Chapter Text
“Er, Mike?”
The youngest McCartney brother lazily looked over to one his best friends, Lewis Hadden, expectation in his eyes.
Lewis had scruffy, unkempt blond hair, and blue eyes so piercing and wide (even though they were not really that big) that, if he didn’t know better, could have belonged to a psychopath. His clothes always looked like they were thrown on; for example, his tie would be loose or slinging around his neck, or his robes would be on backwards – or even a bit sideways. He was a strange lad, but he always emitted such a positive energy that had everyone wanting to be near him. And he was nice, too, which was a bonus.
Lewis’s eyes, surprisingly, were wider than usual, just barely freaking out Mike. “Your brother… What’s his name? Paul?” Mike nodded cautiously, a bit of unease taking over his face. “Is he the one who just ran out?”
The thing with Lewis is that you could never tell what he was feeling, even though he was probably the most expressive person in the world. Right now he looked like he was thrumming on energy, but that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. He was looking at Michael so intently, waiting for an answer, and no matter how much Mike searched his face, he couldn’t figure out a single thing, whether he was finding the situation funny or startling.
It was a bit annoying, sometimes, but in other cases, it was nice. If he was judging you, you wouldn’t be able to tell, even afterwards.
Mike blinked, recovering from his thoughts and remembering he had a reply due. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, that’s Paul,” he said in an off-hand manner.
Lewis nodded, his innocent face still intact. “I feel bad for him,” he said, and it was weird, hearing him saying it so bluntly and directly, for Mike hadn’t heard him talk so openly before. Lewis laughed at the strange face Mike was probably making, and continued, “Well, I mean. Come on. Whatever his friends said – that wasn’t very nice. I can only imagine the embarrassment.”
Mike grimaced. He didn’t like hearing people talking about his brother. It could be in the most flattering way, but he would still feel uncomfortable. No one really knew Paul McCartney the way he did. Even then, he didn’t think he knew him very well either. “Yeah, I guess. But Paul’s not that kinda person. He usually just shrugs off shite like that.”
Lewis raised an eyebrow and made a comical, sort of smiling, face. “It don’t matter what kinda person he is.” He licked his fingers from the food he was eating, and Mike laughed, though slightly disgusted at the public display. “With a reaction like that, anyone in the world could see he’s embarrassed. There’s absolutely no doubt about it.”
Mike was getting slightly frustrated, but didn’t let himself show it. Absolutely no doubt, yeah, his arse. “Paul’s a very…complex person,” he tried to explain. “You’re either just as right as a person who points out there’s stars in the sky, or you’re dead wrong. It’s hard to predict what he’s like. He’s just naturally unpredictable. I mean, look at him, he’s a good lad, right? Yet he makes a friend like that Lennon bloke. A bit opposite, y’know?”
Lewis stared at him in the face, completely blank. At least Mike could say that he understood that look. He had no idea what Mike was talking about.
“He’s a Scouser!” Mike continued proudly. “We don’t like little sissy things like that bother us.”
His friend cocked his head. “He seemed pretty bothered to me, mate. Maybe you should check on him or somethin’.” He stood up and popped a chip in his mouth, before having a look of urgency. “God, I need to use the bathroom!”
Lewis ran out in a way that seriously concerned Mike, thinking he would trip on his own legs, but he managed to get out fine.
He was an odd one, that Lewis was.
***
John walked into Charms with Paul following right behind him. John pretty much chose the seats, and Paul unquestioningly sat next to him. It was pretty much routine, and they had done it thoughtlessly, while a very few of their fellow students were gaping at them in horror and disgust for even considering sitting near each other.
Literally. The whole room was divided – one half contained Gryffindor and the other Slytherin. John was sitting on the Gryffindor side, because, as he had said one too many times to Paul, “I swear to God, this lot is full of a bunch of cunts,” referring to no other than his own house. “And you guys are chill as fuck. All I hear every day on a fucking daily basis”—Paul always smirked at this part, because sometimes John had no idea how he structured things—“is how muggles are the fucking scum of the universe and that kind of shit. Let me tell ya, Paul, nothing gets more annoying than hearing a bunch of know-it-alls spewing politically incorrect crap like that every day for years.”
And then Paul would agree, because sometimes it really got scary with some of the better-known Slytherins. They weren’t all that bad, but sometimes, well…
He preferred not to deal with them, unless it was John or someone he trusted.
“What the fuck, Paul?” John suddenly asked, and Paul immediately looked at him before realizing what was wrong. John was on the left of him.
It wouldn’t have been a big deal to most, but Paul was left-handed, and John hatedhatedhated it when their arms bumped into each other when writing. So Paul agreed to always sitting on the left side of him to avoid that issue, because it annoyed him, too.
Paul jumped over John and John jumped over Paul, leaving a weird clumsy mess of limbs that no doubt gave them quite the stares from their apparent audience. When finally seated properly, John smiled, teeth showing and everything, and of course, Paul smiled back.
Their Charms teacher, Professor Channing (John pointed out this was fun to say – Charming Channing Teaches Charms) was droning on and on about the basics that they already knew by heart, but wasn’t giving anything new yet.
That’s how he introduced the lesson, too. “This week we’ll be refreshing on some of the things we discussed last before summer.” And as soon as those words were spoken, the attention of the class completely strayed away from the teacher.
Paul paid attention, though. Unlike apparently everyone else in this room, he liked to succeed. Paul listened intently, and made notes, jotting down practically everything his teacher was saying, and making sure to dip a sufficient amount of ink to his quill so it would last longer.
He dipped his quill a third time before writing again, scribbling down extra pieces of knowledge that he’d learn from experience.
- Be careful with how you use this spell
- Either ends up right or doesn’t
- Wave wand gently but firmly
It was no wonder why this was his best class. Looking back, it was the notes that helped him the best, and adding the extra details. There was always something that the class forgot, but he managed to save it and remember it after writing it down. He felt very confident about this class this year.
John, on the other hand, did not. Contrary to what Paul was doing, John was on the verge of sleep. Professor Channing had always been very boring, wearing very ordinary clothes and having plain features and a dull voice. It seemed that the new year did not liven him up at all.
A benefit of the class, though, was that the professor never looked at the class, since his high insecurity was obvious. John and the rest of the class, excluding Paul, took advantage of this. Feeling himself yawn, John leaned back in his chair for a more comfortable position, preparing himself for a quick snooze. He could always ask for Paul’s notes in the end, anyways.
But then a crumpled up piece of paper hitting the back his head interrupted all of that. John felt mild indignation spark up in him as he picked it up from the ground. Paul noticed, too, and even stopped writing. John spread out it with his friend leaning over his shoulder to look. In really bad, yet sharp handwriting, were two words, underlined twice for emphasis:
Blood traitor
Paul widened his eyes, but John merely guffawed. He looked over to his house’s side and whispered harshly and angrily, “I have a right mind to thump you all in the heads.” John saw with pleasure that a good portion had widened eyes and reddened cheeks. “But sod you all, I ain’t betraying anyone – I’m not a pureblood, you fucking tossers.” He crumpled the piece of paper once again and threw it to their side, not even caring where it ended up.
A kid in the corner of the back of the room named Peter sat with a deeply flushed face and a scowl, looking extremely frustrated. John turned around and shot him the middle finger, watching with satisfaction as he pointedly shifted his gaze from John to his table.
John turned around and slumped into his seat, sighing exasperatedly and rolling his eyes. This was the only thing he hated about Hogwarts, dealing with their antics. It was fucking annoying. George had told him that it sounded like they were kind of bullying him, but John had laughed, because that was ridiculous. On the other hand, while the Slytherins’ hate messages annoyed him, messing with them in return also brought John great joy. And besides – John doesn’t get bullied. That’s a fact.
He lazily glanced over at his ever so studious friend. Paul, expectedly, looked extremely annoyed. John sat up, laughing softly. “Hey, hey. You alright?” he whispered, a smile dancing on his lips.
It was funny how defensive Paul could get over some things, and knowing that he was getting defensive over John fed his ego a bit. “Yeah,” Paul said, sounding disgusted. “That’s fucking sick, what they did. This is stupid. This is all so stupid.”
Even though what he said was specifically meant for the situation that had just occurred, John knew that he was speaking more broadly now, and felt inclined to agree. He was about to speak up, but Professor Channing – probably for the first time since first year – turned around and had a questioning look on his face. “Is anyone confused?”
Everyone shook their heads ‘no’ like saints. Then he nodded, blushing, and turned back around, resuming his teaching.
“I know,” John replied, his voice lowered. “They just can’t accept it because it’s different. Well, fuck ‘em all, is what I say.”
Paul chuckled. “You’re right, though. You know, this is the kind of stuff that starts wars.” John looked at him with a bit of surprise. He hadn’t really seen it that way, and an odd foreign feeling mingled within him. But he knew it was true. What he said made him feel rather thoughtful.
After that, John couldn’t find the will to fall asleep, so for once, he actually paid attention, and Paul continued scribbling down his notes.
***
Hours later, Paul was casually sitting in the common room, reading a book with his legs crossed and dissolving himself in the words. Well, sort of. Truth was, he wasn’t really reading. The book was about a troll invasion that had happened a few centuries past, and frankly, Paul couldn’t absorb himself in it.
But he wasn’t reading for the enlightenment of troll history. No – Paul had a plan.
A few days had passed since he had promised George he would go and talk to Pattie for him, and today he was determined to follow through with that. Plus, it seemed that there was no better day than today. John and George were busy making Quidditch plans and preparing for tryouts. Ringo was off doing God knows what with Mo. And Paul was left on his own.
So he had an extremely boring book in hand, trying to let himself dissolve into that instead of the prominent scarlet and gold that threatened to swallow his vision.
He flipped the page as if he truly was reading, until finally, Pattie Boyd stepped casually into the common room – and even better – by herself.
Paul made eye contact with her, and he slammed the book shut. “Pattie!” he exclaimed cheerfully, standing up from the plushy chair from which he was sitting on.
Instantly, she smiled at him, and walked forwards in his direction. “Hello, Paul,” she greeted, her voice like honey to his ears.
Paul smiled welcomingly. She always seemed to be in a good mood, and that was helpful. Although the extra help was nice, he put on some of his charm, and leaned in a bit. “I’ve wanted to talk to you,” Paul said mysteriously.
Pattie laughed like the angel she was, and played along, saying suspiciously, “Is that so?” Her tone came out normal, but she had bitten down slightly on her lip and a surprised twinkle appeared in her eyes, and he knew she was slightly confused as to why he was talking to her. And expectedly so. After all, they’d not had a full, proper conversation with each other before.
A bit of flirting never hurt anyone, thought Paul happily as he deliberated on ways to approach his intended subject. “Of course!” he said, clutching at his chest feigning offense. “I could never stay away from you long, Pattie, dear, you should know.”
She sighed, like she was considering. “You do seem quite deprived. We might as well take a seat, then.” Paul smiled, satisfied. She was good. They moved to some of the larger cushiony chairs and sat there. Paul sat Indian-style, and Pattie merely crossed her legs. She looked at him expectantly through her eyelashes. “So, what is it you want to talk about, Paul?”
Paul surreptitiously inspected his fingernails, maintaining a casual appearance. “Well, you do know my friend George Harrison, yes?”
He shifted his gaze to see her reaction. A wise look of understanding passed over Pattie’s face, and then suddenly, Paul was the confused one.
She bit down on a finger and laughed. “What?” Pattie asked, looking quite amused at the expression Paul was making.
“You totally knew what I was going to say,” he accused. Pattie shrugged, and he couldn’t believe the amount of perception girls apparently had.
“Well, it’s not difficult,” Pattie replied matter-of-factly. Paul fixed her with a blank stare, and she sighed. “Men are so obvious. Paul, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we don’t talk often. And then suddenly – years later, I might add – you want to? And about George? How much more obvious could you get?”
Paul jokingly pouted. “Pattie. I had a whole speech prepared and everything, and you just blew my whole case with an expression.”
Pattie mimicked his pout. “And you’ve could’ve spent minutes with me. Just imagine the agony.” Paul chuckled, and mentally asked why he didn’t spend more time with her. She was funny. But his thoughts were interrupted when suddenly, the joking atmosphere had vanished, and she looked at him seriously.
“But you know, I’ll spare you some mercy and cut it down to a few seconds.” Paul felt a bit surprised at the change of tone, but nevertheless prepared himself for what he’d been waiting to hear. “I do fancy George. I’ll look past the embarrassment and admit it, I might as well. And if he wants to go with me, then I’ll say it right here, Paul – I would like that very much. But if he sent you to talk to me about it, then he can forget it, unless he comes to me himself.”
Pattie then, with an air of pride, stood up and sauntered away into her dormitory.
***
They were in the Dining Hall when Paul decided to bring it up.
John sat next to him this time, and Ringo and George were on the other side of the table. Paul, unlike the first day of school, was not very hungry and had barely anything on his plate. On the other hand, the other three were gorging themselves like kings.
Their lunch went on like usual, cracking jokes and only carrying a light conversation. It took a while before it went to a pause, and Paul was taking advantage of that moment to speak.
But, of course, Ringo just had to make a comment as well.
“So, Quidditch tryouts are starting up in a week, yeah?”
George’s head snapped up so fast that Paul got whiplash. “Yeah! John and I were discussing it all yesterday. John’s the captain for his house, so he’ll have—”
“The extreme pleasure in picking a bunch of scrawny fifth years ‘n up who think they can play, but can’t,” John interrupted. George didn’t seem to mind though. He just nodded his head dazedly.
Paul, despite his interest in the topic, was grumpy the whole conversation, refusing to speak at all until he had a chance to bring up what he needed to say. Unfortunately, though, he couldn’t squeeze a single word to George the whole time. It wasn’t until their meal ended that he got to report what Pattie had said to him.
George was about to stroll the other direction to his own common room. Paul felt a flicker of irritation before promptly shouting out, “’Ey! Geo!”
George spun around in Paul’s direction, lifting a questioning eyebrow before seeing who was talking to him, and George smiled. “Oh, hey, Paul. You were awfully silent today.”
Again, the irritation rose up in him, and the thought, Well, no one let me talk, flashed bitterly in his mind, but he decided to ignore it. “I talked to Pattie yesterday,” Paul informed, quickly and urgently. There. He’d come out right with it. Interruption-free.
George’s eyes widened, eyebrows disappearing into his bangs and mouth twitching. “You did? Why didn’t you tell me?”
The irritation shaped into a really ugly, loud feeling that Paul did not want to express, and he shoved it away. “Doesn’t matter,” Paul shrugged in an attempt to be nonchalant, “but I’m here now.”
George nodded at that. Then his eyes lit up again, and he chewed on his lip. “So, you talked to Pattie,” he said, gaze dropping and tasting the words. He looked up again, hopefully. “What’d she say?”
Paul scratched at his nose, and cleared his throat. “Er, well, she sort of knew what I was gonna say – before I was gonna say it…”
His friend twisted his features into one of confusion. “Really? How’d that come about?”
Again, Paul shrugged as if having no idea. “Dunno,” he lied. “But anyway, she told me – like, literally said, I swear – that she fancies you, and wouldn’t mind going out with you.”
George glowed with delight.
“But,” Paul continued, and saw the other’s face drop, “she won’t, because I was there and you weren’t.”
And then George stared at him, disappointed and twisting Paul’s gut horribly with sadness. “Oh,” he mumbled quietly.
“Yeah,” Paul said unhelpfully.
“Makes sense,” George said. It seemed like the whole atmosphere had changed, because when George was sad, Paul was sad, and suddenly everything in the room looked miserable. But then, George straightened with a new air of determination. “Well, I’ll ask her then,” George announced, a note of confidence in his voice. “Not straight away, but soon, I think.”
Paul smiled encouragingly and patted his shoulder. “There you go.”
George nodded, as though reassuring himself. “Yeah.”
“Yeah,” Paul echoed unnecessarily. “Well, I’ll see you later, then.” And from there, they went their separate ways, both of them parting with the blossoming feeling that something exciting was about to happen.