It didn't.

She opened a fresh MicrosoftWord document, copied on a header template, then sat and stared at the screen, fingers curved over the keyboard, waiting for inspiration to strike. Finally she took a hefty swig of Diet Pepsi, hoping the caffeine would jar something loose from her psyche. Still nothing. *Okay, let's be systematic. What can I work on? I need to do chapters on... on... Well, just about everything. Acacia, Littermates, Seeking Balance... They just found out that Joxer is knocked up in Seeking Balance, and I need to work out how Zeus is going to take it, and if I don't have Jonathan and Vlad having sex in the next chapter or two of Child of the Night, the readers are going to get out the pointy sticks.*

She stared at the screen a little longer, then logged onto the Internet. *Screw it. I'll check my email first.*

The CSI Mary Sue was getting a lot of pleased responses. *Mary Sues have come a long, long way. A few years ago, I wouldn't have shown that to anyone but my closest friend, but now I'm posting it in front of God and everybody. The Proverb Series does well, too.* She tapped her fingers on the desk. *I wonder if anyone would be interested in reading any of my other little fanfiction flights of self-indulgence? I could try it.* She chuckled. *After all, they can't very well take away my 'net connection. But which one? Hmm... something new, very new. Oo, I know!*

She started filling out the template. *Why am I doing this? Don't I write in enough fandoms as it is? I wouldn't have thought of this if they hadn't cast Alan Rickman as Snape.* "Missssster Potter," she breathed, putting a sibilance in the title. She giggled. *Thank you, God, for Alan Rickman. He is so good at being bad.* She cocked her head thoughtfully. *Come to think of it, I've had quite a few fantasies about his characters. There was the German mastermind in Die Hard--AFTER the Gudonov character. Then there was the Sheriff in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. And now Snape. Oof. Or maybe that should be 'woof'.*

*Let's see... No title as yet. Author, Scribe. Fandom, Harry Potter. Pairing, dunno yet. Disclaimer, blah, blah, blah. Summary, remains to be seen.* She typed 'Part One', double spaced, then sat there, flexing her fingers. Finally she sighed. *Not a legitimate plot bunny in sight, or an illigitimate one, for that matter. Okay, we go for Mary Sue, then.* She snorted. *Right, like I didn't expect that to happen. Eh, I don't have to post this.*

*Okay. Um... They're trying a spell at Hogwarts, and something gets out of hand. Yeah, that could bring in multiple levels of reality. Like, their Muggle world is not this world, but rather an alternate reality for this world, aaaand... And this world is part of their literary world. I'm somehow snatched into their world, and weirdness abounds. Yeah, that'll do it.*

*Details, details. The students were given a project for over the summer holidays. They were supposed to prepare a spell that could be used to summon up a literary character. Draco Malfor, that magnificent brat, wants to sabotage Harry, of course. The book Harry was going to use... Uh, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, I think. Harry was going to summon Aslan. Okay, Draco does away with the book--steals or destroys it before they get on the Hogwart's Special. In a panic, Harry goes back onto the Muggle platform, hits the little store that sells magazines and stuff to the travelers, and buys the first paperback he can lay his hands on.*

She started giggling. *It's a book about a fanfiction author writing a book about a fanfiction author getting sucked into a universe where Harry Potter is just a book character. Can you say 'convoluted'? I wonder how many layers of reality that is?*

*The first day back, Harry attempts his revamped spell. Draco mixes around some necessary ingredients, then trips Neville Longbottom at an inopportune moment, Jupiter aligns with Mars, the moon enters the Seventh House, and the spell works--only too well.*

There was a bright green flash, and Scribe fell out of her chair. Actually her chair wasn't there anymore. "Ow! Son of a..." She heard gasps. There were faces peering down at her--lots of them, and all of them too young to hear what she had been about to say. "Seaturtle," she finished. "What, precisely, is going on here?"

"Well, Mister Potter, I do believe this is the most successful summoning of the day." The tall, thin woman in black robes and square-rimmed glasses consulted a paperback book. "She exactly resembles the description, and," she quirked an eyebrow, "judging from what I think she was about to say, the personality rings true. Well done. You may send her back now."

Scribe glanced up at the green-eyed boy with the untidy black hair and round glasses. He smiled at her apologetically. "I'm sorry about the inconvenience. I'll send you right back."

She stared at him. "Thanks, Harry, but if I remember how vague my plotlines were, I highly doubt that. Go ahead and try, though."

He gestured at her with his want. "Reverso literati." Nothing. He tried again.

Scribe said, "Mind if I stand up while you try this? My booty is a little sore." She stood up, rubbing her bottom, and surveyed the room. Yes, definitely a classroom. There were several adults besides McGonnagal present. "Oops, the staff is watching. No pressure."

A tall, dark-haired man said sourly, "Trust Potter to conjure up a smart alec."

He was a little shocked when the woman... Well, the only proper word was cooed, "Well, helloooo, Professor Snape!"

Harry still wasn't having any luck. A girl with long, curly hair, said, "Honestly, Harry! Let me try."

Scribe waved at her. "Hi, Hermione. Good luck, but I don't think it's going to work."

Hermione frowned, and said loftily, "I got best marks in spell reversal."

"Wouldn't doubt it. Have at, babe." Hermione waved her wand and spoke the spell. Scribe clutched her head and screamed. There were yells of surprise, and Hermione dropped her wand in shock. Professor McGonnagal started forward, a concerned look on her face. Scribe straightened, smiling. "Sorry." There were humphs, and she shrugged. "Just trying to lighten the mood."

"This has gone far enough." McGonnagal drew her own wand. "Young woman, please cease blocking the spells."

Scribe spread a hand on her chest and said, in tones of purest innocense, "Me? Let's clarify this, shall we? I'm a Muggle, can we agree on that?" She saw heads nodding. "Not only that, but I'm a fictional character Muggle, right?" More nods. "Says you. What if I said you were all fictional characters?"

Harry scratched his head. "Well, from what I remember about that book, we are fictional characters--to you."

"From what you remember?" Snape's voice was ominous. "Mister Potter, do you mean to say that you summoned a character when you were not fully acquainted with her, er, character?"

She seated herself tiredly in an empty desk. "Oh, don't fuss at him. It's not like he had any real choice in the matter, and if you want to lay any blame," she pointed at a handsome, pale boy with silvery blonde hair, "Draco destroyed the first book, bollocksed up the ingredients, and tripped Neville." She waved at a gaping, round-faced boy. "Hi, Neville."

"That's a lie!" shouted Draco.

Scribe stuck her tongue out at him. He reddened. She drawled, "You're beautiful when you're angry." Professor McGonnagal tried the spell three times. It failed. Scribe yawned. "Told ya."

"Stop fighting it!" Snape snarled.

"Oh, I'm sorry--I thought we'd covered that. I can't fight magic. Hello? Muggle?"

Minerva was looking concerned. "I'm afraid we'd better send for Dumbledore."

"Terrific. Maybe he can solve this. Lord knows I hadn't figured out how I was going to get back to my home world."

"Did someone wish to see...?" Dumbledore came into the room, and spotted Scribe. "Oh, dear." He walked over to her.

She stood up and offered her hand, smiling. "Hi, Professor. Or should I say Headmaster?"

"No need for ceremony. Dumbledore will do for the present." He adjusted his specatcles. "I'm assuming that the summer project didn't go exactly as planned?"

Harry looked sheepish. "Not as planned at all."

Snape said darkly, "I wouldn't be so sure of that. This is exactly like someting Potter would do."

She was shaking her head. "Come off it. This is exactly like something Fred and George Weasley would do. In fact, I bet they kick themselves for not thinking of it."

"You know a great deal about our students and staff."

"Fair. I'm not a trivia buff on Potterdom, but I've heard the first four books on audio--unabridged, and I've seen both of the movies." She pointed at Snape. "It's all your fault. If they hadn't cast Alan Rickman in your part I'd probably be working on a Strife/Cupid story right now, instead of being stuck in some multi-dimensional anomaly."

Snape looked at Dumbledore. "She's quite mad."

Scribe shrugged. "You can find a number of people who'd take that side in a debate."

Dumbledore hummed. "I believe the children should be dismissed to their next classes, and we can consider this further in my office."

Scribe stood up. "Sounds like a plan, since you're probably the only one who can figure this out. Will I get to see the phoenix? I've forgotten its name." The children filed out, and Dumbledore began to lead away the woman, who was goggling around. "Wow. The set dressing just doesn't do it justice."

Snape followed, and Dumbeldore said mildly, "Severus, don't you have a class?"

"I thought..."

Scribe gave him a small smile. "You mean you're going to give the students a free period? Somehow that didn't strike me as your style."

"Matters of style aside, you have business to attend to, Severus," said Dumbledore. "Now, if you will excuse us."

The woman wiggled her eyebrows mischieviously at Snape as she followed Dumbledore, and Snape felt a curious twinge. "Cheeky wench," he muttered.

She was around his own age, and he was the youngest instructor at Hogwarts. It was rather odd, seeing a woman who wasn't a collegue, or one of those bumpkins from Hogsmeade--even if she WAS a rather infuriating Muggle.

She'd reacted oddly. Most Muggles when confronted with magic had one of three reactions: total denial, catatonia, or hysteria. This one had acted as if she were on holiday in a very interesting foreign land--one she'd studied a bit.