*Two seconds! Two whole bloody seconds was all it took for things to go wrong!*

As the man bitterly reflected upon this while huddled in the darkest corner of the noisome alley he'd fled into at a dead run, Severus Snape continued gasping for breath, his lungs on fire due to his unaccustomed exertions rather than to the noxious fumes that were permeating every single molecule of air in the neighborhood. But then, after years as a Potions Master, the black-clad wizard was more than accustomed to breathing in unpleasant stenches, particularly after one of his non-Slytherin pupils had a cauldron explosion in class and lost as many points for their house as Snape could contemptuously confiscate.

His Order of the Phoenix companions had no such immunity. Not even Mad-Eye Moody, the master of paranoia, had set up a Bubble Head Charm for himself in advance, and that former Auror, along with the others, was unable to cast this spell while thoroughly puking onto their boots after drawing in their first breath of Ankh-Morpork's fetid atmosphere directly after completing their dimensional journey to the Discworld from Hogwarts Castle.

A half-hearted sneer then appeared upon Snape's lips, as that mystified man now recollected the next unbelievable events that had contributed to their group's disaster. The populace crowding the square where the wizards had abruptly appeared out of thin air hadn't even blinked at this sudden materialization of several people dressed up in robes into their vicinity, not even when all of these strangers (save for Snape himself) had promptly started throwing up. Instead, one of the mob had then casually walked over to where Moody was bending over and losing his dinner, with this sauntering individual smoothly removing from his clothing a cosh that was then expertly used, clouting the massively-scarred Moody into prompt unconsciousness with a single swing of their arm.

When the one-eyed Auror collapsed, out cold, onto the cobblestones of the square, this attacker had then pulled out a piece of lined paper and a pencil from his shirt pocket, to begin laboriously writing on the paper, as his foot was indifferently propped upon the top of the now-snoring wizard's head. Rather than this action causing any alarm to the rest of the crowd, they instead called out various praises for the assailant's technique, along with assorted guesses on how much he'd get after going through his victim's pockets.

After that, things went really weird.

In his spot inside the stinking alley, Snape fiercely squeezed shut his eyes, yet this didn't manage to block out the horrific images forever seared into his brain:

- How Professor McGonagall, who'd then transfigured herself into her cat form, had dashed in a furry streak through the legs of the crowd, closely pursued by a little brown dog, with this chasing canine actually talking like a human, even if that mutt was gleefully yapping after a fleeing Scotswoman, "C'mon, you little bitch, what's so wrong with a little inter-species romance?"

- How Professor Flitwick was pulled aside by a group of half-sized people who seemed to consist solely of their beards and their iron clothing, as they joyously greeted that diminutive Charms Master, promptly considering him to be some kind of long-lost relative, all while starting to sing together in a deep bass chorus, "Gold, gold, gold…"

- How Molly Weasley and Arthur Weasley were sharing one more experience as a couple, just like they'd done all their married lives together, though before coming to the Discworld, neither of these parents of numerous carrot-topped offspring had ever imagined they'd be perched halfway up a building column, desperately clinging to opposite sides of this stone pillar, while below them a large female wolf with a blonde mane calmly sat down upon her haunches and licked her chops, patiently waiting for her prey to loosen their grips.

- How Hagrid was amiably strolling alongside a walking avalanche, enthusiastically saying to this massive stone creature, "Cor, blimey, troll ducks? I gotter get me a couple of those fer the next Care of Magical Creatures class! Now, just what d'yer feed 'em?"

- And finally, how Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Leader of the Light, and Twinkly-Eyed Manipulative Bastard, was being firmly held up in the air by the scruff of his garishly multi-colored robe, boots dangling several inches off the ground while being effortlessly carried off to the nearest Watch house. During all this, the elderly wizard still managed to protest, "Look here, young man, you don't have the faintest idea of the consequences of your actions! It's absolutely vital that Harry Potter comes back with us to Hogwarts, whether he likes it or not, so that he can be prepared for his final confrontation with Voldemort!"

The tall red-haired man in the scrupulously-clean Watch uniform continued his easy strides down the street, his left arm swinging up and down while holding the wizard's captured wand, and his right arm continuing to lift Dumbledore without the slightest strain. A thoughtful look now appeared upon the well-scrubbed features of this watchman after hearing his detainee's last words, as the officer now seriously spoke, "Oh, yes, Harry 'Oook' Potter. I believe he's the one who helped swear out the arrest warrant against you, and furthermore provided a truly accurate description of both yourself and every one of your compatriots should you ever indeed appear here in the city of Ankh-Morpork in order to commit the named crimes against that said person."

A flabbergasted Dumbledore still managed to splutter through his vomit-stained beard, "But, but, it's all for the greater good!"

"You can discuss that with Commander Vimes, sir," phlegmatically answered the watchman still carrying his prisoner. "He's most anxious to meet with you regarding the accusation of attempted kidnapping, not to mention everything else. If you're fortunate enough, that's as far as it'll go, and the Patrician won't get involved. Now, before you meet with the commander, I'm sure you'll appreciate the chance to tidy up first. This week, Corporal Nobbs is in charge of the cells, and he's a dab hand with a razor. Just remember to keep your head absolutely still, and there won't be any need for an Igor…."