The windblown Harry Potter managed his way out of the alleyway, wand gripped cautiously in hand. To any passersby it probably looked like the young man just got mugged. Harry knew he wasn't remotely close to Hogwarts now; there were two suns in the sky. He shuffled along, finding himself absorbed into the staggered flow of pedestrians making their way through this bizarre… town? Camp?
"What is this place?" Harry asked of no one in particular. At the sharp stab of pain, he realized he was holding his free arm across his ribs. Something felt broken in there. He wasn't thrilled at the prospect of needing medical attention in such a completely foreign place. Oh how he wished he could just go to Madam Pomfrey and be done with this. Now aware of his injury, his own hurried, ragged breathing had him worried that much more.
There were no friendly faces in sight, most… 'people' here looked like something out of the Monster Book of Monsters. Harry's muggle upbringing sent the word "aliens" racing into his mind, causing a lurching halt in his stomach. Two suns in the sky… and people who look like this? Harry cut himself off there. Alien or not, he needed help. His eyes scanned doorways and shop signs for anything that looked like a hospital.
He tried not to think about what treatment in an alien hospital could be like. Do they know anything about human anatomy? He shuddered at the thought of taking medicine made for a completely different species. He must've made a good two passes through what seemed to be the main street of the town. No hospital, no clinic or healer. Or, at the very least, none that he recognized.
Defeated, he decided to retreat the well-trafficked street, less he get knocked aside by one of the angrier looking pedestrians. He spotted a section of wall belonging to the nearest building. He was going to lean against it, maybe even slump down and sit on the dirt ground. The thought of just resting for a moment was overwhelmingly appealing to him. As he approached the building, something from its neighboring structure grabbed his attention. He winced as he turned to pay attention.
Music? He thought to himself. Is that… lounge music? The bouncy tune seemed to emanate from the open doors. People shuffled in and out, not unlike patrons from a well-frequented pub. Harry's mind grabbed onto the abstract familiarity, hoping for a good drink if nothing else. Surely, if there was any constant in the universe, he thought, people like getting sloshed. Despite the pain, he wheezed a sharp chuckle at the mental image of mankind inviting an alien to Earth, and promptly into the pub for a drink.
Harry found himself optimistically shuffling into the establishment. A rather permanent layer of smoke hung in the air, which, combined with the lively music and the clamor of conversation assured Harry that this was indeed a pub. Or, at least, the next best thing here; wherever here actually is. He stayed to the back of the main room, getting a feel of the place first. He scanned the sea of drunken or nearly-drunken patrons, recognizing not a single species from the lot of them. He also realized that none of them seemed to be much bothered with him either.
Logically, this meant they were used to such a wide variety of species that Harry didn't have to worry about sticking out or drawing attention to himself. Mustering all the confidence he could from that thought, he shuffled towards the bar. Harry didn't make it more than a few feet before someone or something collided with him from behind, nearly knocking him over, which sent white hot pain surging through his torso. He doubled over, struggling to keep his balance.
"Beeogola ! doompasha lo!" Harry heard the angry words barked in his ear. A pair of unfamiliar hands grabbed their way to his shirt collar, and yanked him around. Harry opened his eyes to find himself face-to-face with a green skinned lizard-like person; glassy black bulbs for eyes, and a trunk-like snout for a mouth, still barking words at him.
"Jee doo kidded sooj less…" the alien's words were accompanied by a subtle movement. One of its hands had left Harry's collar, and unholstered a firearm of some kind which was now pointed at his stomach. Startled, Harry angled his wand at the alien and quickly shouted.
"Flipendo!" A burst of energy from the want sent the angry alien tumbling backwards, crashing against an empty table. Shocked, Harry froze. He had just attacked an alien! He wasn't the only one who noticed either; a hush had fallen over the bar and almost every patron was now paying attention to the skirmish. Harry's adversary did not take kindly to being knocked around by a 'runt'.
"Uba ooout wamma oearlee…" It now spoke in a slow and measured tone, although clearly enraged. Harry took a defensive step back, ready to finish what he started despite being scared out of his wits. Death Eaters were one thing… but a bloody alien? The pissed-off adversary slowly rose from the floor, weapon still in hand, Harry found himself staring down what was very clearly the barrel of an alien pistol.
"I don't want any trouble." Harry gestured for calm, but it had little effect.
"Nee choo ateema!" the alien scowled. PCHOWWWW! The powerful sound zapped through the air, making Harry wince, eyes shut tight, sure he was about to disintegrate into a pile of bloody bits. A few seconds passed and Harry peeked through his dust stained glasses. Much to his surprise, his would be attacker was actually the victim instead; a sizzling hole now agape in its chest. Beastly, Harry thought as he let out a huff of relief.
"Greedo never did know when he was outgunned." A calm voice with a distinctly cocksure tone spoke from behind Harry. The young wizard spun around, wand at the ready. 'Greedo' was shot, and here was the responsible party. Was he a friend or foe? Harry's mind raced, not even processing the fact he actually understood that sentence.
"Hey! Watch where you point that… twig, kid!" The shooter holstered his own firearm and took a step forward, abruptly shoving Harry's hand aside. Startled by the boldness Harry swallowed hard, suddenly realizing he could completely understand this man. A man! A human man! Harry fought back the urge to hug him out of sheer recognition. Harry's rescuer glowered down at him incredulously.
"I just saved your skin! A little gratitude couldn't hurt." The now smug man flashed a halfhearted smirk. Dumbstruck Harry just nodded appreciatively. Words, unfortunately, escaped him altogether. The man flipped a coin to the bartender, and almost immediately the whole of the establishment settled back into their own conversations, the music flared back up, and everyone seemed to accept that the show was indeed over.
The man put an arm around Harry, escorting him to a nearby alcove where the pair sat down across from each other at a decidedly dirty table.
"Listen, kid, that stunted slime was a bounty hunter. And, the going theory is that he was here for my neck. So I appreciate your little interference. It's possible you saved my skin." The man leaned back, seemingly comfortable, something Harry couldn't manage with the pain still throbbing in his midsection.
"I guess that makes us even. Thank you." He managed to reply, pained. The man quickly noticed Harry's injured manner.
"You don't look so hot fella, Greedo didn't get a shot off at you, did he?" The man asked with something approaching genuine concern. Harry shook his head no.
"I don't know where I am, but I was hurt in a… fight, before I got here." The situation sounded all too familiar to the man. He leaned forward as if he was about to cut a deal with Harry across the grimy table.
"I've been there myself, kid. Look-" The man stopped himself as he noticed a few new arrivals in the pub: a white-clad duo, carrying rifle-like weapons and wearing a uniform armor that covered every inch of their body. They spoke sharply to patrons who instinctively gave them a wide berth as they proceeded further into the establishment, even taking passing note of the newly dead Greedo. They confidently strode through the place, confidently aware of the almost palpable fear their very presence seemed to inspire.
Harry studied his rescuer's face as the man watched the armored pair approach them. Harry felt that the man was now frustrated, and immediately tense- but not afraid. Then, as if well-rehearsed, a practiced calm fell over the man. His intense observation became a casual interest as he leaned back again. The soldier like duo walked past their table, seeming to glare at the man from behind their expressionless helmets. He nonchalantly nodded at them, which found no reply or consideration.
The pair then looked at Harry who nodded with a limited politeness. He understood the kind of apprehension he felt from the man. Both Harry and his rescuer stayed quiet until the white-clad pair were well out of earshot.
"Who are they?" Harry asked almost frantically.
"Stormtroopers." He replied, ready to bolt from the table, too tense to express more incredulousness at Harry's ignorance.
"Who?" Harry insisted, desperation creeping into his voice. The man's gaze met Harry's. The young wizard's intensity divulged a familiarity with war and sacrifice that the man knew all too well.
"Trouble." The man succinctly explained, almost irritated.
"I need your help." Harry insisted. The man seemed to ignore the plea, looking past him, making sure the stormtroopers were gone.
"No you don't kid. You need a dash of Symoxin and a good night's sleep. See ya around." The man abruptly flashed an insincere grin and left the table, making his way to the front exit. Harry hobbled after him, unwilling to abandon the other only English speaker he had encountered.
"Wait!" He called after the hurried man. "My friends could be dead, we were…" he winced again. The pain was nearing unbearable. The man stopped and looked back.
"I mean it kid, I don't have time for charity, what with the Empire snooping around. Some of us have a living to make." His pointed words poorly hid a thin veneer of sympathy.
"I have money! I can pay…" Harry reasoned with the man through gritted teeth. Like alcohol, he reasoned, money was obviously a universal constant. The man shifted his weight, sizing Harry up for a moment before ushering him away from the pub's entrance.
"How much?" The man pressed.
"Believe me when I say that it's well more than you could ever earn in a lifetime of doing whatever it is you do- a fortune."
"Whatever it is I do?" He chuckled derisively. Nevertheless, he looked at Harry with a glint in his eye. He's young, scrappy… and, even if he's lying about the money, I can use scrappy. The man reasoned to himself. A moment of contemplation passed between the two before the man raised an insistent finger to Harry.
"You better not be lying, kid… I've got a Wookiee, and they've been known to eat liars." Harry shook his head, reassuring the man who nodded in turn. Harry had no idea what a 'wooky' was, but this guy had saved him once, and Harry really wasn't lying about the money he thought, as he recalled the small fortune in his Gringotts vault.
"Come on, we gotta get to the Falcon." The man hurried Harry away, ducking into another alley, disappearing behind the pub.
At least they've got birds here, Harry thought.