.
Ridcully, however, seemed startled by something else. "Are you telling me you're not only a wizard, but the leader of a magical school?"
Snape frowned again. "I believe that's what I just said, isn't it?"
The Archchancellor's face darkened. "Man, do you have no sense of decency at all? You're dressed in a clerk's hand-me-downs, you don't have a staff, and you don't wear a hat! How are people supposed to respect you where you come from? You don't even have a beard!" Ridcully took a step closer, squinting at Snape. "How old are you, anyway? That other Headmaster fellow at least looked like a wizard worth his salt, not like an scarecrow with greasy hair!"
Draco, his face ashen, met Ponder's eyes across the room. Ponder was just as pale; the look they shared was one of mutual horror at the prospect of a magical confrontation that might bring the walls of the room down on their heads. Or, if they were extremely unlucky, the fabric of reality.
Ponder, with the kind of courage that comes with desperation, took a hesitant step forward. "Archchancellor, if I might respectfully suggest..."
Meanwhile, Draco was tugging at Snape's robe. "Professor, if we could just leave..."
Snape didn't even seem to have heard him. "I see Dumbledore wasn't exaggerating when he told me about you."
The Archchancellor deflated visibly. "He talked about me? Over in that place where you come from?"
"Indeed he did. He seemed to hold you in high esteem, otherwise he wouldn't have entrusted you with the safekeeping of one of his students."
Draco felt the sudden urge to pinch his own arm. Snape was capable of flattering someone? It must, he decided after a moment's reflections, be one of the skills he'd honed in the Dark Lord's service.
The effect on Ridcully was remarkable. The Archchancellor's face was lighting up like a well-cast Lumos; as far as you could tell under the beard, he was even smiling at Snape. "Ah well, in that case – glad to be of help to a fellow member of the magical community, of course! Good old chap, that Dumbledore – couldn't do any less..."
"Your help is very much appreciated," Snape cut him off, "but I'm afraid Mr Malfoy and I must be leaving now. The way through the library which I took will only remain open for another hour, and finding a new one might be tricky."
Ridcully beamed at him. "Ah, yes, of course, that'd be because of M-space or something, isn't it?"
An almost inaudible whimper came from the general direction of Ponder Stibbons, unheard – as usual – by the Archchancellor.
Draco just couldn't keep silent any longer. "Professor, how can you be Headmaster? I only was gone for a day!"
"You weren't," Snape replied curtly, "back home, almost two years have passed since you left. The war is over, and it's therefore safe for you to return. It's one of the reasons Dumbledore sent you to this world. Time passes differently here."
"Strange." The Archchancellor turned towards Ponder. "Why is that?"
Ponder considered trying to explain some of this theories to the Archchancellor, and decided it really wasn't worth the effort. "I have no idea, Archchancellor."
Ridcully didn't seem too pleased by that. "What am I employing you for, man? Can't you use that Thinking Thingie of yours?"
"That's an Out Of Cheese Error in the making if I've ever seen one," Ponder muttered darkly.
The Archchancellor shrugged. "Then it's probably because of quantum. It usually is."
Meanwhile, Mrs Ogg had sidled over to Snape and gave him a friendly grin. "Can I ask you a question, Mr Potions Master? What do you get when you distil apples, yeast, honey, and a handful of ants?"
Snape stared at her for a moment while everyone in the room fell silent. When he finally spoke, there was a hint of amusement in his voice. "Apple brandy."
"S'called Scumble when it's made from Lancre apples." With a smile, the fat little witch held out her hand. " I'm pleased to meet you, Professor. I'm Gytha Ogg, but you may call me Nanny."
+++
The last inhabitant of Discworld Draco ever saw was the Librarian, who was waving goodbye with one of his feet while dangling from a bookshelf high over their heads.
Then it was just him, Snape, and the maze of shelves in the darkness that was only pierced by the glow of their wands.
Draco felt the magic starting to change while they were walking along what felt like miles and miles of books. There could be no doubt, they were getting closer to the world they belonged to.
Draco took a deep breath. He was going home.
It took him a while until he'd worked up the courage to break the silence. "Professor?"
Snape kept on looking ahead. "Yes?"
"If the war is over, and you are Headmaster of Hogwarts... does that mean we won?"
For a moment, Snape seemed to consider the question.
Then he shrugged and replied with a sigh, "That, Mr Malfoy, probably depends on your definition of 'we'."