"Huh?" Luke stopped in the middle of the third floor corridor, suddenly noticing that Artoo and Yoda were longer at his side. He glanced down left and right, then spun round and squinted to try and find them in the darkness of the corridor. He vaguely heard Hobbie and Janson continue walking towards the next flight of stairs, alternately bickering and joking in that extremely annoying way they always did. Apparently, sticking them in the same bunk room just made that worse; he made a mental note to avoid doing that in future.

"Master Yoda," he called out in a whisper. "Artoo. Where are you guys?"

Here, Artoo beeped unhelpfully.

Luke squinted again, staring at where he thought the noise had come from, and finally spotted a shadow somewhere by a statue. He slowly walked towards it, his hand on his lightsaber hilt, then stopped with a sudden jolt. His lightsaber. Well, obviously. He ignited it, grinning at the familiar snap-hiss , and wondered why he hadn't thought to use it for illumination before.

"Use your weapon so lightly you would, hmm?" Yoda's eyes reflected the electric blue blade, and Luke winced at the disapproval in them.

"Well, I- I just thought it would help," he stuttered. He glanced back over his shoulder, but Hobbie and Janson had already gone up the next set of stairs. He sighed and shut off the blade, plunging the corridor into darkness again.

"Ah! Fool you are! On, on put the blade!"

"What?" Luke ignited the lightsaber quickly, staring in disbelief at the Jedi Master. "But you said-"

"Said such use was bad, did I? A question I asked!" Yoda hmphed and turned away, studying the statue closely. "Light we need, for this puzzle to work out. Guarded by this, an entrance is." He reached up with his stick and tapped the head of the statue, but nothing happened. "Find a way in, we must."

"Another plot point?" Luke asked dryly, rolling his eyes.

"No," Yoda answered, spinning round to hit Luke on the leg. "Curious, I am."

"Well-" Luke stopped and spun round as he heard a voice. A second of silence passed, then footsteps - two sets, he thought - could be heard, running down the stairs. He held up his lightsaber and almost dropped it when he saw who was heading for them. "Han!" he cried out.

"Kid? Luke, is that you?" Han stumbled, then ran at top speed towards him, skidding to a halt just before Luke's lightsaber blade sliced his head off. "Kid, you don't know how glad I am to see you. I've been going crazy in this place!"

The other person - a woman, Luke could see now, somewhere around Obi-Wan's age, or the age he would have been - ran up to them, a shocked expression on her face. "More intruders!" She glared at Luke's lightsaber disapprovingly, then hmphed at Artoo and narrowed her eyes at Yoda. "What are you doing up here, elf? Shouldn't you be doing something somewhere else?"

Luke's eyes widened and he glanced down at Yoda, surprised to see an amused smile on the Jedi Master's face. "Here I should be," he answered slowly, nodding. "Yes - here."

The woman frowned in confusion. "You're not a house elf. . ." She looked up at Luke, and he tried not to take a step backwards. "Well - I'm taking all of you to see Professor Dumbledore, then. Don't move!" She turned towards the statue, stared right at it, and said clearly, "Fruit and Nut Bar!"

With a creak, the statue twisted round and up, back into the wall, revealing a tall staircase that grew and grew. The woman stepped onto it as it moved higher and higher, and Han, Luke, Yoda and Artoo all followed suit. Luke wondered briefly how Artoo could balance on the narrow steps, but then, the droid had never been worried by physical impossibilities before, so he didn't wonder for long.

When the staircase finally stopped, the group all ascended the final few steps to an ominous-looking wooden door. A hoarse voice called out, "Come in!" After a moment, the door swung open by itself, and they all stepped through to the room beyond.

Luke stared round the room in wonder, vaguely noticing Han do the same, and Artoo swivelling his head to catch the whole thing on his built-in holocam. There were ornaments and trinkets everywhere, none of which Luke could name, and portraits on every available wall surface, it seemed. His eyes finally rested on a cluttered desk, behind which sat the oldest man Luke had ever seen - not as old as Yoda, perhaps, but very old indeed.

The man was staring at Luke's still-ignited lightsaber, an amused expression on his face. "Why," he said suddenly, catching Luke's eye, "the last time I saw one of those, I was in a Muggle cinema."

The woman coughed nervously, and though Luke didn't understand the word 'Muggle' - or cinema for that matter - it seemed to make her uncomfortable. "Professor Dumbledore," she interrupted, "I caught these intruders wandering the castle. One of them was in the Gryffindor common room!" She waved a hand to indicate Han, and he glanced over at Luke, shrugging.

Dumbledore seemed to think about this for a moment, still studying Luke's lightsaber intently. "These are all of them, are they?"

"Yes," the woman said firmly. Luke realised she didn't want to imagine the possibility of there being more of them. He thought about Hobbie and Janson, worrying for a moment about their safety - and then worrying, for a significantly longer length of time, for the safety of everyone else in the building. He would definitely have to find them - but no sense letting the woman know.

"Where did they come from?" Dumbledore asked, finally looking up at the woman.

"Miss Granger told me that this one-" She indicated Han again. "-was in the fireplace when she, Potter and Weasley returned from their study session in the library. The others I found just outside your office."

Luke shut off his lightsaber, clipped it to his belt, and stood vaguely to attention. "Sir," he addressed Dumbledore, "I don't mean to cause trouble."

"You never mean to cause trouble, kid, it's a natural talent."

Luke glared at Han quickly, scowling at his lopsided grin, and turned back to Dumbledore. "My name is Luke Skywalker, this is Captain Han Solo, Jedi Master Yoda, and my droid, Artoo Detoo. Master Yoda, Artoo and I found ourselves in your entrance hall after entering a cave on Dagobah; I imagine Han's situation is similar."

"Oh sure, except that Vader was trying to freeze me in carbonite."

"What?" Luke stared wide-eyed at Han, then glared down at Yoda. "I told you I had to get to them!"

Yoda didn't answer; merely hit him with his stick again. Luke had the feeling he was going to lose all sensation in his right leg one of these days.

"If you did not arrive together, perhaps we should go and check that no more of your friends have entered the castle unannounced." Dumbledore winked at Luke knowingly, and he winced. Hopefully Hobbie and Janson wouldn't be causing too much trouble, wherever they were.

The woman didn't seem to like that possibility at all, but she swallowed and nodded. "What are we going to do with them, sir?"

Dumbledore smiled as he stood up. "I imagine they'll make a nice little stockpile for Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers," he said with a wink, stepping over to the door and pulling it open. "They can't be any less qualified than the last few. Alternatively, we'll help them find their way home, wherever that may be."

"Well, sir," Luke said, bringing up the lead as the group filed out of Dumbledore's office, "if you could just direct us to the nearest Rebel Alliance cell, we would appreciate it."

"Rebel Alliance," Dumbledore repeated with a chuckle. "If only I'd thought of that before naming the Order. Certainly, young Skywalker, I shall help you find your friends."

The man seemed almost as crazy as Yoda, Luke thought, bemused. He shook his head as he followed the others down the stairs, not noticing the shadowy movement behind him in Dumbledore's office. He hoped the old man could help them. They were pretty vaping stuck if he couldn't.

Hobbie vaguely noted that they seemed to have lost Skywalker, his droid and the alien as he and Wes wandered down the fourth-floor corridor. He was slightly worried - not for Skywalker's safety; Luke could vaping well take care of himself, with that nifty weapon of his. No - he was worried that, without Skywalker around, Wes would drag him into his usual trouble. Which he really, really didn't think he could handle in such a strange environment. At least the base was the base, Wedge was Wedge, and trouble just meant a night of kitchen duty. Here, it could all be just about anything, and that's what was the scariest.

Suddenly, Hobbie heard footsteps further down the corridor, and he grabbed at Wes's sleeve to stop him. He looked round for somewhere to hide from whoever was coming, and spotted a door to his right. Dragging Wes behind him, he ran over to it, thanking whoever ran the galaxy that it was open as he pulled Wes into the room beyond and closed the door quietly behind them.

A few seconds passed as Hobbie tried to persuade his heart to stop beating so fast and so loudly. Then Wes said, "Look, Hobs, if you wanted to be alone with me you could just say-"

Hobbie hit his friend on the arm. "Ssh!" He pressed his ear to the door, listening as the footsteps passed and faded, then sighed in relief. "Someone was coming," he told Wes, finally straightening and looking round the room they were in now.

It was a classroom, just like one of the smaller lecture rooms back at the Academy - except that lecture rooms at the Imperial Academy weren't lit by floating candles, didn't have moving portraits on the wall, and definitely didn't have what looked like a hologram sitting at the main desk, scribbling on a sheet of flimsiplast. The hologram looked up suddenly, said "Oh," and then said, "Is it time for class already?"

Wes glanced back at Hobbie, shrugged, and turned to grin at the hologram - though Hobbie had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't a hologram at all. "I don't know," he said brightly, sitting on one of the desks and swinging his legs. "This is a school, then?"

"Yes," the hologram-that-wasn't-a-hologram answered, then frowned. "At least, it was this morning. I think. You are Jenkins, aren't you? Seventh year?"

"Janson," Wes corrected. "That's Hobbie. We're not here for class, though Hobbie could probably do with it."

"Oh, good," the ghost - Hobbie had decided it was a ghost, now, though he desperately hoped he was wrong - said. "I'll go, then. Must get the notes for tomorrow - it is the tenth of November tomorrow, isn't it? Nineteen fifty-two?"

"Sure," Wes replied cheerfully. "See you later."

The ghost nodded distractedly and floated out through the back wall, and Hobbie shivered as he sat in the chair of the desk Wes was sat on. "I don't like this place at all," he announced.

"Are you kidding? It's great! Come on," Wes ordered, jumping to his feet and heading for the door again. He pulled the door open and stuck his head out to check the corridor, then grinned and waved for Hobbie to come with him. "Let's keep on exploring. I want to see what's upstairs."

Hobbie groaned as he followed Wes along the corridor and up the stairs. "As long as it's a way back home, then I won't complain anymore."

"Don't be making promises you can't keep, Hobbie," Wes advised, pulling him up the last step to the fifth floor.

Hobbie shivered again and shook his head. He had the strangest feeling, like he'd been frozen in time for an hour while the author worked out plot details by playing a video game until she found the map of the building they were in and knew where they were headed. Utterly ridiculous, of course: what did an author or a plot have to do with this? So far as he knew, this situation was entirely Wes's fault - no outside influences involved. Still. . .

He tried not to think about it as Wes dragged him along the corridor and tried to get into all the rooms. Thankfully, all the doors on this floor were locked - but then, that meant Wes was going to drag him up another set of stairs to another floor. Just how big was this place?

Sure enough, Hobbie found himself following Wes up the last few stairs to the sixth floor and down a little way to the nearest door. Once again, it was locked. Hobbie sighed and leaned back against the wall as Wes turned to head off in another direction. "What are you looking for, anyway?"

"I don't know," Wes answered, squinting in the gloom. Unfortunately, there weren't any candles on this floor, and what little light there was came from downstairs. "Something fun. Come on," he said suddenly, grabbing Hobbie's arm and pulling him towards the next set of stairs. "The next floor's the last one, I think-"

"How do you know that?"

"There was a map. . ." Wes trailed off and looked round suddenly. "I think. Somewhere. Or maybe someone told me."

"How could someone tell you?" Hobbie was getting more and more confused by the second. He hated being confused around Wes, and it always, always happened. "I've been with you the whole time we've been here, no thanks to whoever's fault that is, and no one told me."

"Well, it-" Suddenly, Wes stopped, and Hobbie vaguely saw a shadow as he crashed into something and fell to the floor. Blinking and waving his hand around wildly, Hobbie eventually grabbed what he thought was Wes's arm and tried to pull himself up.

"Ow! Hey, George, let go!"

"What are you on about, Fred, I'm not- Fred, stop pushing me!"

"Hobbie? Is that you?"

There was a moment's silence, then-

"Fred, did you hear that?"

"There's someone else here! Is it a teacher? Are you a teacher, whoever you are?"

"Or worse, a prefect?"

"Oh, I have an idea - Lumos!"

Hobbie shielded his eyes as the hallway was suddenly flooded with light, and squinted past his arm to find two identical red-haired teenagers staring at him in amazement. He looked round and spotted Wes a little to the right of them, crouched on the floor, ready to attack whatever moved first - or he would have been, if the weapon in his holster had been a blaster and not, in fact, the remote control for the lounge's holoprojector.

"Intruders!" one of the boys shouted cheerfully, nudging his twin. "George, which one d'you think was in the common room?"

The other boy glanced from Hobbie to Wes thoughtfully, then looked at his brother. "I'm not sure. But wouldn't he be covered in ash from the fireplace?"

"Ah, yes." The first boy - Fred, though Hobbie knew it was futile to try and tell them apart - nodded his agreement. "So these two are - new intruders!" He grinned cheerfully, and Hobbie was reminded very much of Wes, at those dangerous times when his friend was thinking up a plan.

"We're not-" Hobbie paused, remembered he was still half-sitting, half-lying on the floor, and clambered to his feet, brushing his flightsuit down roughly. He looked up at the twins and frowned at the strange weapons they were aiming at him - whatever they were, they looked like sticks, and he didn't like them at all. "We're not intruders," he said carefully, glancing over at Wes as he got to his own feet.

"We're explorers," Wes told them. He was grinning again, but Hobbie could see that he was still ready to attack if the need arose.

"Really?" Fred's eyes lit up. "Sounds like fun! What are you exploring Hogwarts for?"

"Fred," the other boy - George? - hissed. "Careful - we don't know what they might do, and we haven't set up any traps on this floor yet."

"Oh, right." Fred frowned, thinking it over, then flashed a grin at Wes and Hobbie again. "You two just hold on until we set up some proper traps," he told them, "and then we can catch you properly. Just. . .stay here."

Hobbie stared blankly as the twins ran past him, rucksacks swung over their shoulders, and crouched by the stairs that led down to the fifth floor. He groaned as Wes, apparently curious, followed them, and trailed after him reluctantly.

"What kind of traps are you setting up?" Wes asked the twins, crouching down beside them.

The boys shared a glance, then shrugged - at exactly the same time, which unnerved Hobbie slightly. Fred looked up at Wes and grinned again. "We're putting some of our home-made fireworks on the top stairs here, and we're going to cover the banisters in treacle - to, uh, impede the intruders," he added quickly.

"Wasting perfectly good food?" Wes asked, eyes wide. "Anyway - aren't you going downstairs?"

"Yes," the boys answered in unison. Fred added, "We're setting up on every floor."

"So wouldn't it make sense to start from the bottom and work your way up, so that you don't fall victim to your own pranks?"

"Ye- ah. . ." Fred tilted his head and studied Wes appraisingly for a moment. "I'll blame that lapse of common sense on George."

"Hey," his brother cried indignantly. "You were the one who suggested putting them on every floor in the first place."

Wes shook his head, smirking. "You obviously have a lot to learn about practical jokes. Rule number one, remember, is never set pranks up where you might run into them before your victim."

Hobbie snorted. "Unless your victim is your room mate."

"In which case," Wes added, "you just make sure he's stupider than you."

"Hey!" Hobbie scowled and nudged Wes on the shoulder - forgetting that he was crouched precariously at the top of a long flight of stairs.

With a yelp, Wes tried to recover his balance, stumbling forwards a couple steps - right onto the fireworks Fred and George had already set up. His balance knocked off further by the colourful explosions at his feet, he pitched forward and fell, managing to sweep all the remaining fireworks with his sleeve so that they tumbled after him. They were a trail of bright light and explosions as he bounced down the stairs, hitting his head on every other step until he reached the bottom.

Hobbie, Fred and George stared after Wes, wincing sympathetically at every bump. A moment of near-silence - ruined by Wes's constant stream of muttered curses - passed, and then all three of them clattered down the stairs towards him, Fred and George pointing their strange light beams as Hobbie jumped the last few steps to land beside his friend.

"Wes?" Hobbie stared in horror at the crumpled heap of orange in front of him, and reached a hand out tentatively to poke it. "Wes, are you all right?"

Wes's head shot up suddenly, his hair a mess - and matted with a mixture of blood and soot - as he glared at Hobbie. "Absolutely fine," he said, "besides the several broken ribs, sprained ankle, fractured skull. . .What is this, payback for your own bacta-requiring injuries?" He rubbed at the back of his head, pulling a face at the state of his hand when he took it away. "It's not my fault you're a terrible pilot, Hobs."

There was another moment or two of silence as Hobbie stared at Wes. He sighed as his friend stood up carefully, poking at a spent firework with his foot and frowning thoughtfully. He was all right.

"Well," said Fred after a few moments, "at least we know it works."