hh_mirror

Near midnight Ford had been in the Ravenclaw common room/bar reading a book and having a drink (or perhaps several drinks, depending on how interesting the book turned out to be). This had become something of a ritual for him, at least on nights when there was nothing more exciting to do. He had managed to taste-test most of the bar's offerings, including magical libations he had never heard of before. He found that fire-whiskey was far better than it sounded, elf-made wine far worse, that the pirate's rum actually tasted of the tropics and the open seas, and that Telosian Ale packed almost as much disorientation per ounce as the cheapest Ole Janx Spirit.

At least, he assumed it was due to the Telosian Ale that he suddenly found himself sprawled on a couch in the library with absolutely no recollection of how he had got there or why there was a lit cigarette in his hand.

I don't smoke, he thought to himself, looking at the object in his hand. Then he looked at the hand. Wait a minute, that's not my hand. These aren't my clothes either... and the body in them doesn't seem too familiar. What the hell is going on here?

He caught sight of his reflection in one of the library's glass cases, only it wasn't his reflection - he found himself looking at the disheveled visage of Bernard Black.

Ford sighed and took a drag of the cigarette. "Let me guess, an improbability factor of 8,869,704 to 1 against?"