Hobbie groaned as he woke up, his senses immediately assaulted on all fronts - blinding light, Wes's voice, uncomfortable bed, sweaty smell, sour taste. Plus, just to top it all off, a really, really bad headache.

"Hobbie! Hobbie, get up!"

"Damn it, no," he groaned, covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut. He tried to remember where he was and how he'd gotten there. OK, the medics had finally let him out of the bacta tank that morning, he'd gotten a few hours rest in his quarters, Wes had dragged him down to the Rogues' lounge, someone had produced a crate of lomin ale. . .that was as far as he got.

"Hobbie, get up, you have to see this!"

Hobbie groaned again. "Wes, I've seen our room a hundred times already on this mission. I don't need to see it again for a few hours at least." Why did he have to bunk with Wes, anyway? Was it some kind of retribution for a sin in his last life? Was Skywalker mad at him for something? He made a mental note to find Luke at some point and apologise profusely.

"No, no, we're not in our room, this is messed up, you have to see it."

"Great, you get me drunk and don't even drag me back to our quarters. I just got out of bacta, you know, you're supposed to look after me." Hobbie sighed and finally relented, opened his eyes - and froze.

Wes was right - they weren't in their room. Hobbie wasn't sure they were even on the ship anymore. The room was large, larger than anything Hobbie had seen since the Great Temple on Yavin Four. It wasn't made of durasteel like the ship he could've sworn they were on, but lined with expensive-looking wood panelling, and with paintings everywhere. Moving his head slightly, Hobbie noted that he was lying on the floor between two long tables, and up at the head of the room was a raised platform with another, shorter table.

But the most extraordinary feature of the room wasn't the wooden panelling, or the tables, or the candles that floated in mid-air; it was-

"Look at the ceiling, Hobbie!"

Still irritated, Hobbie glared quickly at Wes, who was sitting on the table to the left, his feet on the bench. Then he followed Wes's gaze and stared in awe at the ceiling - or apparent lack thereof. He could see right up into the night sky, an unfamiliar constellation pattern partly blocked by clouds. He winced and covered his eyes when he noticed that it was raining, but moved his arm back to his side when he failed to get even remotely wet.

"It's so astral! Must be some kind of vidscreen," Wes mused, finally tearing his eyes from the view and grinning at Hobbie.

Hobbie tried to smile at his friend's enthusiasm, but winced when it made his headache even worse. "Pretty big vidscreen," he noted, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. No drastic change in the level of pain in his head - good.

"Yeah, but these guys are rich - look at the wood and paintings. Maybe it's Thrawn," Wes suggested slowly.

Hobbie frowned, wincing again - his head seemed to disagree with any expression other than a carefully blank stare. "Who's Thrawn?"

Wes offered a rare frown. "I don't know." He shrugged and grinned again. "But he must be rich! Where are we, anyway? I thought we got back to our room in the end."

"I don't know," Hobbie replied, slowly standing up and brushing down his creased flightsuit. "But let's not-"

"Let's go find out then," Wes suggested, grinning again. He looked round the room quickly for an exit, then grabbed Hobbie's arm and pulled him towards the large, wooden doors.

Hobbie pulled his arm free of Wes's as they reached the doorway and scowled at his friend. "I'm quite capable of walking without your assistance, you know."

"Hey, you're the one who just got out of bacta." Wes tilted his head, studying the doors, then nodded decisively and pushed on the left one. It swung out into a candle-lit entrance hall, and Wes grinned, grabbing Hobbie's arm again and dragging him through the now-open door.

Wes stopped suddenly, and Hobbie stumbled as his body argued with his arm about its location. He looked up and his eyes widened when he saw who was there. "Commander Skywalker!" he gasped, conscious of how rumpled and sweat-stained his flightsuit probably was. On second thoughts, however, Skywalker probably didn't care - he was covered in what looked suspiciously like swamp mud.

"Hobbie, Janson! What are you two doing here?" Skywalker seemed as surprised as they were, and self-consciously wiped the mud from his hair - succeeding only in getting even more into it.

Hobbie noticed for the first time that Skywalker's droid was beside him, accompanied by the strangest alien he'd ever seen: a short, green, wrinkled thing - and it was carrying a stick. It stared back at him, a crazy, knowing grin on its face, and Hobbie blinked. He felt like he should be scared of that grin, but he was too used to Wes's grins - now those were scary.

"Exploring, Luke! You want to join us?" Wes grinned - that very dangerous grin - again and finally let go of Hobbie's arm.

"Uh. . ." Skywalker didn't seem to know what to say to that and stared at Wes blankly. He glanced down at his droid, who bleeped at him, and then at the strange alien. "Uh, Master Yoda?"

The little alien let out a slow breath, then nodded. "About this place, you must find out. Important to the story, it is."

"Stop talking about a blasted story," Skywalker muttered under his breath, wincing as Yoda hit him in the leg with his stick. "Sorry, Master. Uh, sure, Wes," he continued, shrugging. "Let's explore."

"Great," Wes said cheerfully, pointing to the grand stairs that were the main feature of the hall. "Let's go, then," he said, setting off towards them.

Hobbie followed, with Skywalker, his droid, and the little alien close behind. He couldn't help but have a really, really bad feeling about this. . .

Han looked up as the strange door to the common room opened, his brief lapse in concentration resulting in a loud and exultant win from Ron. The bossy girl was back, with an even bossier-looking woman close behind. Well, weren't things improving all the time?

"Eat that explosion, Solo!" Ron cried, scooping up the cards from the floor and laughing as another one crackled in his hand. "Wow, maybe I shouldn't have taken one of Fred and George's decks."

"Ron!" Harry hissed, nudging his friend and pointing towards the entrance. Hermione stood there, shaking her head in disapproval, and the woman was glaring at the two boys and Han.

"Potter, Weasley," she said suddenly, in a sharp voice that had Han wincing. And he'd thought Vader's voice was scary. "What's going on here? Miss Granger came to tell me we had an intruder. Apparently, neither of you had the initiative to do so - and you're playing games with him? Surely you know better than that!"

Ron shrugged, smiling ruefully and hiding the deck of enchanted cards behind his back. "Well, he seemed nice enough-"

"I imagine Barty Crouch seemed nice enough. I imagine Tom Riddle seemed nice enough. Now step away from the man this instant! You don't know what he's been up to or where he's been!"

Han held his hands up innocently and got to his feet, even as Ron and Harry edged away nervously. He didn't understand the woman's analogies, but they seemed to scare the boys. "Sorry for any inconvenience caused, ma'am," he said in his most charming voice, the one that always won over the female staff at customs back home. "I don't mean to-"

"Be quiet!" the woman snapped, and Han blinked.

"Now see here, lady," he said, dropping the cute act and resting a hand on the blaster at his hip - or rather, where his blaster would have been, had the Imperials not confiscated it. Han cursed the author's tenacious grip on some semblance of continuity. "I ain't caused no trouble, so don't be causing any for me, OK? I want to go home just as much as you want me out of here, so if we all just play nice, maybe it can happen with no disintegrations along the way."

The woman seemed shocked that anyone would dare talk back to her in such a manner. "Excuse me, but I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, head of Gryffindor House and deputy headmistress of this establishment, and I shall be accorded the proper respect while you are in this school!"

Deputy head? So that meant she answered directly to Thrawn. If Han played his cards right, he could get an audience with the Imperial, kill him, and he'd never have to know who he was! And Han always played his cards right. "I apologise," he said, slipping smoothly back into his charming voice. "I didn't realise your position here. Now, if you just take me to your superior, maybe we can sort out this misunderstanding and we can all get back to normal."

"Oh. Well, I imagine Professor Dumbledore will be very interested in meeting you indeed," McGonagall replied slowly. She glanced at Hermione as if for help, but the girl was too busy staring at Han in disbelief. "Yes. So, come with me. Children," she added, glaring quickly at Harry and Ron, "get back to your beds. It's after midnight!"

Harry, Ron and Hermione stared dumbly as McGonagall led Han towards the door to the common room, not making a move towards the dorms. Han turned back just as McGonagall climbed through the portrait hole, and shrugged apologetically at them. He waved and turned back to climb through the hole himself, not seeing Harry and Hermione approaching it slowly, or Ron race up to the dorm room to get the twins.

They were nice enough kids, he figured as he followed McGonagall down the dark corridor, ignoring the Fat Lady's indignant complaints. Just a little. . .strange.