Chapter Text
John rubs his cold hands together, trying to warm them up, fogging warm breath on them. It was no use, his hands were like ice. This was without a doubt the rainiest September he remembers. He runs his bruised knuckles through his hair, messing with the lazy curls he’s grown out. It’s been a long time since John’s been on this train. His senses are filled with the memories of his past trips.
A small, eleven-year-old boy who knew nothing of magic, thumbing through his textbooks with the excitement of a kid in a candy store. Or him and his friends on his second-year journey, laughing with each every-flavored-bean eaten, both the delicious and disgusting ones. He felt particularly fond of his third-year memories, just shy of turning fourteen. John was one of the oldest in his year with an October birthday, after all. But third year was full of excitement about Hogsmeade trips and girls. He snorts at the memory of his fourth-year travels, when William Hawthorne was dared by Elliot Ashford to go into the Slytherin car and set off a stink bomb, only for the poor second year to land a spot in detention before classes even began.
However, his fond reminiscing comes to an abrupt end when John’s memory comes to his fifth year. He clears his throat, and suppresses the heartache. That’s all he’s ever done about it all. It was easier than admitting anything happened.
John was nearly seventeen now. He’d have the trace lifted in just over a month, and then it was just getting through his sixth year at Hogwarts. With the trace removed, he realistically wouldn’t have to come back to Hogwarts for his seventh and final year, and he likely wouldn’t. He’ll miss out on taking any N.E.W.Ts, but that didn’t matter to John. Not really. Those assholes at the Ministry already took away his chance to take any O.W.Ls last year. John would be playing catch up this entire year, and he had no desire to. He didn’t care about a high profile job in the Wizarding World, that wasn’t important to him. Not when he’s muggle-born and will likely just work in the muggle world.
He wanted to be a musician, after all.
You really only need N.E.W.T scores to work for the Ministry of Magic, anyways. And John’s little issue last year has already prevented him from working in the Ministry. Not that he wanted to work for those uptight snot-mouths.
Regardless, John would struggle this year, and he knew it. He missed more than half of fifth year, and he had no doubt the professors were going to be even harder on him than usual after his absence. He didn’t even want to come back to Hogwarts, but his Aunt didn’t give him much of a choice.
“You chose to go when you were a boy, so it's up to you to stick it out. I won’t have my nephew living with no education. Magical or not.” Her stern voice replays in his head. Besides, John still had the trace on him, and would have been fined by the Ministry for not attending. John already had plenty of issues with the Ministry from last year, he didn’t want any more.
And he supposed he did like Hogwarts. He liked his friends, Elliot and Arthur. And he liked the girls. He liked Cynthia. He liked quidditch. He was a rather good chaser for the Gryffindor team before he got suspended. He was sure he’d have to try out again this year. That was really a shame, John was projected to be the captain of the team this year.
John also liked being there at the castle. It was safe and cozy and far away from his crazy family. Away from his absent father who wanted him but didn’t love him, and his dead mum who never wanted him but loved him. He liked magic, it gave him a real purpose in life when he was accepted into Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
John was willing to try again this year, he wanted it to go well. He needed redemption.
But then John is starkly reminded of how he’s entirely alone in this train compartment, and they left platform nine and three-quarters nearly two hours ago, and still had a few hours to go before they arrived at the castle. No one wanted to sit with John. He couldn’t blame them. He could only imagine how the rumor mill ran when he left school last year.
He looks out the window at the raindrops running down the glass, the train passing by lush forests that were still deep with green from the summer. John stares at his reflection in the window. He wasn’t ugly, he didn’t think so. It was hard for John to look at himself these days, he barely recognized himself anymore. But he forces himself to memorize the peaks and valleys of his face any chance he can. It reminds him that he’s alive, he’s breathing. Reminds him that he hasn’t yet lost his mind. He’s got sandy almost auburn hair that curled up. He styled it like the teddy boys back home, in Liverpool. That’s who he spent his summer with: the rock and roll boys of the icy town. He’s got light brown eyes that barely work, he’s blind as a bat. He’s got a strong, aquiline nose… he didn’t look like a criminal, like a bad guy.
There’s a tap on the door, and it scares the daylights out of him. He turns to see who it is.
“Elliot, you git!” He smiles, going to slide the door open to greet his friend into the compartment with him.
“John Lennon back from the dead it would seem!” He hugs John without a second thought. John’s chest warms at that, he never thought he’d be welcomed back by anyone. “You look like you haven’t had a real meal in months.” Elliot sits across from John, crossing his ankle over his knee. Elliot was a sixth year Gryffindor with John, he’s got black curly hair, olive skin and a roman nose. But Elliot’s defining factor was that he dripped with more charisma than even John.
“I haven’t.” John poses it as a joke, but they both know. “I didn’t think anyone would want to sit here with me. Thought I was spoiled rotten with my own compartment finally.”
“Well when Cynthia Powell let me know you were coming back this year, I knew I had to ruin your luxury. It wouldn’t be a trip back to Hogwarts if I didn’t spend it with you, mate.” Elliot beams.
John’s stomach flutters, “Cyn? She’s talkin’ about me, then?” He asks with a smug smile.
Elliot nods. “Never stopped. She was worried sick about you while you were gone. Wanted to start a protest and everything. But no one really understood why you left.”
“Is she on the train now?” John wanted to see her immediately.
His friend chuckles, “Careful now, Lennon. She’s got a boyfriend now.” Elliot shakes his head. It cuts John like a dagger, worse than he wished.
John wouldn’t show any weakness, though. Not after everything. “Probably for the best, I’d just be corruptin’ her with my dark magic.” He laughs. Elliot snorts.
“So, you’ve got to tell me. Why did you leave, really?” He asks.
The air is sucked out of the room, John’s smile drops. “I didn’t leave, I was suspended.”
“Expelled.”
“Suspended.” John doubles down, even if it wasn’t true, it’s what the Ministry informed him to say. Expelled students don’t get welcomed back, but suspended students might “And besides, I can’t talk about it. Sworn to secrecy from the Minister of Magic herself.”
“You’ve met the Minister, then?” Elliot asks.
John nods, “Know her well, don’t I?”
“Wicked.” Elliot smiles, “Look, Johnny, I’m happy you’re back. With the Fairburn twins gone, our Quidditch team is gonna need you.”
“If they’ll take me back. Who’s the captain now that I’m a delinquent?
Elliot makes a cheeky gesture to himself with a smug grin, “Yours, truly.”
“No!” John shakes his head. “We’re doomed, then!”
“Oh, shut up!” Elliot scoffs, “I happen to be very qualified! Went to a Quidditch camp in Yorkshire this last July, learned a lot from how the Irish play. I tell you, one day the Irish are gonna win the World Cup.”
“Now that’s just wishful thinking.” John shakes his head. “Ireland would never.”
“You’re just jealous. But don’t be. We really missed you last year. We had to bring June Meadows up as a chaser after you left alongside the twins. She wasn’t bad, but only a third year and skinny as all get. Nearly died I reckon. She was an easy target for beaters.”
“Who won the Quidditch cup?” John asks.
Elliot sighs, “Slytherin. It wasn’t even close…” He shakes his head. “They’re wicked good. I hate to admit it but it’s the truth. They’ve got big heads, too. You know those Slytherins. Got a new seeker last year just before you left and he’s bloody talented. Better than Artie. But never tell him I said that. Christ John, we’ve missed you.”
John left just after the Quidditch season began last year, but Gryffindor had only formally played Ravenclaw and scrimmaged Hufflepuff, so he never saw Slytherin’s team. He was secretly relieved Elliot was the captain because it meant John had good chances of getting back on the team. But he had to admit Elliot was a strange choice for captain over Arthur (the smarter and older of the two), Elliot couldn’t even tie his shoes without magic. Those pure blood boys were a completely different type from John.
“What’s the new seekers name? For Slytherin?”
“Oh, he’s such an ass, John.” A third, unexpected voice enters the conversation. Arthur was standing in the doorway, beautiful as ever with his dark skin and warm eyes.
“Arthur Higgins, as I live and breathe.” John stands up.
“John Winston Lennon, you’re as beautiful as the day I lost you.” They hug as brothers would. Arthur and his American accent were sorely missed. Artie moved from America in his second year (John and Elliot’s first year) to attend Hogwarts. The United States aren’t as keen about black students yet, even in the wizarding world. It was only 1957, after all.
“What took you two so long to finally join me here.” John asks point blank.
Arthur sighs, “I hate to admit it, John, but everyone’s nervous about you now.’
“Even you git’s?”
“Never.” Elliot shakes his head and Artie sits next to John. “But we’ve got eyes on us from all around. Students can’t decide if they fear or respect you.”
“They should come talk to me themselves to find out.” John rolls his eyes. “Absolute bollocks if you ask me.”
“Well, we’re happy you’re back. All Gryffindor house is, I think.”
“Even Cynthia?” John asks.
Artie nods, “ Especially Cynthia. But she can’t admit it. Not now that she’s dating Dorian Pritchard.”
“ Dorian Pritchard? ” John’s jaw dropped. “From Ravenclaw? That nasty tattletale?” He shakes his head. John and Cynthia never formally dated. They only fancied one another from afar, wishing they could be together. Cynthia was kind to John. She always stood up for him. He finally kissed her after the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw last year. But soon after, John was sent away.
“Dorian is Headboy this year. And Cynthia is Gryffindor’s Prefect.” Artie explains.
“Oh, that’s bollocks.” John shakes his head. His bad-boy persona is what got Cynthia into him in the first place, at least that’s what he told himself. But if she was a prefect, they would never be together.
“Hey, opposites attract, you could be with her still.” Said Elliot dimly. “And either way, Dorian is in his seventh year. He’ll take his N.E.W.Ts, get a good score, work for the Ministry and be out of your hair next year. Then you can have Cyn all to yourself.”
John supposed his friend was right, but didn’t dare admit it. “Prefect… Cynthia.” He says quietly. “What other changes have there been?”
“Professor Haddock is gone, went back to Scotland for retirement. Not sure who’ll take his position yet.” Elliot says.
“There’s a new transfiguration teacher, she came last December. Just after you left. Professor McGonnagall. She’s real nice, her classes aren’t too hard.” Artie explains. “She’s young, too. Only a few years older than us.”
“Is she a looker?” John teases. The others laugh.
“Giant eyes. Looks like a bug sometimes.” Elliot jokes back.
“Oh! Syltherin won the house cup along with the Quidditch Cup.” Arthur says.
Elliot nods, “We all know that competition is rigged.”
“Elliot was telling me about the Quidditch Cup.” John informed Artie. “Where did Gryffindor place?”
“Dead. Last.” Arthur shakes his head. “Awful.”
“But we beat Ravenclaw before I left!” John whines.
“Yes, but Ravenclaw beat Hufflepuff with a wider margin than we did. Two hundred points more. Hufflepuff beat us, but it was close. If June hadn’t taken that bludger to the face I think we would have won, barely.” Arthur shakes his head, as if he was still coping with that loss today.
“And Slytherin beat us 150-nil.” Elliot sighs. “It was the worst game of the year.”
“My worst job as a seeker yet.” Arthur was embarrassed to say. “The weather conditions were perfect, crisp spring day, just after Easter. But I let my guard down, and Slytherin took the snitch before anyone could score.” Arthur explained it like it was a war flashback. “I thought I’d be kicked off the team, surely.”
“I’ve heard so much about this Slytherin seeker. What’s so special about him?” John folds his arm over his chest.
“He’s this nasty boy. He’s got everything.” Elliot shakes his head in disdain, “Slytherin prefect, captain of the Slytherin team this year, President of the Dueling Club, teachers aid for Professor Whittaker-
“-Comes from a snobbish, pure-blood family. Dad works for the ministry.” Arthur adds.
“He’s in his sixth year, too, but you wouldn’t guess it by his looks. He looks like a bird.” Elliot laughs.
“He’s always sticking his nose in your business. Hangs out with only Slytherins and Ravenclaws like he’s some pompous prince from London.” Gryffindors always took classes with the Hufflepuffs, and Slytherins always took classes with the Ravenclaws. Truthfully, John didn’t know many Slytherins, nor did he care to. Elliot continues, “He took his O.W.Ls early last year and got outstanding marks on every subject I heard.” Elliot frowns. “Can’t stand the lad.”
“And his name?” John asks.
“Paul McCartney.”
John eats more than he should have at the feast, and he leaves the Great Hall to the Gryffindor dormitories feeling full and sleepy for the first time in a long time. The rain never let up through the sorting ceremony, and John sat on the opposite end of the table from the sorting hat, down by the other sixth years. But even he felt isolated among the other Gryffindors at the table. If he wasn’t an outcast before last year, he certainly was now.
He knew if he could get back on the Quidditch team, everything would sort itself out. It would have to. Being on your house team was a one-way ticket to popularity. John never really cared about popularity, but he certainly didn’t want to be a complete reject.
He tried taking a peek at the Slytherin table for this ‘McCartney’ who apparently runs the school on his way out of the Great Hall, but can’t really see any boys who look like birds, and definitely doesn’t want to get caught staring.
The halls of Hogwarts were littered with history, paintings on every wall, tapestry’s lining doors, stained glass windows telling stories. It was beautiful, and so different from anything in Liverpool. John forgot how much he missed those things about Hogwarts. He had forgotten that this was a place of total safety and warmth.
John had spent so much time completely shunned from anything warm and safe while he was in cahoots with the Ministry. He’d lost sight of how special Hogwarts really was. He suppressed any feeling too wistful, though. He had to protect his heart better this year; had to protect himself.
Truthfully, he was lucky to have even been accepted back into Hogwarts at all.
He finds himself in Gryffindor tower, and must have entirely forgotten about the fat lady and her passwords, because he stops dead in his tracks when he sees Cynthia Powell standing outside of the portrait, teaching the new password to all the students. Obviously, that was her job as a prefect. John just wasn’t ready to see her again, not yet. After all, Cyn was the last person he saw at Hogwarts before being taken away by the Aurors.
She’s so beautiful; Icy, blonde hair that’s neatly tied in a ponytail with a scarlet red ribbon and sweet bangs that frame her face. She’s got the prettiest Grecian nose and big eyes, she looks so cute in her uniform. John gets overwhelmingly sheepish all at once, and is tempted to completely turn back and find someplace else to sleep for tonight.
He remembers the silly song the sorting hat came up with this year: something about Gryffindors being brave even in the most mundane of situations. Some Gryffindor he is: not even able to face a girl he used to like. He clears his throat and finishes the walk to the portrait with a puffed-out chest.
“John!” Cynthia’s face lights up as soon as she sees him, running to him and wrapping her arms around him tightly. He wasn’t expecting this reaction, he almost thought she would resent him. Although, this was greatly appreciated, and he finds himself hugging her back. “I’m so happy you’ve returned!” She beams, pulling away from him to speak so their faces are just inches apart. The air goes still and John accidently looks down at Cynthia’s lips.
She pulls away from him, clearing throat and brushing her bangs out of her eyes. “It’s wonderful you’re here.” She says with a bit more decorum.
John smiles, “It’s lovely to see you, Cynthia.” He says, wishing he could grab her face and kiss her deep. “ Prefect Cynthia.” He hums.
She taps her manicured nail to her prefect badge on her robes, beaming. “If you need anything, anything at all, you know where to find me.”
John doubted she really meant anything at all. If it was his way, he’d have Cynthia as his girlfriend before the week was even over. “Well, let's start with the password.”
“ Adimpleo .” Cynthia says sweetly and John repeats it. The portrait opens up to the hole to the Gryffindor Common room. “Really John, I’m happy to see you. Hogwarts wasn’t the same without you.” She takes his wrist as he walks past her.
“Thanks Cyn. I wonder if Dorian feels the same way.” He says with a twinge of animosity in his tone and walks through the whole. John knows he shouldn’t be that way, especially not to Cynthia of all people. But he’s always been like that. Always putting up walls when he feels singled out.
John enters the common room, and where soft laughter and the hum of conversation once was, silence was replaced. Every head turns to look at him, every voice goes quiet.
He feels instantly placed on display, under an interrogation light. Exactly what he was afraid of. He looks at the other students, and gestures to himself cockily.
“Here I am.” He rolls his eyes and drops his arms. “If you have any questions, feel free to set up an appointment.” He starts to move through the room towards the sixth-year dormitories. Heads watch him as he cuts across the floor, and still, no one will say a word. John turns around just before going out of the room and adds, “And for the record, Azkaban isn’t as bad as you all think it is, I’ll give the Dementors your regards.” And then disappears into the other room.
The first day of classes started out smoothly. He has Charms first thing in the morning with the Hufflepuffs, and then Divination before lunch with just the other Gryffindors. Thankfully, Elliot treated John like a normal human, along with the other Professors. But unfortunately, Arthur was in seventh year classes, so John would just have to rely on Elliot. Luckily, Cynthia was in Charms with them, but is taking advanced divination with the seventh-years.
Just as John feared, he was behind. Everyone knew fifth year Charms was the most important year for charms. It was where students finally started learning practical charms, such as summoning charms, mending charms and the disillusionment charm (one John has been looking forward to since he first heard of it). But now, John was entering his sixth year with the knowledge of a fourth year, and not a very hard working fourth year at that. This put him at a huge disadvantage.
Professor Flint in charms gave John an extra workbook to try and catch him up, one usually reserved for the slower or handicapped students. John stuffed the blue folder in his bag in the hopes no one saw him get it. “Tuesday afternoons are free for students to come in for one-on-one instruction, Mr. Lennon.” She tells him. “What’s your schedule like?”
“Quidditch practices Tuesday afternoons.” John responds.
“Have you made the Gryffindor team this year?” Professor Flint asks with a raised eyebrow.
John shakes his head, “I was on the team last year, but I’ll have to try out again this year because of…” he trails off.
“I understand.” Professor Flint nodded. “When are try-outs?”
“Week four.” John says.
“Well, Mr. Lennon. It would be wise for you to prioritize your education this year. A Hogwarts student’s fifth year is one of their most important, especially for my class. You’ll have a lot to catch up on, including taking your O.W.Ls this year. If you want a stable job after Hogwarts, I suggest you take advantage of your free time.” She describes, as if John didn’t already know that.
He just nods, “I understand, Professor. Thank you.” And leaves the conversation, not caring to discuss anymore.
After lunch is Defense Against the Dark Arts. Another class John would be far behind in. In the sixth-year, unforgivable curses were finally taught, and specifically how to survive them. And Dementors are taught. John needed this class. He felt like he would be alright, though, because over the last year he’s experienced more dark magic than anyone else in his year. He knew that.
He and Elliot enter the classroom, Professor Whittaker was at the board, scribbling out something. The class was already rather full, to John’s surprise.
“I guess we’ll sit in the back.” Elliot mutters to John and heads to one of the last open tables.
“Large class.” John points out and goes to sit next to Elliot, “Why?”
“Come in!” Professor Whittaker, a middle-aged and handsome man with salt and pepper hair called out in his confident voice. A few more students file in, and he closes the door with a swish of his wand. John looks back at the students by the door to see three girls wearing green robes.
“Slytherin’s in here with us?” John asks Elliot who turns back to look at the girls.
He laughs sarcastically, “Lovely.”
“Perfect, we’ll have to learn about the unforgivables with these fools.” One of the girls whispers behind John. He turns around and gives her a glare. She shrugs and sits across the aisle from him, her posse following.
“Professor.” A Gryffindor girl towards the front raises her hand, “I thought sixth year Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were taken by individual houses.”
“Is there a question somewhere in there, Miss Foster?” Professor Whittaker smiles. He wasn't teasing her, he was warm, once a Gryffindor, and the object of many schoolgirls fantasies.
“Well, why are we taking it with another house, then?”
“Yes. I knew you’d all be curious.” He began, addressing the full class, “This year, houses will be combined.” Whittaker holds for dramatic effect, which he gains to his amusement.
He continues, “The reason for this, you may ask? I want you students to learn how one another thinks. I want you to expect the unexpected. Part of my job is to teach older Hogwarts students how to defend against not just dark magic, but dark wizards themselves. They do exist, my friends.” John feels eyes on him, he’s not sure who’s eyes, but he knows there are students looking at him. “Therefore, you all need to understand the psychology of other wizards. There is no better of doing that than a bit of fair and fun inter-house mingling, no?”
You could hear a pin drop in the room.
“I know the rivalry between Gryffindor house and Slytherin house goes back centuries, to even the founding of this school with Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin themselves.” Professor Whittaker paces, “All the more reason for these two houses to interact. You all have decided you dislike one another from nothing more than just the colors on your clothes. But I think you will all find that these two houses are far more alike than they are different.”
“That’s rubbish!” Another female voice cries out from a group of Slytherin’s at a table. There are a few hums of agreement from both houses at her remark.
Professor Whittaker smiles, “Perhaps.” He turns around, bringing the chalkboard closer to the desks, “I want you students to learn to think like one another. I want you all to be able to think two steps ahead of the person sitting next to you. It very well could save your life one day; being able to anticipate a wizard’s next move. It is for that reason I have made this:” He gestures to the board. “A seating chart.”
The entire class cries out in disdain. John and Elliot especially. They’ve sat next to one another in every single class since first year. That wasn’t going to stop now.
“Every Gryffindor will be placed next to a Slytherin.” Even more groans from the sixth-years, “I want you all to be cordial to one another. Try to make friends.” He beckons for students to come see their seating arrangements. He continues talking as students from both houses approach the board to see their death sentence. “Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff sixth-years are going through the same thing. Your seat partner will also be your partner for homework, workshops and projects surrounding counter-spells, and resistance practice.”
John and Elliot make their way up to the board with heavy feet. “This is bollocks.” Elliot whispers to John. John glances at Cynthia who was now sitting next to a blonde Slytherin boy a few rows from the back. His name was Graham, he was on the Slytherin Quidditch team. She was already making polite conversation with him. She made everything look easy. Maybe if John was lucky, he’d be paired with a pretty Slytherin girl he could at least snog during steady sessions.
Professor Whittaker examines the Gryffindors and Slytherins while they start finding their permanent seats, “I am not going to go easy on you this year. I never have for sixth-years, nor do I intend to. This is the year where Defense Against the Dark Arts gets real. You are all adults, many of you will turn seventeen within the year and lose the trace, and will be treated as such now. These seats will not change throughout the term. There will be homework projects to be done outside of class.” John groaned, they were getting closer and closer to the board. “Start figuring out your partner, and try to throw them off your scent. Be clever, that should be easy for all you Slytherins.”
Because John and Elliot were at the back of the class, they were the last ones to see their seating assignments, and the last ones to be standing. Elliot looks for his name on the board, and sees he’s sitting about five rows back next to a Slytherin girl named Maggie Winters, the same girl who came in late with her posse. Elliot goes back to her, leaving John alone at the front of the class with Professor Whittaker with a wistful frown.
“One seat left, Mr. Lennon.” Professor Whittaker says.
John finds his name on the board. Front row. The name written next to John’s is none other than Paul McCartney. The Slytherin-seeker-team captain-pure-blood-prefect-dueling president-Whittaker’s aid.
John turns around to see the seat directly behind him open, and the boy sitting next to it.
Paul had a cold look on his pale face. His hair was jet black and his eyes were impossibly round. He had his arms folded over his chest, his silver prefect badge freshly polished. His sloped-nose was upturned as he looked John up and down.
“Have a seat, Mr. Lennon.” Whittaker held his hand out for John to take his seat. Every eye was on him as he sat down next to Hogwarts’s golden boy.
Paul didn’t say a word to John. Didn’t even look at him after he sat down.
“Lovely.” Whittaker smiles, looking out at the mess he’s just created. “Everyone take a few minutes and introduce yourself to your partner.”
Paul won’t speak up. So, neither does John. They both stay entirely silent, but do eventually look at one another. John clears his throat. Paul picks at his fingernails.
The recently-expelled delinquent, and Hogwarts’s darling wonder boy. What a term this would be.
Chapter 2
Notes:
Thank you so much for all the positive feedback already! It’s super motivating. I read every comment!
I’ve gotten some questions on the update schedule for this. For the first few chapters it’ll be a bit sporadic just to get the ball rolling. I can’t promise any set days for an update other than Sunday, but expect updates throughout the week for the first ten-or-so chapters!
Kloveyoubye
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
John’s first week back was suffocating. Not only was his sixth-year filled with harder classes with more work, but he was so behind from missing fifth-year that he would have to essentially be completing two years at Hogwarts in one. John was a consistently bad student, he wasn’t cut out for this type of work.
Mondays and Wednesdays, John had Charms, Divination and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Thankfully the fourth and final block of classes on those days were free, and where John would like to add an elective he’s interested in such as Flying or maybe Music, that time was quickly filled with private tutoring from various Professors, who so graciously offered John the private lessons to catch him up to his fellow sixth-years. John tried to decline these offers, but was quickly and rudely reminded that he did not get a say in delaying his education anymore.
Tuesdays and Thursdays he had Herbology, Transfiguration, Potions and Magical Creatures. He was busier than Mondays and Wednesdays, which only contributed to how swamped he felt. Friday was for his classes that only met once a week: History and Astronomy. Unfortunately, they were both three-hour long courses: History from 9am to lunch, and Astronomy from 1pm to four (for the first half of the term, when it would then start meeting at 10pm for the second half of the term). The last thing John wanted was a midnight class on the last day of the week when he should be out at Hogsmeade or playing Quidditch. At least he could sleep in on Saturdays, he told himself.
Needless to say, John was feeling dreadfully overwhelmed. His evenings would be filled with nothing but homework, and his weekends likely would, too. He wasn’t required to take any N.E.W.Ts next year if he didn’t want to, but he was required to take O.W.Ls just after Christmas. So he would have to study for those, as well. John was frustrated. He didn’t want to have such a busy schedule, and with professors breathing down his neck to get him caught up, he felt like he'd lost all agency.
And then, on top of all this, Paul won’t even talk to him in Defense Against the Dark Arts.
It was the start of the third week of classes, and Paul still hadn’t said much to John other than “Hello” and “Goodbye”. John was lucky if Paul even said that. Not that John tried very hard to speak to him, either. However, Paul would always shoot his hand up in class any time Professor Whittaker asked a question, and he always got the right answer. And it would always be met with “ten points to Slytherin”, which was then followed by a smug glare at John from Paul.
These early classes were just lectures, Whittaker spewing facts about the history of non-verbal spell casting for students to jot down. That was something about Professor Ignatius Whittaker: he would not start teaching workshop classes until students understood the book work. John supposed he could respect him for that, but he was aching to get on his feet. He needed to learn how to protect himself from unforgivable curses, he needed to learn it a year ago. That would have saved him a lot of problems. And he really couldn’t wait until they started their unit on dementors, but Whittaker informed them Dementor studies likely wouldn’t come until just before Christmas or even after the term based on how the class performs.
John was totally stuck, forced to just tough it out against his best wishes.
It wasn’t until today that they received their first real assignment, however.
“For class next Monday, I want you and your partner to meet outside of class-” A series of groans can be heard throughout the chamber, “Yes. And together find a professor or seventh year who can perform a water-making spell non-verbally. I suggest speaking with Professor Flint, as this is a charm, or Professor McGonagall in the transfiguration classroom. However, I encourage you to find a student who can perform this non-verbal magic, so that you can all see what you will be able to accomplish in just a few short weeks. This means seeking out and interviewing your subject together , asking them to perform it for you, and then returning to class with a two parchment long paper written together about your findings. Am I clear?”
The class complains quietly. Not even John could understand this pressure for collaboration. He supposed this would force him and Paul to interact.
What really irked John about Paul was not the fact that he was a Slytherin, however. John was sure there were plenty of Slytherins he’d get along with. What pissed him off about Paul was the fact that he was stuck up and clearly thought he was better than everyone else. He didn’t even try to hide it with his pompous uniform (which was obviously brand new for the year and tailored to his measurements, rather than just using a school-issued one), or his upturned, sloped nose, or the fact that he was polishing his prefect badge every day (clearly). He was so full of himself, and John hadn’t even seen how he acted on the Quidditch field, although he could imagine. No doubt the boy was treating the game like he was Merlin’s gift to it.
It made John’s blood boil.
Class was dismissed for the day, and Paul stands to leave, gathering his brand new textbooks. His journal for this class even had his initials engraved in silver on the bottom right corner of the cover. John rolls his eyes as he sees Paul place it in his leather bag.
“You’re going to have to speak to me eventually.” He looks up at Paul as he says it, gripping his quill out of frustration. Paul’s hazel eyes meet John's, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
“I’m sorry, I don’t often associate with criminals .” He cocks his head.
John clenches his jaw, he wanted to smack the boy square in his mouth. “Oh, so you don’t care if you fail the class, considering our grade is shared for this term?” John folds his arm. “See, I don’t mind. I’ve failed an entire year of Hogwarts already. What’s one more class? It makes no difference to me. But I’m willing to bet that the teacher’s aide can’t fail his class. And don’t prefects need to pass every class with at least an E to keep their silly little badges?” John smirks.
Paul bites the inside of his cheek and takes a labored breath. “Friday evening. 6 o’clock. I’ll meet you in the Central Hall and we’ll get the assignment finished.” He says with a sigh and turns to leave.
“It’s a date, then.” John replies, and Paul glares at him over his shoulder before heading to the back of the classroom.
Elliot walks up to John’s desk. “Lila wants to go do the assignment now. Says she’s too busy on Wednesday after class.” He gestures back to his Slytherin partner, the girl from the first class.
John frowns, “I thought we were gonna go out on the pitch! Professor Baker gave me today off from tutoring.”
“I know. Look, you should still go. I think it would be good for you to get some flying time before try-outs next week.” He shakes his head. “Maybe we’ll get it done fast and I can come join you.” Elliot looks at John apologetically.
John stands up, gathering his books. “It’s fine. I’ll see you at dinner.”
John’s rusty at flying. He hasn’t done any real flying for almost a year now, and it took him a couple laps around the Quidditch field to even feel like he was in control of his broom again. A few other students were flying, too. Some Hufflepuffs were playing a three-on-three game on one end of the field, and there were Ravenclaw second years on the club team doing ground-exercises on the other end. John supposes he could play on the club team if he didn’t get on the house team again. There was even an inter-house club team he could join. But those were usually for first, second and third years who were polishing their skills or learning the game entirely. You’d rarely see anyone older than a fourth year on the club teams. If you were in your final years at Hogwarts and still weren’t on the house team, you’d just give up and move on. It was the house team or nothing for John.
Besides, John got on the Gryffindor team in his third year. He had very good chances of getting on the team again. If he hadn’t been sent away last year, he’d be the captain this year. His fate with the Gryffindor Quidditch team had nothing to do with his skill and everything to do with his controversy. It was unfair, but it was the truth. Other teams—such as Slytherin—might throw a fit if John gets on the team, and he knew that was something Elliot and Artie would be thinking about as they form the team for this year.
He finally picks up a quaffle, and practices a few moves. He gets up to his highest speed with the ball under his arm, he places a Reverte spell on it so he can shoot goals, and other than one missed shot because he didn’t have his glasses on, John was shaking the rust off well.
It felt good to be flying. He was able to forget about all his homework and studying and private tutoring for a few hours and do something that was finally for himself. Eventually, he sees a group of Gryffindor first years watching him from the stands, their eyes bright.
It makes John feel good. He does a flip in the air for them when he realizes and they all cheer with excitement. This cracks a smile across John’s face, and he does a few more tricks for them. He couldn’t deny he was a sucker for the attention, but really, the kids reminded him of himself. When he was a first year, all he cared about was Quidditch. He was those kids watching the older Gryffindors win games and perform tricks, hopeful that one day they could be up in the sky, too.
He flies down to them, and they all gasp with joy. “You really should try out for the club squad!” He addresses them together. It was refreshing to speak to some students who didn’t have any preconceived notions of John and who he was. They didn’t care about what happened last year because they weren’t even here last year. They didn’t know who John was. John needed that anonymity again and didn’t even know it. These days there’s always someone staring at him in the hall or whispering about him as he walks by. But to these eleven-year-olds, John was just the cool older Quidditch player.
“Are you on the house team?” One asked, his voice still unchanged from childhood.
John nods, “I’ve been on the team for three years. But I’ll have to try out again this year.”
“When are try-outs?” A girl asks.
“Next Tuesday.” John says. “They’re always open for spectators. You should all come!” The first-years nod and chuckle.
“One day I hope to play for the house team, just like you!” The first boy beams up at John.
It hits him in his heart, a place that’s felt cold and empty for quite some time now. He didn’t know he needed to speak with these kids. He usually avoids first-years like the plague. But today was perfect, exactly what he needed.
He then hears a whistle blow from under him. He looks down to see a group of Slytherins in the center of the field. John rolls his eyes, his tender moment completely ruined. “I’ll see you kids later, then.” He nods while they wave goodbye, and John flies down to the group.
Four Slytherins were there, no doubt the four returning players who would not need try-outs for this year: Iris Balfour, Keeper, Graham Black, Chaser, Cassius Wick, Beater and of course, Paul McCartney, seeker.
“Slytherin reserved the field for the afternoon.” Graham says as John touches down.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” John rolls his eyes, “I was just leaving.”
Paul stares daggers directly into John, “Didn’t know they let people like you into extracurriculars.” The three other Slytherin’s chuckle.
John stares at Paul, expressionless, and then, “McCartney, have you ever come face to face with a dementor?” John asks. The group goes silent. Everyone knew how nasty dementors were, even if they’d never seen one in their whole life. They’d hope to never come across one if they were lucky. John wishes he had been that lucky. “See, people like me , have. Can you imagine how cold it gets? How the air is sucked out of the area, how the sun seems to completely freeze over? Or maybe how every hair on your body sticks up, and your heart rate raises, which only makes them stronger. Or what about the sensation of losing every drop of blood as it feels as though it's pulled up through each pore?”
Paul’s face has gone completely white, his eyes blank. John then lurches forward at the group of Slytherin’s, making them all jump backwards with a gasp. John stops himself in the mud, not moving more than a few centimeters towards them. He chuckles at their reaction and turns to leave. “Oh! I also happen to know that you can’t actually reserve the field until after the fourth week. You just waltz in here and act assertive so everyone leaves, scared of you. I could report you to Professor Hyde, but I’ll save us all the headache. You’re welcome” He adds at the end in a sing-song voice. John then turns away, mounts his broom, and flies away without ever looking back at Paul and his gang of Slytherin goonies.
Thursday evening is rainy and cold, and John is cooped up in the library reading about the International Warlock Convention of 1289 (a fifth-year topic, not even one for a class he’s currently in). He’s tucked away in a quiet corner on the second floor, mostly just trying to hide from anyone who knows him because he was wearing his glasses. John hated being seen in his glasses, but he really needed them for his homework. He tried to study in the common room, but a pair of fourth-years were very loudly playing chess and gossiping.
John runs his hands through his hair, his brain hurting from all this work. It was getting late, and he had skipped dinner to work. His stomach ached, and he’d have to go to bed hungry because last time he tried sneaking into the kitchens to snag some food, the caretaker caught him and he ended up in Professor Baker's office with a threat of detention. So, John would just be hungry. Every joint was starting to hurt from his wooden chair, and his legs were bouncing with restless exhaustion.
He knew he needed to go to bed soon, but he owed Professor Baker a parchment of writing summarizing the topic in the morning at breakfast. He supposed he was really let off easy compared to other fifth-years, who had to write a full essay on this topic with two more citations. He would take the single page summary.
But John still had his Astronomy homework to start, which was due tomorrow. He was totally depleted. He feels himself starting to fall asleep, his head held up by the heel of his hand and drool threatening to slip out of his mouth.
John is startled awake by a gentle hand on his shoulder. It scares him, and makes him jump in his seat. “Christ.” He swears, and looks up to see who it is. “Cynthia. What are you doing here?” He asks, looking up at the gorgeous woman. He then moves to whip his glasses off, not wanting her to see him like this.
“Leave them on, John. Really. I know you need them and I’ve already seen you wear them.” She says softly. John puts them back on, she was right. Besides, he can see her face better like this. “I brought you some dinner.” She sits in the seat next to him and sets down a bowl of stew with a soft roll and a mug of pumpkin juice.
“ Merlin’s Beard .” He sighs, “I could kiss you.” He smiles and Cynthia laughs. John meant it, but Cynthia chooses not to engage.
“I know how hard you’ve been working. I see it. We all do.” She smiles. “I’ve never seen you work so hard on your studies.”
John takes a massive bite of the roll and guzzles some pumpkin juice. “Don’t have much of a choice, do I?” He scoffs. “Every professor is up me arse making sure I do everything right this year. And every student is watching me like a hawk just waiting for a reason to report me.” He eats some stew.
Cynthia sighs, “It’s for the best. They just do it to protect you, the professors that is.” She places her cheek against her hand as she watches John.
“Can’t say I’m convinced.”
“Not yet .” Cynthia hums. “It’s nearly eleven o’clock, Johnny. You should come back to the common room and play gobstones with us. It’s good to give your brain a break.”
Johnny. God, no one has called John that in ages. It was like honey rolling off of Cyn’s mouth.
Cynthia’s mouth . Her lips. John glances at them, and then catches himself.
“Don’t you have a boyfriend waiting for you?” He looks down at his stew.
“It’s Thursday night. When the headboy and girl meet with the headmaster. He’s still in his meeting with Headmaster Dippet.” She says quietly, picking up on John’s subtext. “And besides, I can still be friends with you even if I’m dating Dorian.” She sits up in her seat.
“Can’t imagine he’d approve of you hanging around a criminal like me.” John shakes his head.
“Oh John, don’t say that.” Cynthia sighs, “We all know what happened wasn’t your fault.”
“You don’t even know what happened, not really.”
“I know it had to do with that awful book and-“
“DON’T!” John snaps. Cynthia goes silent. He instantly feels terrible. “…Don’t.” He says softer, “I’m sorry I just… I just can’t. I won’t.” John doesn’t feel very hungry anymore. He pushes his stew away.
“I-I’m sorry.” Cynthia mutters.
John wanted to tell her it was alright, but he couldn’t. Not when his mind still feels numb from the dementors sometimes.
“The Slytherins think I’m a criminal.” John mutters after a long moment of tense silence.
“Since when have you cared what the Slytherins think?” Cynthia chuckles.
“That asshole McCartney… he gets under my skin.”
“Paul?” Cynthia asks, “I’m surprised by that, really. He’s so personable in our prefect meetings. I often think he flirts with me.” She smiles.
Great, another frustratingly smug thing about Paul for John to mull over. He flirts with all the girls John likes. He can’t imagine Paul being personable. But even if he was, that means he was being an ass to John only, which made it personal. John would excuse entitled behavior if everyone was treated equally, but to just single John out was plain wrong.
“Well, he’s an asshole to me. Won’t even speak to me in class. Don’t know how we’re going to get that assignment done.”
“Graham and I went to Dorian. He did that non-verbal spell along with a few other ones for us and we got it done in less than an hour. It really wasn’t so bad. I’m sure Dorian would be more than willing to let you and Paul-“
“I don’t want to go to Dorian, Cynthia. ” John interrupts her, and realizes he’s been terribly rude to this very kind girl yet again. John didn’t deserve people like Cynthia. He shakes his head. “Thank you for the food Cyn, but I really must get this reading finished.” He looks away from her, ashamed of his own behavior. Cynthia was nothing but sweet and kind to John.
She sits in silence for a minute, her eyes wandering down to her lap. She then stands up, “Just because the Slytherins think you’re an evil dark wizard doesn’t mean you have to treat your friends like you are one. Don’t prove them right, John.” Cynthia leaves John alone in the library yet again, stew getting cold.
Notes:
Tumblr: @buttahpie
Chapter 3
Notes:
Trying to keep y’all fed
Let it be known— Arthur is literally my favorite OC in this entire fic.
Chapter Text
John barely slept last night. He was up half the night finishing his Astronomy homework, and when he finally went to bed, he spent an hour tossing and turning, just for the sun to rise when he finally felt sleep creep on him.
He was irritable, and his head was pounding when he gave up altogether on getting any sleep, getting out of bed early. Last one to go into his dormitory, first one to leave. He rubs the exhaustion out of his eyes and heads to the Great Hall.
Hogwarts in the early morning was serene. Cool light basks the halls as the sun gets higher in the sky, and not a peep can be heard. Not even the ghosts roamed at this time of day. In the Great Hall, one other Ravenclaw student was up, studying at the Ravenclaw table as the soft embers of the fireplaces slowly died out. A house elf was sweeping by the faculty table, quietly humming to herself. The sunlight turns warm and golden yellow as it pours into the Great Hall through its many stained glass windows. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky today, and the ceiling reflected the pale robin’s-egg-blue that was outside.
John sits at the Gryffindor table, and pulls out his Charms workbook. Just another thing to add to his workload. It wasn’t much longer until a few more students started filing into the Hall, and the first bits of breakfast were served. John drinks some tea in the hopes it helps his throbbing head, but to no avail. He eats fruit and berries in some porridge as he keeps his nose stuck in his book, ignoring the other students as the Great Hall starts to fill up and get noisy the closer time gets to first block.
A book slams in front of John, startling him out of his reading. He looks up to see Arthur. “I heard you need someone to do some non-verbal magic for you.” He says.
John exhales, “Cyn…” He shakes his head.
“Actually, Elliot and his partner used me back on Monday. That girl gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“The what ?” John raises an eyebrow, never understanding Arthur’s Americanisms.
“Lila. She scares me. Jonathan.”
“Not my name.”
“So, are you going to watch me turn water into wine or not?” Artie sits across from John.
John sighs, setting his book down and checking the time. “I’ve got History in twenty minutes. I was going to get that assignment done tonight, that’s when His Royal Highness could meet.” John looks over at the Slytherin table, where Paul had his back to them both, no doubt plotting John’s demise. Arthur turns over his shoulder to see who John was referencing.
“Ah, yes.” Arthur frowns, “you mentioned he was your Partner. He’s a good student though, you’ll have good work to piggy-back off of him.”
John frowns, “Is everyone obsessed with him but me? You and Cynthia have defended him to me on the last day.”
“So you’ve been talking to Cynthia, eh?” Arthur raises an eyebrow flirtatiously.
“She brought me dinner to the library last night and we briefly spoke. Nothing to get wet about.” John rolls his eyes. “She said he’s nice to her in prefect seminars. I can’t imagine him being nice to anyone , least of all someone as sweet as Cynthia Powell.” John scoffs. “He should back off her, has a boyfriend last I heard.”
“That never stopped you before.” Arthur shrugs.
“Shut up, Artie. I’m going to History.” John gets up from the table, waving a dismissive hand at his friend.
History was a drag, Astronomy wasn’t much better. Especially because John didn’t score very high on the homework that he sleep deprived himself for. So now, John was barely staying awake as he sat in the library, trying to catch up on even more fifth-year History while he waited to do their Defense Against the Dark Arts homework. He checks his watch, and with a jolt of panic realizes that it’s 6:08, and he was late to meet that snob McCartney. John throws his books in his bag and runs out of the library.
“You’re late.” Paul says as he sees John approaching him in the Central Hall outside of the Library. Paul had changed out of his robes and was wearing a deep, emerald-green knitted sweater. He still had his shining prefect badge pinned to his chest, however, which blinded John like some authoritative mirror.
“I must have lost track of time.” He says dimly, putting his book away.
“Look, I don’t expect much from you as my partner, but the absolute least you can do is be on time .” Paul folds his arms over his chest, raising one of his round eyebrows.
John clenches his jaw, “Are you going to be an asshole this entire time?” He asks with a frown.
Paul keeps his expression frozen, staring at John with disdain, “You know, when Professor Whittaker assigned you to me, he said it was because you needed someone to help straighten you out after last year. Although, my understanding is that you were never a good student, even before you embarrassed the entire school with The Grimoire.”
John’s stomach lurches at hearing its name. He feels bile build up behind his molars. He clenches his jaw, wanting to punch McCartney square in the jaw. He couldn’t think of a comeback this time, his nerves going numb with the memory of the book. “How did you know-“
“My father works for the Ministry. So you really should be more careful with who you call an asshole.” Paul turns to leave. “I’ve set up an appointment with Professor Slughorn.”
Slughorn was the Potions professor. John has no choice but to follow Paul, feeling weak from their conversation. He had nothing more to say, but John worked to get himself out of this defeat. He takes a few deep breaths, and follows Paul down into the potions classroom.
“Mr. McCartney! Come in.” Professor Slughorn says as he sees the two boys outside of his classroom. Slughorn was a large, pink man who was the head of the Slytherin house. He took a particular liking to hard-working students, treating them like trophies to brag about to colleagues. Paul was no exception, no doubt a student part of the “Slug Club”; an elite clique of academic cronies which were invited to private dinners and parties.
Slughorn was unwrapping some parcels of sage at his desk.
“Good evening, Professor.” Paul entirely code-switches as he speaks to him. His voice becomes warmer, almost cheery. John chews the inside of his cheek as they join Slughorn in the class. “Thank you for meeting us at the end of the week.” Paul says oh-so politely. They take a seat across from his desk.
Professor Slughorn chuckles, “I’ve got nothing planned on Fridays. I was surprised you boys wanted to meet now. You never find a pair of fine sixth-year boys using a Friday night to do homework! Especially since Quidditch sign ups just were posted!” He chortles with cluelessness.
John’s face goes pale white. He had completely forgotten the sign-ups for Quidditch try-outs were being posted at 6:00 today outside of Professor Hyde’s classroom. He looks at Paul, who was looking at John with a devious glint in his eye. John wanted to slap the smirk off his stupid pale face. There were only so many sign-up spots for each house, and they filled up quickly. John remembers Elliot mentioning the sign up post back on the first week of classes, but he’s been so engrossed in catching up on his studies that it completely left his mind. Paul was intentionally trying to sabotage John and the Gryffindor team. That’s why he chose this time to meet for homework. Paul wouldn’t have to sign up, he was already captain of the team.
“Of course, Professor.” Paul says in his fake kindness. “Studies always come first.” He says directly to John. John was on the verge of snapping. Between his lack of sleep, the load of homework and the absolute pimple that was Paul McCartney, he would be lucky if he didn’t end up back in Azkaban tonight.
“Splendid! That’s why you are a Prefect, Mr. McCartney. Is it your ambition to become Headboy next year?” Professor Slughorn asks, unaware of the silent warfare happening between the students sitting across from him.
Paul nods, “Ambition is the defining factor of Slytherin house, after all. Headboy isn’t just the goal, it’s the expectation.”
“Your father must be very proud of you. You’ll have a good job in the Ministry straight out of Hogwarts I’m sure, son. And how's your little brother, is he handling fourth year alright?” Slughorn seems to have completely forgotten John was even part of the conversation.
“Michael is well, he’s starting his O.W.L preparation early-“
“Are we here to discuss how fabulous Paul is or are we going to actually get some work done?” John interrupts, snapping and shutting the both of them up, finally. He needed to hurry if he was going to get his name on that list. Both Paul and Professor Slughorn stared at John, quiet.
“Ignore his outbursts, Professor. We all know Lennon has issues with authority.” Paul says between bared teeth.
It was just past 7:30 when they finally finished writing out their essay about the meeting. Slughorn had very kindly let them complete the work in his classroom and he showed them not only non-verbally conjuring water, but also using non-verbal magic to write on his chalkboard, unlock the poison cabinet and turn the water into wine, just as Arthur had joked about earlier.
John was seething at Paul, but made a conscious effort to contribute to the writing, making sure Paul would have nothing to use against him or his grade for this assignment. John didn’t say anything else to Paul that didn’t have to do with the assignment, and just ignored Paul as he kissed the ass of Slughorn throughout the entire meeting. Luckily, they had lots to write about, and when they were finally finished, John collected his items quickly to leave for Professor Hyde’s office.
“Mr. Lennon, I trust you are catching up well?” Slughorn starts to say, “I would be more than willing to meet with you privately to discuss what you need to know for the potion section of the O.W.L exam-“
“Thank you, Professor Slughorn. But I’ve got plenty of other things to worry about currently.” This was true, and John had no intention of overstaying his welcome. “See you in class, McCartney.” John glares at the other boy before running out of class, hurrying as fast as he can to the Quidditch sign-ups.
He sprints to Professor Hyde’s office, which unfortunately was nowhere near the Potions classroom. John was far too exhausted to handle any form of physical exertion, and his legs threatened to give out under him as he skipped every other step to the flying classroom.
Finally, John made it. The hallway was nearly empty, which he knew wasn’t a good sign. It likely meant there were no sign-up spots available. Gryffindor had four spots to fill this year (all chasers and a beater, since June’s parents won’t let her play anymore since the bludger incident), which means they would only have about 12 open spots for try-outs.
Four pieces of parchment were posted on the wall, each house written at the top of its respective page and with names written in every open spot. The Hufflepuff team needed to replace six players, their Captain, a chaser named Horace wanted a complete reset for the year, so there were a whopping 18 names on the Hufflepuff sign up list. Slytherin had the three spots to fill, so nine signup slots, Ravenclaw only had two positions open, with six signup slots.
And there was the Gryffindor page: all twelve lines had been filled out. John missed his chance. He runs his hand through his hair, frustrated and defeated. He needed to get back at McCartney somehow.
He chokes back his anger, and turns to leave, dejected and considering dropping out altogether. However, just as John decides to cut his losses, he does a double take. He squints at the first name on the list—but it couldn’t be—he puts his glasses on for a better look.
Sure enough, John Lennon had been written in on the very first line. It wasn’t his handwriting, but it was there. He smiles and can’t help but laugh, feeling nothing but relief. Someone had looked out for him, but who?
“You’re welcome.” Arthur says from behind him. John turns around to his friend.
“Oh, you’re brilliant.” John sighs, running his hand through his hair. “How did you know?”
“This morning at breakfast. You said McCartney could only meet at six, and I instantly clocked it. He’s a sniveling coward for doing that. Probably scared shitless Gryffindor will beat him and his stupid winning-streak if you’re on the team.” Arthur smiles.
“Why didn’t you say anything at breakfast to me? I would have come and done it myself had I remembered.”
“Well, Jonathan-”
“Not my name-”
“You weren’t exactly… in a good mood at breakfast. I’ve seen how overwhelmed you’ve been, and the last thing I would ever do is add something as stressful as that to your day.”
“Gave me a scare when I realized. I thought surely I’d miss my chance. Thank you, Artie.” John places his hand on Arthur’s shoulder.
“Don’t mention it. Really, don’t. We could get in trouble for that.” He smiles. “Come on, I’m starving.”
John finally lets himself take a break from the Goliath amounts of homework he has to catch up on. He spends Friday night playing poker with a few other muggle-borns who know how to play, sleeps in on Saturday and flies with Elliot and Artie on the pitch in the afternoon. Saturday evening, the other Gryffindor upper-classmen had a bonfire down on the lake shore with a nasty concoction of gin and pumpkin juice, and Sunday was filled with nothing but lounging in the common room in pajamas, nursing a hangover.
On Sunday, he finally plays his guitar for a bit. The pure blood kids were fascinated by the muggle instrument, and John messed around on it for hours by the fireplace in the common room. Gryffindors of all ages gathered to hear John play, and he even accompanied Suzy Foster on an old folk song they both knew from growing up as muggles.
The best part of playing guitar, however, was that everyone seemed to forget anything about John’s past. He contained multitudes as he strummed away on the instrument, and students wanted to hear John play. It felt good to be wanted. John rarely felt wanted these days—or ever, he supposed.
It also helped that Cynthia sat across from him in one of the red velvet chairs, knees pulled to her chest as she watched him play with contentment. John would glance up, hoping to catch her eye every so often, and sure enough she would be staring at him with a fondness he’s always known from her.
John and Cynthia immediately became friends in their first year, when they sat next to each other at the Gryffindor table after the sorting ceremony. Back then, John never thought of Cyn as anything more than a friend. They were too young for any crushes, but she would often help him with his homework. John always thought she should have been a Ravenclaw. Not only was she so intelligent, but she was kinder to him than anyone else.
It wasn’t until about halfway through their third year when Cynthia caught John’s eye for the real first time. One day in potions class the light hit her just right and she had been not only pretty to John for the first time, but outright stunning. John was never brave enough to ask her out, he just pined for her for the rest of the term and poor Elliot had to listen to all of John’s whining.
Their fourth year wasn’t much better, because Cynthia started hanging out more with a seventh-year that year named Julius Puckett. He was older, smarter, and handsomer than John in every way. John despised the lad for that, and looking back he’s realized that Julius was no doubt manipulating Cynthia into being in a relationship with him. Their age gap was too convenient. John found Cynthia one night in the Astronomy tower weeping. She wouldn’t tell John why, but John knew deep down that Julius had done something wrong to her. That’s when they really got close. When their friendly house companionship turned into a true friendship. But John wouldn’t dare making a move on Cyn, not after what happened to her.
Then finally, last year, they had both seen the light. John told Cynthia he had feelings for her, and that he wanted to be with her. She never admitted any feelings back, but they both knew it was reciprocated. Then finally, after the Gryffindor win against Hufflepuff, he kissed her, and she kissed him back. So John and Cyn would sneak away and snog every now and then, and it was perfect. John felt like the king of the school with Cynthia on his arm. But always in private. She was too scared of becoming exclusive. John was smitten enough to accept that. It wasn’t much longer until he asked her on a proper date, but it was then that the Aurors came to the school with a Dementor and took John away.
All because he found a stupid book.
Cynthia was the last person John saw at Hogwarts before everything happened. Her terrified face was burned into his memory, and he’ll never forgive himself for putting her through what he did…
But now, she was across from him, illuminated by the fireplace and looking serene as ever as she watched him play. Her white-blonde hair was undone and fell over her shoulders and around her face in soft waves. She had that soft smile she would have when John laid his head in her lap for her to play with his hair.
John had butterflies just thinking about it. He wanted to stand up, walk over to her and kiss her. Right now, in front of everyone.
But of course, she had to be dating Dorian. Another boy older, smarter and handsomer than John in every way.
It must have been clear she was on John’s mind, because later that night in their dormitory, Cyn seemed to be the only topic of conversation.
“I think you should just tell her how you feel.” Elliot said as they were getting into bed. “Maybe she secretly feels the same?” He suggests.
“I doubt it.” John shakes his head. “You should have seen the way she looked at me when the Aurors took me away… like I was some… some monster .” John sets his glasses on his side table.
“Well, we all saw the way she looked at you tonight, and based on that, I don’t think she found you monstrous.” Elliot chuckles and John smiles.
“I think she’s just confused. Cynthia has always had a boyfriend, and Dorian was available, but sometimes I don’t think she likes him very much.” Sam—one of their dorm mates—adds to the conversation. “I saw them in the transfiguration courtyard together just this week sitting apart. No arm around her, no hand holding.”
“Maybe they don’t like physical affection.” John suggests.
“I doubt that, knowing Dorian. He may be Headboy but the key word is still boy. ” Elliot says. “I don’t know John, Cynthia is probably the most gorgeous girl in all of Gryffindor house—“
“Agreed, you’re lucky you’ve even kissed her.” Sam says.
“But she’s not the only girl. She’s a little plain. Simple. I’ve always pictured you with someone more… ambitious. Someone who isn’t afraid to stand up to you, really.” Elliot shrugs, laying on his back.
John supposes his friend has a point. John was arrogant, he talked back to people and as much as he hated to admit it, McCartney was right about his issues with authority. Cynthia was very kind and a rule follower. He’s hurt her with his words plenty of times before, and likely would again. John didn’t want to hurt Cynthia, but he was flawed in that way. He would need someone with thicker skin.
“You sound like you want it to be you, Ashford.” Sam says to Elliot with a glint in his eyes.
“Oh yeah, I’m madly in love with you John Lennon.” Elliot says in a high-pitched voice, almost a moan. He makes kissy noises at John who laughs.
“C’mere and give us a kiss then.” John plays along and Elliot jumps out of bed, walking to John’s and attacking his friend’s side, tickling him while John shouts out in laughter.
“Shut up, why don’t you!” Flynn Weasley says from across the room, “I’m trying to sleep, thank you!” He groans from his bed.
“You’re just jealous of our bromance.” Elliot makes more kissing noises to John, simulating a cartoonish make out.
“Alright you queers, go to sleep.” Sam laughs and lays down.
John’s face goes bright red, the joke instantly over, “I am not a queer.” He says matter-of-factly. The wizarding world was far more accepting of same-sex romance and partnerships than the muggle world. But John was raised muggle, and has a very conservative aunt who has been his guardian his whole life. Being queer never really crossed John’s mind before, but he felt embarrassed by the prospect.
Elliot gets off John then, moving back to his own bed. “G’night, lover Lennon.”
John rolls his eyes and turns around so his back is to Elliot.
I am not a queer.
Chapter 4
Notes:
Happy Sunday (update day!).
Thank you for all your cutie comments and asks on tumblr! You all make my heart so full!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Very nice work Mr. Lennon, Mr. McCartney.” Whittaker says as he reads through their assignment. “I knew you two would be a good pair.” He puts the parchment away before reading the rest, moving to collect the other student’s homework.
Paul looks suitably praised, smiling brightly while Professor Whittaker walks away. John rolls his eyes.
“Shame you couldn’t sign up for Quidditch trials. Completely slipped my mind when we made our plans.” Paul says to John.
John can’t contain his smirk as Paul says this to him, “Oh didn’t you hear?” He cocks his head, “I was the first to sign up. That’s why I was late meeting you.” That wasn’t true, but Paul didn’t need to know that. “Really McCartney, if you want to sabotage Gryffindor because you’re that scared of losing to us, you’re going to have to try harder.”
Paul frowns. John draws out a little ‘T’ scoreboard on the inside of his Defense Against the Dark Arts journal and titles one side John and the other side Paul . He then adds a tally to John’s side. “Lennon: one, McCartney: nil.”
“Is everything a joke to you, then?” Paul scoffs.
“Yup.” John says confidently, knowing it would irritate Paul more. To his delight, Paul’s face turns the lightest shade of pink. “You should have heard me in Azkaban, laughing every time the Dementors flew by.” He flutters his fingers out wistfully, as if to illustrate the dementors moving past them.
Paul rolls his eyes, “I happen to know you never actually went to Azkaban. You’re just saying that to scare me. But it won’t work.” He turns his nose up.
“Oh, is that so? Did daddy tell you that?” John teases. “Well he’s wrong. But you won’t care. I could tell you about how cold and wet it was, how there’s no light so your eyes play tricks on you, you start to see things in the shadows. You can start to hear voices because you’re left alone. I could tell you about the spiders, how they crawl all over you after the Dementors are done feeding on you. Or maybe how you just have to sit in your own shit and piss all day long.” John describes darkly. “But you wouldn’t believe me either way because you’ve got in your head that you’re right and I’m wrong, and you’re smart and I’m dumb.”
Paul looks at him with confliction. He couldn't decide whether or not he believed John.
“Professor Whittaker!” Paul raises his hand.
“Yes Mr. McCartney?” He replies from somewhere behind them, still collecting homework.
“As per your teacher’s aide, I’m permitted to remove up to ten house points, aren’t I?” Paul stares right at John as he says it. John clenches his jaw.
“Indeed, only when absolutely necessary.”
“And instances of lying are considered necessary?” He asks with a smile threatening to crack on his face.
“Academic dishonesty is always a suitable reason for penalty.” Whittaker confirms.
“Thank you, professor.” Paul says over the full class, and then quietly, just to John he says “Ten points from Gryffindor.”
John sighs, rolling his eyes. He’ll strangle Paul McCartney the day he gets the chance.
Paul reaches over to John’s journal, opening it to the scoreboard, and adding a tally mark under his own name.
Lennon: I
McCartney: I
It was finally Quidditch try-outs. John had woken up early on Tuesday to get a good breakfast and fly some laps around the field before History. Classes seemed to move in slow motion while John stared down his watch as it ticked by. He bounces his leg in anticipation as he dreams of how the afternoon will go. By tonight, he’ll be back on the Gryffindor house team and might finally be accepted back into the student body.
The trees had started to turn to golden yellows and oranges as October began. And John admired the painted landscape bordering the Quidditch field as he flew above the stands at the try-out.
Gryffindor had the first hour and a half reserved, then each house had their own respective hour and a half after. Slytherin after Gryffindor, then Ravenclaw, then Hufflepuff. The order was chosen at random.
John stood on the field in a single-file line along with eleven other candidates. They all listened intently as Elliot and Arthur stood in front of them, alongside Katherine Hart (the fourth-year beater).
“We are taking three new chasers and another beater this year.” Elliot explains, “Chasers are more than just scorers. You can’t rely only on making goals, but the three of you need to work together. There should be undeniable trust between them all. Chasers should work together as a hivemind of sorts. I’ll be looking at your ability to read one another’s minds, and follow one another’s leads. There cannot be a ball hog with the chasers. You are the beating heart of the game. Don’t be selfish.” He seemed to look right to John at that last bit.
John could admit he had some selfish tendencies when it came to Quidditch.
And life, in general.
He was working on it.
“As for beaters,” Katherine says, “I need a partner with a strong arm, good aim and quick instincts. The chasers may be the head of the game, but we are the neck, and a head cannot move without a neck. We win and lose games based on the physical and mental strength of our beaters.”
“Arthur—our seeker— is here as a third pair of eyes for Katherine and I.” Elliot explains. “No one has better eyes than Artie.”
“Impress me.” He says charmingly with a wink.
“Chasers, I’ll split you up into groups of three. Each one of you should try to score at least once, or assist the other in scoring. I’ll be at the goal keeping—“
“And Elliot is statistically the best keeper in the league right now.” Arthur conveniently adds.
John wolf-whistles at his friend, who smirks. “Let’s get started, then.” Elliot nods and starts going down the line, numbering off each person to break into groups of three. When he gets to John he quietly asks, “How am I doing?”
“Brilliant.” John smiles.
“Great. You’re a number 3, show them how it’s done.”
The first few groups weren’t terrible, but only a few students were able to score past Elliot. John was paired with Katherine to work on beater technique at first, which was not his strong-suit by any means. He was able to hold his own, but he knew that if he was going to get back on the team, it’d be from his skill as a chaser. Katherine was new to the team last year, but she had a lot of skill for her age and size.
John watched as a group of three passed the quaffle back between them each, avoiding Katherine’s hits at them while a potential beater defended. This group was able to avoid the bludger well, but lacked the speed needed to outplay a keeper. John ignored the pit in his stomach as he waited for his turn.
John’s first go was a disaster. He was paired with two fourth years who were only focused on scoring. He started with the quaffle, but the other two were selfish and kept it for themselves. John could only intercept passes to get the ball, but since their throws were weak, he was able to. He knew that he could intercept the other team in an actual game, so while John never scored on his first go around, he didn’t feel completely wasted, just a little frustrated.
All groups went, and the try-out was coming to an end. John was getting stressed. He hoped he’d get another chance to show what he could really do, even though he knew Elliot and Artie already knew. But John understood that if he didn’t prove himself in front of all the other students and spectators, he’d face backlash for making the team.
“Lennon, Harrington, Carter!” Elliot called out, after the final group finished (they weren’t able to score). “I want to see you three try together!” John smiles, this was a good sign. Collette and Peter were two of the best chasers he saw today. John meets up with them on the opposite end of the field from Elliot, trading introductions.
“Collette Carter.” She was a ginger sixth-year, the alternate for the team last year, and while they already knew one another from class, she still shakes John’s hand to show sportsmanship. Everyone was on their best behavior.
“Peter Harrington.” A fifth-year with blonde hair and crooked teeth, John remembered him from try-outs last year. He didn’t make the team, but showed great promise.
Collette starts with the quaffle, and John holds onto his broom tight. He thinks about what Elliot said: they were looking for three who could play as one. John watched Collette as he sped down the pitch, but he sees one of Katherine’s bludgers headed for her. John makes eye contact with Peter, the two of them non-verbally agreeing to split off from Collette in the hopes it will throw the bludger off. John dives straight down, Peter veers hard to the right.
Collette catches John’s eye, looking down at him. John tilts his head back to warn Collette that he was being targeted from behind. Collette nods, passes the quaffle down to John, and shoots straight up.
John catches the ball, tucking it under his arm and staying focused, they were nearing the goalpost. He clocks in where his other two teammates are: both ahead of him a bit. Out of the corner of his left eye, he catches sight of the bludger again, headed for his side.
Lance Bingham (a burly fifth-year) was the beater defending John, and he intercepts it. But John passes the quaffle to Peter just to be safe. Peter nearly fumbles, almost letting it fall out of his hands, but is somehow able to hold on. John picks up his speed, focusing on his breathing as scoring is in sight. Katherine comes back with a vengeance, and hits the bludger straight to Peter.
John can’t see their defender anymore, and realizes he was a fool for not wearing his glasses. He hits his top speed, barreling towards Peter.
“Peter! Here!” He holds out his hand for Peter to pass to John, who does and in a split second, John sees that Elliot was watching only John for scoring. John knew how important it was to score, and he was within range to make a good shot, but above him he could see Collette was wide open, Elliot had gotten distracted by wanting his friend to show off.
Don’t be selfish. Elliot’s words ring in John’s memory. John throws the quaffle hard at Collette, who catches it quickly and wastes no time throwing it into one of the goalposts, scoring without a barrier.
Peter cheers, and John gets a rush of adrenaline. He hears the spectators in the stands cheer as well, knowing that a high speed play like that made all three of them look good. John instantly wonders if Cynthia was watching him.
The trio meets back on the other end of the field. They would get three plays for scoring before they switched out groups, and had two more attempts to show their skill.
“That was great, Lennon!” Peter smiles. “I thought for sure you’d be taking that shot!”
“Great assist!” Collette nods. “Let’s show ‘em something new this time!” She suggests, explaining a simple play quickly.
Then they’re off for the second time. John with the quaffle, Collette flying straight above him and Peter straight below him. They speed through the air, the wind hitting John’s face and reminding him of just how fun this really can be.
When they reach the halfway point, Katherine attacks them from the front, aiming for John. John lets go of the quaffle, letting it drop straight down to Peter, and then flies up to avoid the bludger. He’s side-by-side with Collette now, Peter underneath them. He and Collette break, heading for the goalposts. Peter takes the quaffle the rest of the way, passes it to Collette who passes it to John, and then John passes it back to Collette rapidly. This was done to split Elliot’s focus, which works as he looks between the two of them frantically while they keep tossing it to each other. John needed to trust that their defender, Lance, would pick up on the play, because they didn’t discuss it with him before starting it.
The bludger starts heading for Collette, and luckily Lance was aware of the game and intercepted it, hitting it hard back at Katherine. Collette drops the quaffle intentionally, making it look like a mistake, but Peter had been quietly flying underneath her the entire time and uses the opportunity to hit it into the goalpost that Elliot was neglecting from John and Collette’s game of catch above Peter.
The crowd cheers even louder, and all three of them beam. They got one more play, and John knew he needed to score. The other two did as well. The three of them could feel the rhythm. This was the teamwork Elliot was asking for.
While they were back on the other end of the field, gathering themselves again before their final attempt, the Slytherin try-outs met below them. Their hour and a half was up, but they would still get to finish this play. Slytherin would just be watching.
John looks down and instantly spots the jet black hair of the Slytherin seeker and captain. His blood runs hotter at the sight of the git, and if anything was going to motivate John to make this the best play yet, it was to show off to McCartney.
They started, Peter with the quaffle and the other two following just behind him in a triangle formation. The bludger started early in this play, and John had to dodge it quickly, dropping a few meters in the air. Peter almost gets hit, but avoids it by a hair. He passed the quaffle forward to Collette, who had sped ahead. John catches up, staying low.
Lance flies closer to John, hitting another bludger out of his path. John grips his broom, looks to Collette who just passed the quarrel to Peter, who glances at John, reading what John’s play was. John was directly under the goal posts, and started speeding perpendicular up them at a rapid speed. As he nears the center goal, just inches away from it, Peter throws the quaffle to John, who grabs it lightly and then throws it into the center goalpost in seconds, not even letting the ball settle in his hands before scoring. The spectators cheer, but John is met face-to-face with a bludger, and has to dive straight down to avoid it. He barely misses it by a hair and is now barreling towards the grass in the center of the field towards the Slytherin team. The Slytherins scramble out of his way, parting in the center of the field. John nearly touches the ground, crash landing, but just as he flies past Paul, he’s able to gain control again and fly straight up back into the crisp air with a whoosh, leaving Paul back in the dirt.
It’s brilliant, and he can’t stop himself from hollering with joy as he slows down, coming to a stop midair. Collette and Peter fly back to him, cheering. All three of them have a victorious smile on their faces, laughing from the energy and high-speed plays they all just successfully executed.
They hear a whistle, and it’s the Slytherin team taking the field. The Gryffindor students land back on the pitch, panting and sweaty, but absolutely hyped.
“That was so exciting!” A younger try-out says.
“Great work!” Arthur confirms, watching from the side where he was taking notes for Elliot. “Completely forgot to take notes on that last play! I was sucked in!”
Katherine and Lance land, talking excitedly about the work they just did, “Great hit back at me on that second play,” she says quieter to him, “really forced me to think outside of the box for the third play.”
Elliot lands on the pitch, the Gryffindor students gathering around him, excited.
“Well, my fellow Gryffindors.” He says, pigeon-chest out, “I think we have our house Quidditch team.”
The crowd cheers, Collette yells in delight, John and Peter hug like brothers, and Paul McCartney yells “Get off the field! It’s Slytherin’s turn!”
“It was genuinely brilliant.” Elliot says, drying off his hair with a towel in their dormitory after dinner and showers. “Made me feel like I didn’t know what I was doing, which is good. It means you three will be able to throw off the other team’s keepers.”
“Thanks.” John smiles. “Honestly, Collette came up with most of the plays.”
“She spent a lot of time watching us play last year. Obviously, she was paying attention. She’s come a long way.” Elliot says. “But there’s no need to be humble with me now, John. I’m just your friend now, not your captain. You were fantastic, really. I was scared. I mean I was probably going to put you on the team no matter what, but I wanted you to prove to everyone else that you deserved it without being my best mate. So thanks for making my job easy.”
John runs his hand through his hair, “It felt good—to be doing something noble.” He admits. “And to show off to that prick McCartney.” He chuckles.
Elliot snorts, “He really gets under your skin, doesn’t he?”
“You should hear the shit he says to me!” John leans back, folding his arms over his chest. “He’s always trying to get a rise out of me.”
Elliot shrugs, “Alright. I’ll take your word for it.” He gets into his bed. “I’m knackered. I’ll be lucky if I can get up for Charms tomorrow.” He says with a yawn.
“Preaching to the choir, my friend.” John lays down as well, staring up at the curtains over his bed. It’s quiet for a minute, but Elliot snores like a train, so John knows he hasn’t fallen asleep yet. “Do you think he was watching? McCartney?” John asks.
“Hmmm…” There was sleep in his friend’s voice now, “Probably. I think the entire stadium was watching you three.” John smiles at this, feeling gratified that Paul watched how good John really was. He hoped it scared the lad, made him sweat the entire time he was trying to form his own team. Which one of you could take on Lennon?
“Goodnight, Elliot.”
“‘Night, John.”
Notes:
tumblr: @buttahpie
Chapter 5
Notes:
I finished my finals so that means more updates Yippee!
This chapter is in my opinion when things start to get deep so enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
John’s birthday was in two days, and this weekend they had planned the first Hogsmeade trip of the year. Quidditch practice had started, and everyone was starting to treat John with more warmth and trust than at the beginning of the year. Everything was starting to fall into place, and John felt the sense of normalcy he had lost at Hogwarts finally being replaced.
Except John had really started to neglect his schoolwork, and he was just praying he’d be able to fly under the noses of his professors.
Homework became an afterthought. Especially his fifth-year catch-up studies. He was doing the bare minimum in all of his classes right now, which was more typical for John.
Like now, as John scribbles doodles in his journal, ignoring whatever Whittaker was lecturing about.
“Mr. Lennon, perhaps you know the answer?” Whittaker calls on him, pulling John out of his book. He hears Paul snort next to him.
John looks up, Whittaker only a few steps in front of him, looking down at John with a raised eyebrow. John stammers for a moment, unable to come up with something viable.
Paul raises his hand next to John.
“Mr. McCartney.”
“Alder wood, Professor.” Paul says with his usual tone, like he was better than everyone else.
“Indeed. Alder wood is the best wand for non-verbal incantations. Ten points to Slytherin.” Whittaker paces down the row of desks, continuing his lecture.
“Distracted much, Lennon?” Paul asks quietly.
“It’s rude to talk over a professor.” John glares at Paul.
“It’s rude to ignore a professor entirely.”
“It’s rude to be such a sniveling little prick.” John hisses. Paul frowns, exhaling frustratedly.
“I hope you break your big, ugly nose in the first Quidditch game.” Paul folds his arms, his whisper threatening to break into a louder insult.
Now that was just personal, and John didn’t take kindly to low blows like that. However, before John can retaliate, Whittaker is back at their desk, looming over them.
“Have something either of you would like to share with the class?” He asks, the two young boys going silent after being caught. “You’re supposed to be practicing the water summoning spell on your goblets, now.” He gestures to the two chalice cups on the edge of their desk. He walks away again.
Paul frowns. John knew Paul hated getting scolded by Professors, he was the one kissing their asses usually. The Slytherin boy takes up his wand and aims it at his goblet, focusing hard on the cup. John watches Paul closely. After a moment of his dark, round eyebrows knitting together, the goblet fills to the rim with clear water.
Paul shrugs and hums, “Your turn.”
John takes his wand and does the same thing as Paul, staring at his own goblet as he repeats the incantation in his head. He knew that eventually he wouldn’t have to say the spell silently, that his wand would read what he was thinking already, but for now he stated it a few times. Nothing happened at first, and John’s grip on his wand tightened. He wasn’t sure why it wasn’t working.
“Shame.” Paul shrugs, “Looks like you’ll just have to go back with the fifth-years.” He sighs.
John rolls his eyes, focusing harder. Suddenly, the goblet fills about half full before their very eyes, and John can relax.
“What did you say about the fifth-years?” John asks with a raised eyebrow.
Paul huffs, “Lucky spell. You know, I could show you a few tricks on how to be a better wizard, but I don’t associate with dark wizards.”
That’s it. John thinks with a chuckle and takes his goblet in his hand, drawing it back and then splashing all the contents all over Paul’s pretty, pale face. Paul gasps, his eyes closed as water drips off his impossibly dark eyelashes.
“Oh no!” John cries sarcastically, “My blasted holly wood wand! It never handles non-verbal casting well.” He exclaims. Many students had their eye on the ordeal.
Paul had real rage in his voice, “You little-”
“Go on, say it. I know you’ve wanted to call me that ever since you met me.” John smirks as he eggs the other boy on “Go on, call me one. Call me a dirty little mudbl- ”
Splash. John’s face was also now soaked in water, even more than Paul’s since Paul succeeded at conjuring more water than John.
“Lennon! McCartney! Meet me after class!” Whittaker’s bellowing voice rings throughout the hall.
John opens up his journal and adds a tally to both of their scores; John II, Paul II
Their robes and hair were still damp when class had ended, but John and Paul both stood sheepishly before Professor Whittaker. Their professor looked between their faces with disappointment as the rest of the class filed out.
“I’m rather disappointed in both of you-”
“But Professor! John started it-”
“That’s rubbish!”
“I have no interest in who started it!” Professor Whittaker shouts over both of them. “This is the type of behavior I would expect to see in a first or second year class, not a sixth year!” He says with distaste. Both stand quietly, feeling rather embarrassed. “I expect more out of you two. You are both very fine students.” John was half expecting Paul to make a rebuttal against that, but he just stood looking like an accosted puppy. “Whatever is going on between you two must be solved. No other pairs are struggling as badly as you are. What is it? Quidditch politics? We have a strict ‘no quidditch-talk’ in this classroom.”
“No, Professor. That’s not it.” Paul says quietly.
“Then what in Merlin’s name could it be?”
“He doesn’t like that I was expelled and re-accepted, Professor.” John shrugs.
“Listen to him, he puts everything back on me!” Paul defends.
Whittaker raises his hand, putting a stop to their bickering. “Paul, as my Teacher’s Aide I cannot have you setting bad examples.” He says very matter-of-factly. Paul wants to speak out, defend himself yet again, but he holds his tongue and just nods.
“Mr. Lennon earned his place back in Hogwarts after a fair trial and several hours of service to the Ministry. He is here under the personal order of Headmaster Dippet. John is very honest, and all the Professors agreed that he deserved a chance to right any of his wrongdoings.” Whittaker defends John, and it gives John a dangerous feeling of pride in his chest.
But then, Whittaker turns to John and elaborates, “Paul is an exemplary student in every subject. He has spent countless hours devoted to not only his studies, but all students at Hogwarts. He rarely asks for direct praise, and much of the work he has done for the school has gone unnoticed. Paul cares fiercely for the success of this institution.”
John swallowed thickly. They turn to look at one another, quietly contemplating everything that was just said about each other and themselves.
“This is your final warning. If there are any more issues in class, you will both receive detention.” John’s gotten plenty of detention in his day, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see Paul flinch. “And I’ll be taking fifty points from each of your houses for your behavior in class today.” They drop their shoulders at this, “Dismissed.”
They both slowly turn to leave the classroom, feeling properly accosted.
When they get out of the classroom, John’s willing to try and bury the hatchet. He turns to Paul, “Look, McCartney—“
“I have nothing to say to you.” Paul turns up his nose and heads away from John.
Fine. Two can play at that game.
“Happy Birthday, Johnny!” John wakes up to the cheerful shouting of his dorm mates. Elliot held a plate of honey cakes above his bed, Arthur had a small gift wrapped in parchment paper, and Flynn and the other dorm mates shot sparklers out of their wands.
John sits up in his bed, putting his glasses on to see all the commotion. “Listen, we’ve been practicing!” Elliot says before starting to sing the traditional muggle ‘happy birthday’ song to John. There were about four different keys chosen, and all the teenage boy’s voices cracked and squeaked as they sang horribly to him, but it filled John with such a glow in his chest.
“You bastards. Thank you.” He takes the cakes from Elliot when they finish singing.
“Someone else has a surprise for you, too!” Arthur says with a grin on his face. He’s met with a series of ‘shh’s’ and ‘shut up’’s after.
John knew it had to be Cynthia with how they reacted. He smiles wide and jumps out of bed, heading for the common room.
Sure enough, Cynthia had made a big banner that hung across the fireplace mantle that read Happy Seventeenth, John! It was enchanted so the letters moved, and a small lion chased a mouse across the bottom of the banner. Cynthia and her friends stood under it, messing with its placement.
“Oh no!” One cries out. “He wasn’t supposed to see it yet!”
Cynthia turns around to see a sleepy John, his bed head all over the place and glasses crooked. She smiles wide, “Surprise, John.” She says in her usual sweet tone. John walks over to her and hugs her tight, and she hugs him back. It doesn’t last nearly as long as he would like it to, though. However, as Cynthia pulls away from John, she gives him a tender little kiss on his cheek, chaste and honest.
“Thank’s Cyn.” He tries to ignore how his stomach flips.
“You’ve got a few gifts, too!” Suzy Foster points under the banner.
John crosses to them. The first gift was from Aunt Mimi: a shaving set and a nice letter with some extra muggle cash. John couldn’t use it now, but he’d be able to when he moved back home. He’d gladly take it. Another gift was the one Arthur was holding, which was a Quidditch playbook from him and Elliot. It was clearly used, but John didn’t mind. The gesture alone was enough, and he was looking forward to reading some more plays. Another gift was from Flynn, who’s mum had knitted him a big, chunky red sweater with a golden ‘J’ on it for Christmas last year, but John was already gone by Christmas, so it was gifted properly now. Cyn got John a pumpkin pastie and a new set of Gobstones, and hidden in a sock from a few seventh years who were fond of John was a big bottle of Firewhiskey.
But there was a mystery present. No names marked, no one there to see John open it. It was wrapped neatly in a small box, which had a small engraved ‘J.M.’ on the bottom corner of it. Inside were guitar picks, really nice ones, too. The kind you only find in the Muggle world. And there was a capo, as well. Another kind you would never find in the Wizarding World. The wizard-born students stared at the Muggle items, curious about their purpose.
“Who might have sent you those?” Elliot asks.
John shrugs, “No clue. Maybe someone who saw me play the other week? Another Gryffindor?”
“Well, it was obviously someone with access to Muggle Music shops.” Suzy adds. “My dad plays guitar, too. He saved up for one of those picks from London in a really posh shop. Not cheap.”
John could tell they were high-quality just from looking at them, and there were four. If Suzy’s Muggle dad could only afford one, then whoever sent these to John had to be very rich, or at least quite comfortable.
He was thankful for them, obviously, but was very confused as to where they came from. Who knew him well enough to give him these? Who was J.M.? How were they rich enough? And why wouldn’t they want John to know it was them?
John chooses not to overthink and just enjoy them. This was a splendid way to begin his birthday.
The rest of the day was really lovely. In Divination, John got a special reading on his next year of life from the Professor, who informed John romance was in his future (surely this had to be Cynthia). At lunch, the house elves made John a tiny cake with a 17 on it and a popping sparkler candle. It was his favorite flavor of cake, too: Rosemary and Vanilla. Paul gave him the cold shoulder during Defense Against the Dark Arts, but never egged John on or pushed his buttons. Quidditch practice was pure fun (as usual), and the Gryffindor common room had hosted a party that night thrown by other Gryffindor students celebrating not only John, but all of the October birthdays.
Perhaps the best part of the entire day however, was that the trace had finally been lifted off John, which meant the ministry would have a harder time keeping tabs on him, and he could perform magic outside of the school year. This was a long awaited milestone for all witches and wizards, and marked the coming of age for many of them.
John played guitar again that night, happily trying out the new bells and whistles he got from his mystery gifter. Students gathered to listen to him play again, and John is reminded of how much he loves performing. It’s late in the night before everyone finally goes to bed, and John falls fast asleep.
“Student’s traveling to Hogsmeade have a strict curfew of 10pm. Any students failing to report to their Prefects by curfew will face detention.” Professor McGonagall repeats as third-years and up travel out of the castle towards Hogsmeade. The first trip of the year was the most exciting, and even though John has visited the village plenty of times, he would never get sick of it and its magical charm.
“I heard there’s a whole new section for new brooms at Sprintwitches .” Arthur exclaims to Elliot a few steps ahead of John.
“I can’t spend all my money on a new broom, my mum will be pissed.” Elliot shakes his head. The walk was short, and it wasn't long before the three of them were posted outside of the broom shop after a stop for some sweets from Honeydukes . “My Shooting Star needs some maintenance, honestly.” Elliot shakes his head, “I should bring it in before our first match.”
Gryffindor played Hufflepuff in just two weeks.
John looked at the brooms on display, hands in his pockets. There was a definite chill in the air today as they moved further away from the summer months.
“John, are you alright?” Arthur turns around to see his friend, “You’ve been awfully quiet today.”
John clears his throat, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.” He nods.
John was distracted. As they were walking through Hogsmeade, he remembered that he’s coming up on the one year anniversary of accidentally stumbling across a dark and dangerous book. A book that would change the very core of John as a person when he had it. A book that would cause him to witness some of the darkest horrors in the Wizarding World at just sixteen. It would be just next week that it would be a full year, and it was all John could think about.
“I’m gonna go for a walk, alright?” He says and turns away from his friends, not waiting for their reaction. He couldn’t enjoy Hogsmeade with this on his mind. Sometimes it was easier for John to be alone. He didn’t want to isolate himself, but this was something he just simply couldn’t talk to his friends about. They would never understand it.
John aimlessly wanders the streets of the little village. It wasn’t a very big town, but he was able to get lost in the winding cobblestone roads, admiring the shops and petting a few cats as he tried to clear his mind.
He finds himself down a narrow alley near The Hog's Head pub, kicking a rock. There weren’t any students in this part of town. They had all gone to Honeydukes or Zonkos. As John gets closer to the potions shop, he can hear the faint mutters of two voices deep in conversation.
John was nothing if not nosy, and so he slowly moved towards the voices, careful not to make any extra noise.
Two people talk in hushed voices around the corner from John. He holds his breath and listens in, hoping to hear some juicy gossip.
“So, it’s still at Hogwarts?” One voice asks quietly.
“Mhm.” He hears the other say, and swears he recognized it from somewhere. It drops into a whisper. “He told me about it, but I won’t do anything about it.”
“You should tell the Headmaster!” The first voice suggests, and John realizes that he’s listening to something far more dramatic than he initially expected.
“I can’t!”
“You could lose your prefect status!”
John was really curious now, and wanted to turn the corner to see who it could be. There were only eight prefects in the entire school, and he knew two of them well (Cynthia and Paul).
“I know!” The second voice picks up, and John’s stomach drops. It had to be Paul, he knew Paul’s voice. It didn’t seem like Paul was the type to keep secrets from a Professor. It made John angry to know that Paul would be plotting something in the dark alley of the Hog’s Head. He wanted to jump out and call him out, see how the blood would leave his face. But John stays in place, listening closer. “That’s why I told you. You’re in the same house as him. Maybe you can convince him that it’s a terrible idea before this gets out of hand.” Paul explains, and John had a sinking feeling that the ‘him’ in question was himself. “We don’t want a repeat like Rings…”
“Fine.” The other voice said, but John doesn't recognize it. He couldn’t be another Gryffindor. “But you owe me.”
“I’ll do anything, George.” Paul says. John doesn’t know any Gryffindors named George, at least not any his age.
“Come on, let’s go. We’ve been here too long.” Footsteps move in the other direction. John rounds the corner to see their backs, and sure enough it was Paul and another boy. The other boy was shorter than Paul and skinny as a board. John couldn’t see his face, but his Ravenclaw-blue coat informed John that he indeed wasn’t a fellow Gryffindor.
Maybe Paul wasn’t talking about John after all. But what was he talking about, then? What’s still in Hogwarts? And who was the ‘him’ they were referring to? Who was Rings?
John bites his fingernail. Paul was full of secrets it would seem.
John wanders back into town, not feeling much better, but no longer wanting to uncover mysteries he played no part in. Although it did delight him to know that Paul wasn’t as well-behaved as he acts. John goes to the Three Broomsticks , where Elliot and Arthur sat in a corner of the room.
“Feeling better?” Arthur asks John. He just nods, knowing it likely wasn’t very convincing. John sits down and they hear the bell ring with the opening door. They turn to see Paul, Graham Black and that Ravenclaw boy walk inside.
“John, your lover!” Elliot says in a teasing tone, earning him a stiff punch to the shoulder from John. The trio sits in another part of the pub, not noticing John and his group, luckily.
“I have to tell you two about something.” John practically blurts out. His two friends look at him, concerned. “I just overheard Paul telling that Ravenclaw boy about something… something bad.”
“What?” Arthur asks.
John shrugs, “I don’t know, exactly, I just know I wasn’t supposed to hear it. There’s something inside of Hogwarts that isn’t supposed to be there-”
“There are lots of things like that. It’s an ancient castle.” Arthur says, trying to be analytical about his friend’s clear distress. “I mean, have you heard about the chamber of secrets?”
“I know.” John nods, “But this felt different, it felt secretive. The Ravenclaw boy told Paul to tell the Headmaster but Paul said he couldn’t. But then Paul asked him to talk to another Ravenclaw about it all. Paul said he’d do anything for the other boy if he’d help Paul out.” John explains.
“It just sounds like some petty drama.” Elliot shrugs.
“Petty drama that the Headmaster needs to hear about?” John raises an eyebrow.
Arthur sighs, “He has a point.”
“Maybe, but Ravenclaw’s are always going to tell an authority about something they think is wrong, even if it isn’t wrong.” Elliot argues. “Really, John. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
At that moment, the door opens again, and in comes Dorian Pritchard and Cynthia, holding hands. It makes John angry. He looks away from them, teeth clenched. John’s back was to the door, and he kept his head down. Dorian is who reported John last year during all the Grimoire trouble. He hated him, and he hated even more that he had Cynthia as his girlfriend.
“Paul just stood up.” Elliot says, watching the scene play out from across John, his eyes on them. “He’s going over to Dorian. The Ravenclaw boy is following.” John listens, wanting to turn around and watch for himself but not wanting to get involved with anything to do with those two. His two biggest enemies at the school. “Cyn’s sitting by Graham, the other three went to another table.”
Arthur is visibly uncomfortable, and orders another round of butterbeers for the three of them when the barmaid walks by.
“They’re talking now, it looks intense.” Elliot describes. “Shit.” He mutters under his breath and looks away, “Dorian just looked over here.” The pit in John’s stomach gets heavier.
“Paul’s looking now.” Arthur says, sipping his butterbeer, shielding his eyes as best he can with his mug. “They’re all looking away now.”
Elliot looks up, “Nope, they’re all looking at you now, John.”
John pokes his head up and looks over his shoulder, seeing them. Then, something comes over John, and he stands up, heading over to Cynthia’s table. Sometimes, even John surprises himself with his arrogance.
“Cynthia, can I buy you a drink?” He says loudly.
“What the hell is he doing?” Arthur asks Elliot.
Cynthia looks up at John, her stare blank. She then looks over at the other table at Dorian, and then back at John.
John asks his question again. Cynthia nods slowly, but then there's a hand on John’s shoulder. He turns around to come face-to-face with Dorian Pritchard, headboy.
“Come on, Cyn.” He says while looking at John, “We’re leaving.”
“Oh, are you?” John cocks his head, looking at Cynthia. “Does she want to go, or are you deciding for her?”
Dorian lets go of John’s shoulder, grinding his teeth, “You’d be wise to stay out of my way, Lennon.” He raises an eyebrow.
“Oh would I? Because it seems to me that I’m all you three can talk about.” He gestures to the other table with Paul and the Ravenclaw.
“Contrary to what you may believe, not everything’s about you, Lennon.” Paul stands up, joining the scene.
“Well with my biggest fans whispering about me, it might as well be.” John chuckles.
John feels another hand on his shoulder, this time it’s Elliot’s, “Come on, Johnny.” He says quietly, gesturing to the door. “They’re not worth it.”
John looks back at Cynthia, who looks completely mortified by the entire ordeal. “You deserve better than these gossips, Cyn.” He turns on his heel to head for the door with Elliot, but Paul is standing right in his pathway. “Got something to say to me, McCartney?” He asks with vitriol in his tone.
“Y’know what?” Paul crosses his arms over his chest, “It’s not fair to drag Cynthia into your own ego trips.”
“ My own ego trips? You’re one to talk.” John takes a step towards Paul, “One day there will be books written about the enormity of your ego and how everyone at Hogwarts had to suffocate because you were obsessed with being the best.”
Paul takes a step towards John, now, biting the inside of his cheek, “You’re an asshole, John Lennon.” Their faces were closer than they had ever been, as if they were playing some game of chicken. Who will admit defeat and move from the other first? The entire room is tense, and everyone looks on with concern.
John drops his voice, “Don’t piss me off, I know spells no one in this room would dare attempt.”
“You act all big and bad but really you’re just a coward.” Paul sneers, “The weakest Gryffindor in the history of this school.”
John moves like he’s going to punch Paul, but now Arthur was now involved, too, and had John’s other shoulder in his hand as his friends held him back. The rustling of the movement made the spectators jump. “Who’s the coward, now?” John says with a chuckle when Paul startles back from John.
Paul looks at Dorian before saying his next bit, “You don’t even deserve to be back here. You’re a danger to all students here.” Paul bites.
John exhales, keeping his voice quiet, “Keep your nose out of my business, and I’ll keep mine out of yours. Don’t, and I’ll go to the Headmaster myself with your little…secret.” John didn’t exactly know what that secret was, he just knew there was one. But Paul didn’t know that.
Paul’s face drops. He swallows, and then the Ravenclaw boy George pulls Paul back away from John. “He’s not worth it, Paul.” He says, his teeth were crooked and his face was young. His eyebrows almost touched. “Just let him go, you’re better than him.” He says to Paul, who softens.
John turned around to see Graham was even standing from his trouble, and Cynthia had her face dropped in her hands, humiliated. The seven boys all stood still for a moment, no one being brave enough to move in the verbal brawl that made the entire pub thick with tension and anticipation.
“That’s enough!” The barmaid yelled. “All of you out, now!”
Arthur and Elliot push John forward towards the door and out into the street. They started booking it towards the castle, not looking back. John was seething, it felt like his blood was boiling.
An anger was building up in John. An anger that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. One he had worked to suppress for not only the safety of others, but for himself. His nerves ignited, his head spun and his breathing hitched. He was losing control. He hated that Paul got under his skin and knew exactly what to say to get to him, he hated that Dorian got the last laugh, he hated that Cynthia was with Dorian, he hated that entire interaction happening publicly, he hated that strangers were involved in his own perils, he hated that everyone looked at him like he was some ticking time bomb waiting to explode.
Maybe he was going to explode.
When they get out of Hogsmeade and towards the path back to school, John veers off into the tree line just barely. His friends follow, concerned for John.
John winds behind some oak trees and down a short hill into a glade where one could only see the tallest towers of Hogwarts over the depression. John’s skin felt on fire, his ears rang.
John takes out his wand and with an angry, bellowing scream, casts into the air “ Expulso !” Bright blue sparks fly from his wand, shooting to the sky as the sun sets, illuminating the tops of the trees and the three Gryffindor’s faces with cool light. It doesn’t hit anything, but it was a powerful spell that used dark magic to conjure. It wasn’t a spell ever taught how to cast at Hogwarts, except in the most advanced seventh year courses and under strict supervision, and Elliot and Arthur knew that John had learned it from the Grimoire.
The two boys would be lying if they said they weren’t afraid of John at that moment. It takes a great deal of power, control and rage to conjure a spell like that, and with John’s trace finally removed, he’d get away with it. Luckily, it hit nothing, and the magic simply fizzled out of sight, leaving a strange smell permeating the air.
John looked up at the blue embers that slowly drifted to the ground, his eyes wide and heart pounding in his ears.
He then collapses, falling to his knees with a heavy sob, head in his hands. John never cried, he hated crying. But he had bottled it up for too long: the schoolwork, the Quidditch practice, the academic rivalries, the girls, the judgemental looks from his peers, but especially the feeling like he was going to break at any moment and was just holding himself to protect everyone else around him.
He was a failure of a wizard. His emotions exploded, and now he sat in the dirt, golden leaves falling around him in the autumn air.
“John…” Elliot says quietly, his hand hesitating to touch John’s shoulder. He gets to his knees, placing it on his shoulder and startling John with a violent flinch, which startles both him and Arthur. “It’s alright. Really, it’s going to be okay.”
“We’re here, John.” Arthur whispers, “You aren’t going to get sent away again.” He says, and John’s reaction confirms that’s exactly what he was afraid of for casting such a spell.
“Come on.” Elliot says, helping John stand back up, and the three of them make their way back to the castle in total silence.
Notes:
tumblr: @buttapie
Chapter 6
Notes:
For those of you who aren’t following me on tumblr (what are you doingggg) I am SO SORRY this update is late! I finished a term of university and started work again and lost all my free time. AND THEN I GOT THE FLU. AND MY PERIOD. UGHHHHHHH. 0/10. Not to sound like one of those™️ ao3 writers (“sorry this is late, i got in a life threatening accident and broke both my legs”) lmao.
Forgive me. I will make it up to you guys for this Christmas season! I am still sick as a DAWG so please send me your favorite McLennon fics on tumblr to get me through the warrrr.
K enough yapping sorry love you byeeeeeeee
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was mid-October now, and the trees were all a fiery red. In the mornings, there’d be a thin sprinkling of frost on the grass, and midterm exams were just around the corner.
The sun was lower in the sky, and John stood with his friends on the wooden bridge, his red and yellow scarf wrapped around his neck.
“What you’ve got to do is get in his head. Play his game twice as well.” Arthur says, his elbows propped up on the railing of the bridge, the three of them looking down at the lake.
“Yeah!” Elliot agrees. “That was Professor Whittaker’s goal after all, wasn’t it? For you to learn how your partner thinks?”
John hums, “So how do you suppose I do that?”
“Well, Paul’s obsessed with his academics, isn’t he?” Elliot suggests, “I bet nothing would bother him more than seeing you do better in class.”
“That’s a great point.” Arthur agrees, “You’re a powerful wizard, John. We all see it. What you lack is discipline.”
“Thanks, Artie.” John scoffs.
“No, I mean in class. If you doubled down on even just your Defense Against the Dark Arts work, it would get to Paul. You need to outperform him.” Arthur explains.
“Hm.” John sighs, “I suppose you’re right.”
Elliot adds, “That and you’ve got to beat him at something. Knock him down a peg. We don’t play Slytherin until after the break-”
“We scrimmage with them just before Christmas, though.” Arthur says.
“But it can’t wait that long.” John shakes his head.
“He’s in the Slug Club!” Elliot exclaims, “You’ve got to get into the Slug Club yourself. That’ll get to him!”
“But how?”
“Potions. You have to be perfect in potions class. And kiss up to Slughorn.” Arthur explains. “I can help you with your potions, what are you making this week?”
“Euphoria Inducer.” John explains.
“Fantastic, we’ll practice tonight.” Arthur nods.
Elliot then adds on, “You should beat him at a few duels or something. Prove you’re better at combat. Not only will you gain his respect, but you’ll show everyone else that you’re on his level. Better than his level, even. It’ll humiliate him.”
“That’s good.” Arthur agrees. “See John, Paul figured out right away that you were bothered by teasing and prodding. He figured you out much faster. Slytherin’s are clever like that.”
“Exactly. You doubled down and tried to get back at him with the same methods, but Paul’s weaknesses are different from yours. He isn’t as bothered by the same things as you.” Elliot confirms.
“He only cares about his public appearance. He likes the gratification from students and teachers alike for his hard work. You need to convince yourself you like the gratification also, and work twice as hard to get it.” Arthur nods.
John picks at his fingernails, “Okay. Perfect student in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions. Join the Slug Club. Knock him on his ass in front of some people… What else?”
“Are there any girls he likes? You could go after his girl, that’s always a good way to get back at a guy.” Arthur asks.
John shrugs, “I dunno. I’ve never really seen him outside of the context of class.”
“Time to do some spying, then.”
John finds himself just outside of Professor Whittaker’s classroom, homework in hand. He takes a breath of courage and heads inside. “Professor?” He calls out, knowing it was getting late for office hours, the golden sun outside fading into dusk through the windows.
“Come in!” He hears the confident voice call from inside. He was erasing the board from his lesson with the third-years earlier that day. “Ah, Mr. Lennon. It’s great to see you outside of class.” John approaches him at the board. “What can I help you with?”
Just then, Paul walks down the stairs from Whittaker’s office with a stack of parchment in his hands. John smiled, this was only going to work if Paul was there to witness it.
Paul speaks up as he walks down the stairs, “I’ve finished grading the first-year’s exams, Professor.” He hadn’t noticed John yet. In the last week since Hogsmeade, they’ve avoided one another entirely. Paul was sick from class on Monday (whether that was true or not, John didn’t care) and Wednesday was a workshop day for non-verbal castings ( Expelliarmus particularly), so they barely had to interact with the class on their feet, jumbling back into house cliques for the period.
John clears his throat, and Paul looks up to see him, his face dropping. “What is he doing here?” Paul asks Whittaker.
“I’ve just come to turn in my midterm essays early.” John hands the parchment to Whittaker. “I’d love for a bit of feedback, if you have the time.”
Paul’s mouth drops, and Whittaker smiles. “Very nice, Mr. Lennon.” He thumbs through the essays, thoroughly impressed.
“Out of character for you, John.” Paul raises an eyebrow.
“Just trying to get ahead is all. We’ve been practicing hard for our first match against Hufflepuff next weekend, and I wanted to have a clear mind while completing these essays.” He puts on his nicest voice, almost wanting to bat his eyelashes. He was playing Paul’s game better than Paul currently. “Have you completed your essay’s, Paul?” John asks politely.
“I-I’m afraid I haven’t started them yet.” He admits. “They aren’t due until Wednesday, anyways.”
“Paul, would you like to take a look at these for me?” Whittaker hand’s John’s essays over to his teacher’s aide, and John wanted to protest. There was absolutely no way Paul would be fair to John.
“Grade them?” Paul asks with a glint in his eye.
“No.” Whittaker chuckles, “John asked for feedback. I’m sure you could give him some good insight. He’ll come turn them in for a final grade after taking—or leaving— your suggestions.” Whittaker nods.
Paul stares at the parchment for a moment, dumbfounded. “When does it need to be done?”
“Hmmm let’s say within the hour? I’ll keep Mr. Lennon down here and help him with the reduction spell that he missed last year while we wait.”
“But sir…” Paul says quietly, “We have our prefect meeting in just forty minutes.”
“You had better hurry, then.” Whittaker nods to the office upstairs. “It’s only two essays. With your skill I’m sure you can have it done in no time.” He says matter-of-factly to Paul. Paul stammers on air, and then nods politely, turning and heading up the stairs. He glares down at John, who waves at Paul with a girlish smile. Paul rolls his eyes and closes the office door behind him.
John folds his arms, “You’re rather tough on him.” He says, meaning it. If John had been in Paul’s position, he would have thrown a fit. John makes the mental tally in his head again; John III, Paul II
Whittaker chuckles, “He likes it that way. He just won’t admit it.” He erases the rest off the board. “I must say, I’m rather impressed with your work in class recently. You seem to have taken a step up.”
“Thank you, Professor.” John nods. “How long has Paul been your aide?”
“This is his second year. I don’t usually take fifth-year aids, but he had proven himself last year to me. That is one of the hardest working boys in this school. He gets obsessed.”
John hadn’t ever thought of Paul as hardworking before. But he supposed Whittaker had a point. John just reckoned Paul needed attention, which was why we got involved with every extra-circular, as if to feed some insatiable part of him that needed to be known. But John had failed to realize how much work it would really take to have as much to do as Paul. He wondered how Paul was able to function, wondered if he really had any social life.
“Does he have any friends?” John asks. It came out a bit more accusatory than he intended.
It makes Whittaker belly laugh, “Well yes. From a teacher’s perspective Paul seems to be one of the most popular students currently. But I know from working so closely with him that it may not be all as it seems.”
“What d’you mean?” John cocks his head.
“It’s really not my business to share, come, let’s work on Reducto .”
“No, professor. It’s alright. What does that mean?” John doubles down. “You wanted us to understand the psychology of other wizards, to be able to think like our partners.”
Whittaker sighs, “Look, John. Sometimes we sacrifice what we need for what we want. The desire to be known is inherent, but some of us would rather be known-of than known for who we really are. Paul has friends, but I sense that he lacks real true companions. You can still be lonely but not alone.”
“I see…” That was not really what John was expecting. He struggled to imagine Paul feeling lonely or bad about himself, the cocky git.
“I actually really don’t think you and Mr. McCartney are all that different, truthfully.” Whittaker says. John scoffs, he doubted that. “Come, let’s work on that spell.” Whittaker moves to the center of the room.
It doesn’t take much work for John to get the reduction spell right. He’d successfully burst two dummies to dust in under a half-an-hour. Paul was finished with his edits right around the time John had completed his own work.
“Here you are.” He says frantically, clearly in a hurry to get to the headmaster’s office for the prefect meeting. He hands John his essays, barely looking at him. “I’ll see you in class next week, Professor.” He says to Whittaker.
“Good night, Paul.” Whittaker nods, and Paul is speed-walking out of the classroom. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Lennon?” He asks.
John thumbs through the parchment, curious to see if Paul wrote any obscenities on his work. “No, Professor. Thank you.” John smiles and turns to leave.
“John!” Whittaker calls out again. He turns around just steps from the door, looking at his Professor, “I encourage you to give Paul the benefit of the doubt. He’s awfully hard on himself.”
He almost laughs, but just nods and exits.
Perhaps he was disappointed that Paul hadn’t written a single nasty thing in John's essays. In fact, all of Paul’s suggestions were thoughtful and valid. After all, John had recruited the help of Arthur who already completed those essays a year ago, which made his essays stronger than if John had done them by himself. Paul had even written a “good work” at the bottom of each essay, which filled John with an unfamiliar and frustrating sense of achievement.
He had taken it seriously, which John wasn’t expecting. He had planned to see Paul deface his work, or tear it to shreds, but it would appear that even Paul was impressed.
The potions classroom always had a thick aroma emitting from it. The sixth-years had potions later in the day, and all four houses were cramped together in the dimly-light room. John usually despised potions, he couldn’t handle the smells and sensations of cutting up strange eggs or pruning putrid plants. However, this week was different. This week, John would be the best potions student Hogwarts had ever seen.
They had stayed up late last night with Arthur practicing this week’s potion: the Elixir to Induce Euphoria. Arthur suggested they add mint to their potions to counter-balance some of the side-effects, something that was not listed in the textbook. Arthur had a special gift for potions, and was part of the Slug Club himself.
However, Elliot intentionally botched his own potion, and even made sure to slip some extra wormwood into Paul’s cauldron when he wasn’t looking (Paul was busy helping a Hufflepuff girl named Jane at the other table. Elliot took note of her), which turned Paul’s potion into a fluorescent yellow. Paul of course panicked, and instantly assumed this was because he stepped away from his own potion for a moment to help with someone else’s. Elliot suppresses his snickers when he sees Paul trying to reverse the effects with another porcupine quill, which makes his potion boil over.
Now, Slughorn was testing Paul’s potion, looking at it with concern. “I’m not sure where you went wrong, McCartney.” He tuts. Elliot nudges John’s side as they both smile quietly.
“Me neither, Professor.” Paul looked frustrated, his cheeks flushed. “I think I must have added too much wormwood, although I remember distinctly measuring it out and checking twice, just as you taught me.” John and Elliot roll their eyes, Paul was such a kiss-ass sometimes.
Slughorn takes a spoon and smells the potion, “I see. Well, not to worry my boy. You’ll do better next time.” He moves on, and everyone can see Paul's shoulder’s drop. He rarely made mistakes in class, if ever.
The potions professor finishes examining all the other student’s potions, and then makes his way to John, the final student to be tested. John usually failed miserably at his potions, and Slughorn made a habit of checking John last just in case he got ill afterwards.
John watches Slughorn intently as he examines his elixir. The entire class watches, Slytherin’s whispering in the back. Slughorn takes extra time on John’s potion, which kept everyone on the edge of their seat, John included.
Finally, he hums “Very nice, Mr. Lennon.” He brings the spoon of it up to his nose, inhaling deeply. “I must say, this is the best Euphoria Inducer we’ve seen today!” He chuckles.
There are a few hums from around the room, and John feels himself beam. He looks over to Elliot who winks, and then looks over to Paul, who chewed the inside of his cheek, irritated.
“Fantastic, Mr. Lennon!” Slughorn chuckles again, “Why, I’m feeling the effect of this from scent alone! That is the promise of a very gifted potions master! How ever did you succeed after so much error before?”
The backhanded compliment threatens to make John talk back to the professor as he usually would, but he reminds himself of his task. He forces a smile, “I’ve been studying hard, Professor. Need to make up for lost time.” He lathers on a polite tone that he wasn’t rehearsed in. “Plus, it’s easy when the Professor is so brilliant.” He cocks his head, his hands behind his back coyly as Paul might hold them.
Slughorn smiles wide, “Lovely.” His round cheeks somehow get rounder and rosier. “Good on you for taking control of your studies! All students in your year could take a page from your book.” He addresses the class.
John nods, “You know me, professor. Studies always come first. ” He says directly to Paul who turns red as a tomato.
John: IV
Paul: I
In class on Monday, John arrived early. He knew it would make him look like an even better student. Only a few other sixth-years were sitting in class, waiting for everyone else. John was pleased to see that Paul hadn’t gotten to class yet, which—to John’s amusement— would irritate Paul when he realized that John had beaten him.
John handed in the essays with the edits, feeling confident that he would get good marks on them. He sits at his desk, awaiting Paul’s arrival. He scribbled in his journal while the classroom filled up.
“Look who’s on time today.” Paul says, sitting down next to John.
John looks at him, smiling, “Good afternoon, Paul.” He says kindly. Paul’s eyebrows knit together.
“You’re acting weird.”
“Am I?” John asks, “Must be the weather.” He hums, “Hey thank you for your suggestions on my essay, you’ve really made me look good.” John adds with a hint of playfulness in his tone. He knew that it would drive Paul crazy that he assisted John in his academic image. Sure enough, Paul’s face went slightly pink at John’s comments.
He clears his throat, “Just doing my job is all. Don’t get hard because of it.”
John chuckles under his breath and Whittaker begins class. “Today we are going to be casting Stupefy on one another non-verbally.” He addresses the group. “I know this is a much more challenging spell than what we’ve been working on, but I would like to put away non-verbal spells after the midterms and begin Shield Charms . On your feet!”
The students push away the desks, creating an open space for the workshop. John wants to join the other Gryffindor students, but Whittaker informs the class that they will be staying in their pairs for this exercise.
With much resistance, John stays with Paul, the two of them making no effort to speak with one another, or even look at each other. It was customary at this point.
“Do I have a pair volunteering to go first?” The Professor asks. Cynthia and Graham raise their hands, and enter the center of the class. John can’t take his eyes off of her. He hasn’t properly apologized for his behavior in Hogsmeade, yet.
“Fantastic,” Whittaker begins, “Now everyone knows how to cast Stupefy . Last week we practiced with Expelliarmus, and everyone succeeded in casting it non-verbally. While this is a slightly more complex spell, it isn’t any different than before. You all know the wand movements, you all know the phrase. Focus in, center yourself, be aware of your surroundings and-” Whittaker then non-verbally Stupefies Graham. He’s rendered paralyzed for a moment, and then eventually comes back to his senses. The class claps for Whittaker. “Ladies first, Miss Powell.” He gestures to Cyn.
Cynthia takes her position, raising her wand and breathing deeply before yet again casting the spell on Graham, succeeding on her first try. The class compliments Cyn while they wait for Graham to unfreeze for a second time. Graham looks dizzy when he moves again.
“Very nice, Miss Powell.” Whittaker nods. “And you as well, Mr. Black. Ten points Slytherin for Mr. Black taking the stunning spell twice in a row. Your turn, Mr. Black.”
Graham nods, taking his own position. John feels a pit of anxiety in his stomach settle as he realizes that Cynthia will be hit with the spell. Then, Graham swishes his wand, but nothing happens to Cyn.
“Try again, Mr. Black.” Whittaker encourages, “Remember your breathing.”
Graham makes another attempt, this time successfully freezing Cynthia in place. There’s scattered applause from his fellow Slytherins.
“Fantastic! Who’s next?” Whittaker calls out. A few more pairs go, including Elliot and his partner, Lila. Many students were unable to perform the spell on their first try, but plenty of other ones did. No one had to give up, and eventually John and Paul were the last pair to go.
“Mr. Lennon, Mr. McCartney, finish us strong.” Whittaker calls on them.
John and Paul take to the center of the room, facing one another. They don’t say anything initially, just looking at the other with their wand in hand. They awaited who would be the first to try it, the tension going thick as the entire class watched them, knowing the two of them didn’t even try to get along.
“Ladies first, Lennon.” Paul dramatically bows.
John rolls his eyes, knowing that if he wanted to keep beating Paul at his own game, he would have to go first.
So, without any further anticipation, John raises his wand and casts Stupefy silently.
To his relief, it works on the first try, and it hits Paul hard. Not only is he thrown onto his back from it frozen, but he’s held in place for a few seconds longer than the other students had. The Gryffindors cheer for John, excited that he was able to stun Paul so effectively. No doubt Paul’s quip had fueled John’s pristine casting.
Paul moves again, sitting up from his spot on the floor and looking up at John with frustration. John looks smug, and he can’t wipe the smirk off his face. Paul rubs the back of his head and then stands up, ready to try it for himself.
“Nice work, John!” Whittaker says, and John sees how Paul’s shoulders drop at it. It makes John feel fantastic inside, like Paul would feel. “Go on, Paul.”
Paul takes a grounding breath, raises his wand and swishes it, but to his dismay, John isn’t hit. John stays standing and conscious, trying not to look too pleased with himself.
He can see how Paul bites the inside of his cheek, exhaling deeply. John raises his eyebrows as if to say not so easy, is it? Paul raises his wand once more, and tries yet again. Still nothing.
“Come on, Paul!” A Slytherin calls out and the other Slytherin sixth-years cheer for him.
Paul swallows thickly, and tries for a third time. He failed another attempt, and was now getting visibly ruffled. Gryffindors from around the room “ooh” at Paul, and John can see how his face turns red.
John was enjoying this too much. He holds his arms out, “Come on, McCartney. Show me what you’re made of.”
The other boy grips his wand and casts for the fourth and final time, but when it doesn’t work yet again, he runs his hands through his hair and shakes his head, walking away from the scene with a frustrated growl.
The Gryffindors ran to John, hyping him up for his victory. John smiles wide, feeling properly praised. He looks to Elliot who nods with a knowing look.
John: V, Paul: II
John then looks back over to Paul, who stood in the corner of the room with his fists balled up in his hair. He was angry with himself, not with John. He knew that was a relatively simple task for his skill set, and had miserably failed at it in front of all of his friends, peers and rivals. John makes eye contact with Whittaker, who looks at his student with raised eyebrows. His words from the other day ring in John’s ears: give him the benefit of the doubt.
He looks back over at Paul, who was panting heavily and possibly shaking. John typically would think of Paul as an over-reactor, but now that Whittaker informed John of how hard Paul was on himself, he could only see Paul beating himself up for something small. Paul was the only sixth year to fail at the assignment.
Paul barges out of the classroom, looking thoroughly panicked.
And for the first time, John saw Paul as a fellow student, not an agitator.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 7
Notes:
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!
I am still very sick, but feeling a little better!
For your gift here is chapter sevennnnn
OH! ALSO i have made moodboards/collages for every chapter but I do not know how to post them on here nor do i care enough to figure it out so if you want to see them they are on my tumblr!Kloveyoubye
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tomorrow was the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, and the entire Gryffindor team was out on the pitch in the pouring rain, squeezing some last minute practice in. It was freezing, and now that October was coming to an end, the promise of winter in the air was undeniable.
John’s hands were like ice, he was sure he’d drop the quaffle if it was ever thrown to him. Elliot was really pressuring them, he was terrified of losing to Hufflepuff for a second year in a row. It was starting to get dark and late, and now Astronomy was meeting on Friday nights, so John was starting to feel stressed about getting enough rest before the game tomorrow.
They were playing three-on-three with Elliot as the keeper for both teams. Arthur had moved to play chaser along with Collette. Lance was their beater. John, Peter and Katherine were on a team, and they were losing. John was just simply too cold. He blew hot air into his hands as he sat on his broom, watching Collette move towards the goalposts with drops of rain bouncing off of her.
She misses, and John can hear the frustrated groan coming from Elliot. He blows his whistle and they all meet in the center of the field, still in the air.
“We’re freezing, El.” Katherine says. “We aren’t going to be at our best when we can’t properly move.”
“The weather won’t be much different tomorrow.” Elliot shakes his head.
“Yeah, and do you see Hufflepuff out here? There can’t be a game if we all have pneumonia tomorrow.” John says snarkily.
Elliot looks at John with a frown. Lance and Peter hum in agreement with John, which just pisses their captain off more.
“Look, half of us have Astronomy tonight, we need to be thinking two steps ahead.” Collette argues, “Let’s go get warm, get a good meal and try to get some rest before tomorrow.” She suggests.
Elliot looks to Arthur, his co-captain and the oldest on the team. Arthur shrugs, “They have a good point.” Elliot softens at Arthurs’ statement, “We are older and smarter than the Hufflepuff team.” Artie now addresses all seven of them. “They started fresh this year and three of their teammates are only third-years.”
“Their seeker is only a second year!” Katherine adds. “Arthur has been the Gryffindor seeker for as long as he’s been alive practically!”
There are snickers among the team. They were always giving Artie a hard time for his age. He glares at Katherine, unamused. “We have every advantage on them we need.” He adds.
“Yes, and we should keep it that way. We don’t want to forfeit the match because we’re all too sick and tired to play.” John folds his arms.
Elliot sighs, “Fine. Let’s call it then.”
Relieved, they all fly back down to the muddy pitch, making their way to the locker rooms. It took John a long time to finally warm back up to a normal temperature, and it wasn’t until he sat in the Great Hall eating dinner with the rest of the team (later than all the other students), all freshly showered, that he finally quit shivering.
“This winter’s going to be tough.” Peter takes a sip of some tea, the small lad still shaking. “Mum says there's already snow back home in Belfast.”
“Shame, really.” Lance frowns, “I hate the winter.”
John didn’t mind winters. He was never very outdoorsy, and enjoyed the feeling of being cooped inside where it’s warm and cozy, away from the cold and dark. He finishes his food, checking his watch. It was already nine.
“I’ve got some Defense Against the Dark Arts homework to finish before we go to Astronomy.” He goes to stand.
“What is this change in work ethic, John?” Collette asks, “I mean, it’s great. But I’ve never seen you work so hard in that class.”
“Did you see him the other day? You really showed McCartney what’s good.” Elliot chuckled.
“What happened?” Katherine asks, her eyes going wide.
“We were doing non-verbal spells in class, and we were practicing Stupefy on our Slytherin partners-” Collette begins for the other four at the table who weren’t in that class.
“-and when it was John and Paul’s turn,” Elliot chimes in, “John absolutely spanked Paul. His spell got him on the ground and everything!”
“Guys…” John says quietly under his breath, embarrassed that it had been so immortalized. John has been unable to admit that he actually felt terrible about the entire thing. It was only fun to one-up Paul when they were even. Now that John’s humiliated Paul in front of everyone, he feels rather guilty. If he had been in Paul’s position, he’d struggle to show up to class again.
Elliot persists, “And then, when Paul tried to cast it back on John, he failed miserably.” John’s teammates all giggle, imagining the golden boy of the school embarrassing himself like that. But John wasn’t laughing.
“Nice work, Jonathan.” Arthur says. “I’m sure he’s still horrified.”
“Not my name.”
“You should have seen his face when he ran out of the class!” Collette laughs and makes an impression of how Paul looked: panicked and confused. This only makes the other Gryffindors laugh harder.
“Oh, it feels good to see someone so cocky be humbled.” Elliot sighs, everyone still chortling around him.
John stands up, hitting the table, “It wasn’t funny to me! I feel like an ass for it all. And we’re no better than him and his nasty posse of Slytherins for laughing at him like he’s some sort of joke!”
The entire table goes silent, looking up at John as if he had grown a second head.
“John…” Arthur says, “It’s not your fault Paul couldn’t cast the spell.”
“But what if it is?” John asks, angry with them for dropping to the level of their enemies.
“What d’you mean?” Collette asks.
“I’ve been trying to make him insecure! That’s why I’ve been working twice as hard in our classes. And it worked, I got into his head and he couldn’t cope.”
“Well John, that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Elliot cocks his head, “I mean Whittaker himself wanted us to think like our partners. You said so yourself. You wanted to get into Paul’s head.” He was confused by John’s entire argument.
It made John feel stupid, and probably for good reason. But John couldn’t articulate how seeing Paul like that made him feel. Sure, the bloke pissed John off, and he was cocky and rude, and incredibly shallow. But perhaps Whittaker was right. He and Paul aren’t all that different. John knows what it’s like to be an outcast, and now he just outcasted Paul.
“You can’t be mad at us for being ‘no better than the Slytherins’.” Elliot has an edge to his tone, “Since when have you cared about being better than anyone?”
John holds his tongue for once. He doesn’t want to insult his closest friend. He just exhales deeply, “See you in Astronomy.” And leaves the Great Hall, irritated.
He isn’t sure where he’s headed, because he doesn’t take the marble staircase up to Gryffindor tower. Instead, John starts wandering the halls of the castle, replaying the entire conversation he had with the Gryffindor team in his mind.
Maybe he was overreacting? Maybe it really wasn’t that big of a deal. After all, Paul is obviously keeping something secretive that has to do with John, and until that’s sorted out, John should have no interest in defending Paul.
Defending Paul. He felt embarrassed for even entertaining the idea. John cringed at his behavior. His friends were right, it wasn’t John’s fault that Paul couldn’t cast the spell on him. Maybe Paul was having a bad day completely separate from John.
But that just made John feel worse. Why did he care? He got what he wanted, he knocked Paul down a peg which is probably better for the entire school. He should be walking around these halls feeling like a hero, so why was John so confused?
Maybe he’d feel better in the morning, he’d be lucky if he could stay awake through Astronomy. Even luckier to stay awake through the Quidditch match tomorrow.
The anticipation was palpable. The stands were completely full of students of all houses, professors, and Hogsmeade villagers. It was the first Quidditch match of the year, and from what John’s heard, the game between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff last year was one of the most exciting ones. Spectators sat in seas of red and yellow, cheering excitedly. The teams could hear them from the locker rooms.
It was overcast, but not actively raining yet. All seven players could feel the pressure of getting ahead or altogether winning before the rain got too heavy. They didn’t want a repeat of last night’s practice where they were all too cold and irritated to really try.
Elliot paced in front of the team, his uniform new and fresh. He looked stressed, it was his first official game as captain, and he wanted to succeed so badly. Unfortunately, John was still a little irritated with Elliot from last night. They barely spoke during Astronomy (where John almost fell asleep, twice), and this morning at breakfast, Elliot made a pointed remark to “not bring up any Slytherin’s at breakfast” to the entire team. It was likely for the best, which is what John told himself to believe, but it came off with an edge from Elliot.
Regardless, John sat on a bench, watching Elliot pace back and forth. His stress was contagious, and it’s rubbing off on the rest of the team. Collette looked like she was going to be sick, and Lance couldn’t stop bouncing his leg up and down. Even Arthur was watching Elliot like a hawk, unsure of how to get his friend’s head in the game.
The energy was toxic. It was getting to John, who usually handled these situations well. But even John was nervous, he hadn't played a real game in a year, and he knew everyone watching would expect him to fit into the idea they have of him. He wishes he could smoke a cigarette, but the team made a pact together not to smoke or drink before a game.
John just wanted to win so badly. He knew it would make Elliot look good, and it would make John feel good. It would gain back the respect for team Gryffindor—who had a terrible season last year—from a lot of the school. It would impress Cynthia and maybe even Paul.
Not that John cared about impressing Paul.
But Cyn, he did. Any girl, really. Truthfully, John has been in desperate need of some female attention. He had a lot of pent up energy he’d like to get out on someone… Cynthia preferably. But of course she was with that prick. John realizes he probably shouldn’t lust after another man’s girlfriend… but Cynthia was John’s before she was ever Dorian’s.
She’s not an object. John shakes his head, reminding himself.
“John, are you listening?” Elliot asks at that moment. John snaps out of his wandering thoughts, looking up at his captain.
He clears his throat, “Sorry, no.” He admits. Sometimes it’s easier to just be honest. John didn’t feel like stammering for an answer right now.
Elliot frowns, clearly unsatisfied with his friend and best chaser. “Look, we all need to focus and get our heads on straight. It’s just Hufflepuff.”
“You’re one to talk.” John says under his breath.
“What was that, Lennon?” Elliot asks pointedly.
John looks up, and then to his side to see how everyone on the team stared at him with bated breath. He looks back at Elliot, “I said ‘you’re one to talk’.” He says with more conviction.
Elliot grinds his teeth, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that none of us are going to feel focused and ready if you keep pacing around with the energy of a six-legged panda pig.” John states. He hears someone else on the team suppress a laugh, but Elliot looks far from amused.
He glares at John, irritated. But John is saved by the bell, literally, because a horn is calling for the start of the game.
Everyone stands up, taking their brooms and adjusting their robes as needed. They stood in their formation to enter the field. “Remember what we’ve practiced. Don’t be selfish. Work together.” Elliot says right to John, who rolls his eyes big enough for Elliot to see. “Let’s do this.”
The crowd was wild, they always were for the first match of the season. John would never get sick of this feeling. The sound of hundreds of people screaming at him and his team. It was exhilarating.
“Remember our training!” Elliot calls to the team and mounts his broom. The entire Gryffindor team kicks off the pitch, flying up around the stands and showing off. The full stadium cheers as they fly by, and all feelings of frustration and stress seem to melt away as the seven players feed off the energy.
The Hufflepuff team comes out, and is met with equal cheering and excitement. The two teams meet in their starting positions, and Madam Hyde releases the balls with a blow of her whistle.
The game is on.
Gryffindor starts with the quaffle. Collette has it, John and Peter stick behind her, Lance and Katherine tailing behind the chasers, the five of them creating a powerful ‘v’ formation to race down the field in. John’s heart pounded, he couldn’t ignore how good this felt.
The Hufflepuff chasers and beaters start playing defense, and a chaser rams into Peter. Peter breaks off from the formation, Lance following behind. The bludger is hit towards Collette, and Katherine zooms ahead to hit it out of the way. Collette passes the quaffle to John just as the bludger gets close to her. John catches it and flies upwards, pushing towards the goalpost.
Another chaser on the other team hits John’s side, pushing him to his left. The opponent reaches for the quaffle, and John throws it to Peter who was just ahead of him. However, another Hufflepuff chaser intercepts it, taking the quaffle and racing towards the Gryffindor goalposts. John growls, frustrated with himself for letting that happen.
The game shifts to Gryffindor playing defense. They chase the Hufflepuff team, who started a play together. The game is fast, and John is impressed with their skill for being more inexperienced. They don’t have a lot of technique, but they’re scrappy. That could win games.
He focuses in and pushes down the field, trying to intercept the ball himself. The Hufflepuff team shoots for a goal, but Elliot blocks it, hitting the ball back to Collette.
Collette takes the quaffle and makes a hand signal to the boys to run a play they call “hippogriff”. John speeds ahead, this was a variation of the quick-passing play they did during tryouts where Peter scored. But this time, they had their beaters defending the two passers.
John gets to the Hufflepuff goalposts, stationing himself in the center one. Collette passes him the quaffle just before a bludger takes her out. Luckily, Lance hits the bludger away from her in just seconds. John nearly fumbles the catch, but hangs onto it. Peter meets him at the right goal-post, and they begin their passing.
They both had good arms, and their passes were almost imperceivable. It kept the Hufflepuff keeper on their toes, and they could barely keep up. Katherine came up to the third goal post to look like the third chaser, and it fools the keeper, who races down to the third goal post, leaving John wide open in the center.
Peter passes the quaffle to John who hits it in with no hesitation. He scores, and the stadium roars in excitement.
“Gryffindor: ten! Hufflepuff: nil!” The announcer cheers.
“Attaboy Johnny!” Arthur flies up by John who speeds down to start playing defense as the Hufflepuff chasers move down the pitch.
A chaser girl had the quaffle, Katherine hits the bludger hard and fast at her. It hits the end of her broom and she loses control. She passes at another chaser on her team and Peter tries to intercept but fails. John hits the back of the chaser who has possession, and he fumbles with the ball. John reaches for it, but then a bludger is coming at them both. They have to break in opposite directions to avoid getting slammed. John loses sight of where the quaffle is for a moment, and before he can get back on track, the crowd is cheering and the bell is ringing.
“Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are tied ten to ten!” The announcer calls out.
John looks at Elliot who is frowning. He must have gotten distracted, it was rare for Elliot to let a goal slip past him. He doesn’t make eye contact with John. It was clear he was not on his A-game.
The rain starts to fall, and John can feel how his grip gets slick on his broom. Everything was harder in the rain. It was harder to see, harder to catch and hold the ball, harder to hear. Dark and magnificent clouds above blocked out the sun, and the scarved-spectators pulled out various umbrellas and cast charms to protect themselves from the moisture. It was always in the rain that John wished he wore his glasses while playing.
Peter gets the Quaffle after the Hufflepuffs score, barreling down the field. John tries to keep up, but their beaters seem to have taken a special interest in John since he last scored. He was being attacked from all sides, and had to dodge more than a few bludgers.
“Lance! What are you doing!” He yells at Lance after he almost gets hit for the fourth time. His defenders seemed to have their heads in the rainy clouds. It pissed John off, he couldn’t focus on scoring when he was afraid he was going to get killed.
Before he knew it, Hufflepuff was up twenty points. Elliot was having a terrible game, no doubt because of his attitude before the game began, and the rain which was getting heavier. It was driving John mad.
John had missed a goal himself, which earned an angry shout from Peter. “Come on, Lennon!” This only egged John on further because Peter was younger and more inexperienced than John.
So he went into selfish mode. If the beaters weren’t going to defend him, Elliot wasn’t going to block goals, Arthur couldn’t see the snitch through the rain, and Peter was going to be a brat, John would have to win this game alone with Collette.
John gets the quaffle after Hufflepuff’s most recent goal, and goes full speed down the pitch. He gets tunnel vision, ignoring where anyone else was. He ignores Collette’s call of the play (which was her job because of her considerable knowledge of the play and bookwork of the sport), and focuses on just making a goal.
John’s going faster than anyone else on the field, his anger no doubt contributing to his new found stamina. He aims for the center goalpost, but at the last second shoots and scores in the right-side goal. He’s thirsty, his mouth full of cotton from his anger and exertion. He bolts down to the other end of the field, his energy toxic.
Hufflepuff makes their way towards him, and he barrels straight towards the one with the Quaffle, wanting to steal the ball. However, he’s almost hit with a bludger which lets the opponent make a pass which leads to yet another goal.
“What are you doing?!” John yells at Elliot.
“Get off my dick, Lennon!” He yells back.
“Boys! Shut up and start playing!” Collette rolls her eyes and takes the Quaffle, “Run ’Jabberwalkie’!” She yells and starts down the field. John groans in frustration but assists in the play, which leads to Gryffindor: 30 Hufflepuff: 40.
When the Hufflepuff team gets possession again, they start down the field. John flies towards the youngest chaser, intercepting a pass with a harsh body-slam. He takes the quaffle and bolts down the field again. He sees that Peter is open, but he’s pissed off at the lad, and doesn’t pass to him.
Katherine blocks a hit from John and yells at him to look at Peter, but he won’t. Peter was petty, and two could play at that game. He aims to score and throws the ball to one of the goalposts, but the keeper blocks it.
“Selfish, much?” Peter asks when he flies by John towards the Hufflepuff chasers.
John rolls his eyes and flies back down, angry with himself for missing again. Rain was pelting down now, and his robes were soaking wet and fingers frozen cold. He was livid, too. He pushed towards Peter who was defending against the Hufflepuff with possession, and John filed between Peter and the Hufflepuff, pushing his teammate out of the way.
“We’re on the same team!” Peter yells angrily when he splits off. John reaches across the Hufflepuff chaser and rips the Quaffle out of her hands, which was an illegal move. Madam Hyde calls the foul and Hufflepuff gets a penalty shot which they make.
Gryffindor: 30 Hufflepuff: 50
Elliot calls a timeout.
“What the hell is going on out there!?” He asks his team angrily when they meet at their goalposts.
“John’s being a huge prick!” Peter scoffs.
“Shut the hell up, Harrington!” John bites. “Maybe if you could make a damn goal!”
“You’re all acting like babies!” Collette yells over them. “If we’re going to win this, we have to play as a team. Got it?” She scolds the boys.
“She’s right.” Arthur says when he finally joins the group. He had been much higher up scouting the snitch and it took him longer to join the timeout. “As co-captain, we have to pull ourselves together. Put away your egos!”
“Beaters, we need more support.” John says to Lance and Katherine.
“ You need more support.” Lance adds, “We’re trying to give it to you but you’re faster than Peter and Collette. You can dodge better.”
Katherine nods, “We’ll be there for you but you have to stop hogging the ball.”
“ Hogging the ball?” John scoffs, irritated.
Elliot rolls his eyes, “Stop! Okay! John, you can’t win this game by yourself.”
John chuckles, “You’re right, as long as Hufflepuff keeps scoring easy goals, we’ll lose.” He says pointedly to Elliot.
Hyde blew her whistle, signaling that they had thirty seconds left of the timeout.
“I’d like to see you play keeper, you prick!”
“Stop!” Arthur yells at them both, “You’re being ridiculous. Run ’Jabberwalkie’ again, I’ll get the snitch if it means you’ll stop acting like children.” He flies away, and John and Elliot frown at each other.
The timeout breaks up, and Gryffindor has possession.
They run ’Jabberwalkie’ , which to everyone’s relief ends with Peter scoring. Gryffindor was only behind ten points again.
The rain was unforgiving, however, and it was turning into sleet. John’s hands were numb, and when he dropped an interception on the defense, he starts to get in his own head.
You are being a prick. He says to himself, getting down on himself. He tries to pull himself out of it, but his anxieties start to suffocate him. The crowd's relentless cheering, the overwhelming rain, the frustration within the team and his own broken mind was all working against him.
Elliot blocks a goal, and passes the quaffle to John, but he goes numb. His brain starts lying to him, You’re no good, they’re all right about you, you don’t belong on the team. John shakes his head and moves down the field, focusing on the task at hand, but now he’s completely distracted. He passes to Collette but it’s a terrible pass, and Hufflepuff intercepts it. John can’t even bring himself to fly down for defense, he was so out of it.
“Gryffindor: 40! Hufflepuff: 60!”
Then Hufflepuff had 70 points, and then 80, and all seven of them were starting to get completely let down. There was no way they were going to win unless Arthur caught the snitch, and even then it would still be a close game.
Collette and Katherine seemed to be the only level headed ones left on the Gryffindor team, all of them frazzled (not including Arthur, who knew wherever he was). But they were both getting exhausted. They had less stamina than the boys, and while they kept up well, their lowering energy was dooming the team even further. The boys were too emotional and the girls were exhausted. It might be a lost cause.
John wiped the sleet out of his eyes, watching as Collette pushed the ball down the field. They’ve been playing for a long time now, and in this weather both teams were ready to be done. That snitch needed to be caught.
John was flying low, close to the stands, and he looked down at the crowd for a moment, who’s cheers had subsided more. Many people had left from the weather, but the stadium was still more than three-quarters full.
He must have a sixth-sense to know exactly where Paul was sitting, because when he looks down he instantly spots the black-haired lad, sitting with the rest of the Slytherin team, all wearing yellow. Paul was looking back at John with one of his impossibly-arched eyebrows raised.
John could not lose this game. He couldn’t bear to handle the scrutiny from Paul if he did.
He wakes up, and gets a second wind out of spite. John races down to support Collette in the play, and after a fast series of passes, dodges and quick thinking, she scores with his assist. 50-80. They were still in this.
John’s hatred for Paul must run deep, because he intercepts a pass from Hufflepuff right away before they can get very far down the field. John’s wide open for a shot. 60-80. He looked down at Paul, who had his arms crossed and lips thinly frowned.
Elliot blocks Hufflepuff’s next shot and the entire crowd starts to lose their minds as the game gets closer and more exciting again.
They were running a play called ‘Thestral’ when John sees Arthur dive straight down hard and fast, and they all know he’s finally spotted it.
Arthur speeds towards the golden snitch. John wants to watch but he knows he can’t get complacent, he keeps focusing on the play, and Collette scores an impossible goal just moments before Arthur miraculously catches the snitch, ending the game with a fit of excitement and relief.
“Gryffindor has won! Arthur Higgins caught the snitch! The final score is 220-80 Gryffindor! What an exciting finish!” The announcer screams. The roar from the crowd is deafening, and John takes a much needed sigh of relief.
He takes a moment to look at McCartney in the crowd—blurry in the rain and the lack of glasses, but John could spot that boy in any crowd. He stood perfectly still, staring at John while the other Slytherins around him moved with outraged chaos.
The Gryffindor team takes a victory lap, and John takes special notice to shake some sleet on top of the Slytherin team, a large slop of sleet dropping straight on Paul and Graham Black’s heads from John’s broom.
Elliot’s silence towards John does not go unnoticed.
They get into the locker room, and all seven of them are conflicted on how to feel. John was over his frustration with Peter. That was just the typical in-air bickering. But he was not ready to move on from Elliot nearly dooming the team. The Captain should never put their team in a situation like that. He has to lead by example.
Elliot is quiet to everyone, changing out of his robes and into dry clothes.
“Good game, everyone.” Arthur eventually says, breaking the silence. No one replies, and the tension is dreadful. The girls get out first, Lance and Peter follow quickly after, leaving just John and Arthur with Elliot and his attitude.
John hated when a win felt like a loss. They should all be cheering for one another, lifting each other up. He’d prefer a loss that felt like a win because they all played together and succeeded in other ways together over this.
He supposes his selfish attitude during the game didn’t help the team mood.
John and Arthur share a glance at one another, unsure of how to treat this situation. It was a bad look for your captain to react so poorly. It infuriated John, if he was captain this wouldn’t have happened.
“So are you gonna say anything, then?” John asks.
Elliot glares at John, “I have nothing to say to you, Lennon.” He puts on a dry sweater, covering his olive-skin.
“Woah, look we just won a game. There’s no need to-“
“We barely won. No thanks to you.” Elliot scoffs.
John’s jaw drops, “ No thanks to me? ” He laughs in disbelief, “I made forty points for us today, for the record. You’re welcome. ”
“John.” Arthur says gently.
“No. I’m not going to let the team captain talk to me that way!” John’s eyebrows were perpetually raised in shock, “Or did you forget you’re supposed to lead us?”
“Shut up you asshole.” Elliot jumps towards John like he wants to punch him, but nothing happens. “I put you on this team, I can take you off.” He says through his teeth.
“I’d like to see you grow the balls needed to kick off your highest scorer.” John laughs.
“Hop off it, Lennon. I know you’re queer but find another guy to suck dry.” Elliot takes his bag and starts to walk out the locker room. “Maybe McCartney, since you’re so obsessed with him.” John’s entire nervous system fills with rage and disbelief for that uncalled for comment. What led Elliot to believe that?
“Fuck you, Ashford.” John takes a threatening step towards Elliot, but Arthur physically holds him back.
“Stop! Both of you!” Their older friend yells.
Elliot scoffs and walks out, leaving John alone with Arthur, seething and tired.
The Gryffindor common room was absolutely wild. Winning the first match of the season was a huge deal, especially when the game was so unpredictable and exciting. The entire team was exhausted though, and after much needed showers to warm back up and clean off and a huge victory meal, they all wanted to go to bed.
All seven of them were avoiding one another. Lance and Katherine were happy, the two of them played hard and well together, and they partied with the rest of the house, getting pissed. Peter tried to party for a while, too. But being one of the youngest on the team meant that he didn’t last long. Collette enjoyed the festivities with Arthur, the two of them widely seen as the hero’s of the day for their final play (even though statistically, John was the highest scorer of the day). But all the chasers avoided one another, and Elliot avoided all six of his teammates entirely.
John loves to party, he wanted to kiss Cynthia, get drunk and wake up in the morning totally knackered. But he was so irritated with how Elliot has treated him today that he couldn’t even enjoy their win.
But, he forces himself to. For all he knew it could be the only one of the year. He hoped it wouldn’t be, but if the team kept this tension there was no way of knowing.
A few Ravenclaws snuck into the party, and John thought he even saw a few Slytherin’s in. This wasn’t uncommon, there was always interhouse mixing at these parties. Clever students knew how to sneak in with a big group from whatever house won to get into the after parties. John went to an absolutely insane Hufflepuff victory party his fourth year in their common room by the kitchen (where he learned why they were called ‘huff’ and ‘puff’).
He has one drink, dances with the rest of the house for a few songs, and notices Elliot is nowhere in sight. Normally he would be concerned about his best friend, and would go looking for him. But he makes himself not care. If anything, it makes John party even harder.
A few drinks later, he has a pretty Ravenclaw fifth year up against him, kissing his neck, and John can’t help but enjoy it.
She’s pretty with her latte-shade of skin and long braids, but she’s not Cynthia.
He’s in the corner of the common room, and she’s grinding against him, and it’s hot, he’s exhausted, and maybe he’s had a few too many drinks because he looks up from her and swears he sees Paul standing on the other end of the room.
It makes John sputter on his drink, and he does a double-take.
Sure enough, there he was. Prefects never snuck into house parties, especially not Gryffindor parties. John never imagined he’d see Paul here. Gryffindor house could get in a lot of trouble if a prefect from another house reported all the booze and magic celebrations. Not to mention the students of all genders up past curfew, dancing hot and heavy against one another. Prefects from the houses celebrating turned a blind eye (although it seemed Cynthia was nowhere to be seen, and the other Gryffindor prefect never cared for parties). But a prefect from another house was an accident waiting to happen.
“Excuse me.” John says to the girl, pushing off of her and moving towards Paul. He wasn’t about to let Paul ruin this night for everyone.
He was with that Ravenclaw boy from Hogsmeade, the skinny one with the crooked teeth and near-unibrow. Paul spots John moving towards him and tries to move to another part of the room before John can reach him, but John stops him.
“Never thought you’d celebrate with Gryffindor!” He yells at Paul over the party noise.
Paul chuckles, “Had to see what all the fuss was about! Everyone says Gryffindor throws the best parties, but I’d have to disagree!” He yells back.
John scoffs, “Is that right?!”
Paul raises his eyebrows, “Rather juvenile, I’d say!”
“Alright, Grandpa. Leave, then!” John yells back.
Paul smirks, “Come on, George. Let’s show this git how to really take your alcohol!” He says to the Ravenclaw.
“Ooh!” John laughs, “A prefect drinking? What has the world come to?”
“I may be a prefect, Lennon, but I’m still a teen, aren’t I?” He yells, taking a bottle of spiked butterbeer off the table nearby and chugging it. Paul didn’t have his badge on for the first time probably ever. John thought he slept in the thing. The students around them cheered for Paul, encouraging him to chug. Paul finishes the bottle without even a grimace, and the room roars for him when he takes the final sip.
John was impressed, he wouldn’t deny that. If there's one way to gain respect from John Lennon, it’s from being able to hold your alcohol. “I didn’t know you had it in you! Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes!”
Paul looks smugly at John, “Surprised, Lennon?”
John laughs, but he catches himself. He can’t find camaraderie in Paul, not even if they’re both pissed as all get. “You better not report any shit!” He yells.
“Wouldn’t dream of it! You better enjoy this, I reckon it’ll be Gryffindor’s last party of the year!” He shouts over the music.
“Is that so?” John folds his arms, reminded that at the end of the day, Paul was really just a tosser.
The Slytherin smirks, and John notices how handsome Paul looks like this: hair messy, clothes casual, the warm, dim light casting soft shadows on his round face.
Shit, John was really pissed if he was thinking like that.
“See you later, Lennon. Don’t celebrate too hard, don't want anything to get in the way of your studies!” Paul laughs and walks away from John into the crowd. George politely waves goodbye and follows his friend into the sea of sweaty students.
It’s a long time before John finally turns in for bed. In his dormitory, Elliot was already in bed, fast asleep. It wasn’t like him at all to miss out on a party like that.
John wanted to be there for his friend, deep down. But Elliot was being a git, and John didn’t really care for him after today. He falls into bed, not even changing into pajamas or getting fully under the covers, drunk and content.
Notes:
Tumble: @Buttahpie
Chapter 8
Notes:
I told you i would spoil you all for the holiday season!
Update on my plague: i get like… 10% better every day lmao. Thank you for all the kind messages and fan fic recs.Also…. I LOVE this chapter (this was basically the chapter that inspired this entire fic)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Elliot still hasn’t spoken to John. In fact, he switched spots with Flynn Weasley in Potions so he didn’t even have to stand next to John in that class. It was petty, and John suppressed the anger he felt about it. Elliot was being small and immature.
The class today was about brewing an antidote for poison from venomous tentacula. John was struggling to stay awake, last night he stayed up late again with Arthur practicing this potion. He still hadn’t gotten into the Slug Club, and he was willing to do whatever it took to get in. He’s gone to Slughorn twice now outside of class to ask for help with homework and ask him questions about himself (kissing up to Slughorn). John didn’t necessarily want to do this, but he did want to one up Paul. So if that’s what it takes, then that’s what he’ll do.
Thankfully, Arthur seems to have taken John’s side with all of the drama, although he has informed John that he feels like they both have acted immaturely. John supposed he was right, but he wasn’t going to be the first to apologize to Elliot. Elliot made a low blow at John, and it was totally uncalled for.
John finishes stirring his cauldron, and suppresses a yawn. He made the elixir better than last night, but he wasn’t sure if it was good enough. John didn’t want to just do it well, he wanted to brew it better than anyone else in the class, namely McCartney.
“Shall we try it?” Slughorn asks John when he sees he’s finished. John nods, trying to ignore how sleepy he was. Slughorn examines the potion and hums. John notices that Paul was watching from across the classroom.
Slughorn drops a leaf of the tentacula in the cauldron and it instantly fizzles out, “Beautiful, John!” He exclaims. John beams, getting called by your first name by Slughorn was a great sign. Paul picks up on it too. “Really fantastic work. As per usual. I reckon you’re one of our best students!” He chortles. John smiled smugly, looking at both Elliot (who was avoiding his gaze entirely) and Paul (who looked dumbfounded by John’s success as per usual).
Unfortunately, Paul had also done a very good job on this antidote. Paul looked suitably praised after Slughorn finished grading his work, commenting with a “Magnificent as always, Paul.” John nearly scoffs. Everyone thought Paul was perfect. Everyone but John.
When class was coming to an end and students were packing up, Slughorn asked for John to join him at his table. John glows inside, this had to be his invitation into the Slug Club.
Paul’s station was right next to Slughorn’s desk (where he sat in every class: as close to the professor as possible) and he was still packing up when John approached their professor.
“Yes, Professor?” He asks loud enough for Paul to hear.
“My boy!” Slughorn smiles, “You’ve been outstanding in my class! I’ve been so impressed with you over the last few weeks.” John notices that Paul slows down his packing up, no doubt eavesdropping.
“Thank you, Professor.” John nods, still replying loud enough for Paul to listen in on.
“You know, I was a bit concerned about you at the beginning of the term, what with you missing last year and your whole… well… your little scandal.”
John preferred if it wasn’t referred to as such, but in the spirit of winning this game, he just smiled and nodded politely.
“But how you’ve proved yourself to not only me , but all other professors as well!” Slughorn laughs, and John sees Paul turn his head slightly in his periphery, his ear angled towards their conversation. “Fifty points to Gryffindor for your hard work!”
Paul clears his throat, and they both turn to look at him briefly. Most students had left the classroom by now, Paul was lingering and they both knew it.
“Thank you!” John hums cheerfully. It was painfully out of character for him, but that’s how Paul played the game.
“I’d like to extend an invitation to you,” Slughorn begins, and John can barely contain his triumph, “I hold an exclusive dinner party every few weeks for my exemplary students,” John glances at Paul again, then back to Slughorn, “You may have heard of it. Other students like to call it the-“
“Slug Club.” John and Slughorn both speak in sync.
“Professor.” Paul turned around at that moment, deciding this also addressed him, “I’m afraid the table was full last dinner, there wouldn’t be a spot for John.” Paul adds sweetly and innocently.
Normally, John would be displeased by Paul’s behavior here, but this time it only proved that this was working. John was beating Paul at his own game.
“If it’s too much of a hassle, I wouldn’t want to intrude.” John smiles, “It sounds like a very elite group.”
“It is.” Paul raises an eyebrow, as if to say you aren’t good enough.
“Which is exactly why I want John a part of it!” Slughorn chimes in. “Not to worry, boys. I will simply get a larger table!”
Paul’s jaw tenses, John can see it out of the corner of his eye. This was a huge victory for John. They both knew it. This meant John was at the same level as Paul, at least in Slughorn’s eyes, which John knew Paul would struggle to accept.
“The next dinner is this upcoming Wednesday. Perhaps Paul could take you to it, it being your first invitation. He can show you the ropes.”
“What?” Paul asks, his face dropping.
“That sounds brilliant, professor.” John says to Paul, a mischievous smirk on
his face. He knew Arthur could take him, and everyone would be happier. But the satisfaction of Paul not only having to accept that John made it into the club, but he would also be inducting John in was incredibly rewarding.
Paul glares at John who winks at Paul with the click of his tongue.
“Splendid!” Slughorn smiles, “Now, off you two go, my two star potions students!”
John sat in Defense Against the Dark Arts next, rapidly bouncing his leg as he tried paying attention to Whittakers lesson.
Tick tick tick.
The clock felt like a bomb. It loomed over John and pierced his thoughts. He couldn’t focus, and he was getting terribly frustrated. He was still riding off the irritation of the Hufflepuff match, and it felt like Elliot was staring daggers into John everywhere they went.
Paul sat next to John, taking arduous notes on Whittaker’s lecture. John sighed, bored out of his mind. He takes his quill and starts jotting down his own notes, remembering the game he was currently beating Paul at.
“Stop copying my notes.” Paul says, looking over at John.
“I’m not copying your notes you toad, not everything’s about you.” He mutters, trying not to get the attention of Whittaker.
Paul frowns, and raises his hand.
“Tattletale.” John rolls his eyes. He wasn’t even copying Paul’s notes.
“Yes, Mr. McCartney?”
“If Protego Diabolica is so simple to cast, why couldn’t some students—like Lennon—achieve it last week?” He asks innocently, but side-eyes John. John had failed to cast that spell, and was one of only three who couldn’t. There’s a series of “ooh’s” from other Slytherin’s in the room. John frowns, he’d prefer Paul tattling to this. But Whittaker doesn’t look as amused as the other students.
John raises his hand, “If prefects are supposed to represent the entire school, then why is McCartney such a sniveling bitch?” He asks even more innocently.
Even more gasps of entertainment can be heard throughout the entire hall. Whittaker’s face goes red, clearly angry. “Mr. Lennon-” he starts, but is interrupted by Paul scoffing loudly.
Paul was obviously deeply offended, and he looked at John with distaste. Paul then picks up his wand and casts Flipendo , the knockback jinx. It hits John on his head and knocks him off his chair. The class erupts at this and John looks up at Paul from the ground, angry.
John takes his own wand and draws it back to cast something infinitely more humiliating on Paul, but Whittaker intercepts, disarming the both of them.
“Enough!” He shouts across the entire classroom. “Lennon, McCartney, this is your final straw. You both will be seeing me in detention tonight. As well as a full-day of detention on Saturday.” He says through gritted teeth, and both boys are utterly deflated by it. The rest of the class stifles their giggles, and Whittaker looks positively pissed. “I should send you both to the headmaster for this. Fifty points from each of your houses and I’ll be keeping your wands until the end of class. Mrs. Powell please switch spots with Mr. Lennon for the remainder of the day.”
Paul’s face is bright red. He’s never gotten in trouble like this before, especially in front of a class. But this wasn’t uncommon for John. He picks himself up from the floor and drags his feet to Cynthia’s seat. Paul looks back at John with daggers in his eyes. So much for being the bigger person.
It’s seven o’clock when John drags his feet back to Professor Whittaker’s classroom. He was informed not to bring any schoolwork and that Whittaker had a special assignment for him and Paul.
The sun had fully set, early November meant darker evenings. The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was illuminated by candles and lamps, and Paul and Whittaker were already inside. They didn’t speak, however. In fact, Whittaker stood at the front of the room with his arms folded across his chest and his lips pursed together.
“Come in, Mr. Lennon.” He invites John in. John enters the room about halfway and Paul won’t even look at him. Paul was in that same green sweater he wore when they did their homework together at the beginning of term. “Truthfully, I have never seen such behavior between two students before.” He begins, “I am shocked at the conduct you’ve both portrayed in my classroom.” John walks the rest of the way into the room, standing on the other side of the front-center desk from Paul. “Through your entire adult life you will be forced to deal with people you disagree with every day. You will find them as colleagues, peers, even within your own family. I do not ask you two to become best friends, but I do expect you to treat one another with the respect you mutually deserve. Am I being clear?” Whittaker asks sharply.
John nods.
“Verbal answers, so I know you two are actually listening to me.”
“Yes, Professor.” John says quietly.
Paul still doesn’t reply, but after a long exhale he speaks up, “I understand.” John was sure this was Paul’s first detention. He could imagine the horror running through his good-boy-syndrome head.
“Fantastic.” Whittaker sighs. “I mean it when I say you two are some of Hogwarts best and brightest. You just don’t see it for yourselves.” John snorts at the concept of Paul not thinking he was the best in the school. It earns a dirty look from Whittaker who sighs and continues, “Tonight I have a little task for you both.” He goes across the room and picks up a medium chest. He brings it back to the two of them and places it on the desk in between them. Whittaker opens the chest to show it’s full of rope. “Enchanted rope. It’s knotted together by a spell. It will become straight again, but I am not going to tell you how. The two of you must unknot this rope before you can leave. I’ll be in my office grading papers.”
“But Professor-” Paul begins.
“Yes, Mr. McCartney?”
Paul goes quiet, and clears his throat. “Nothing.” He shakes his head.
“Splendid. If done properly, it shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. However, I’ll keep you two here as long as it takes for you to sort it out.” He winks and leaves the two as he climbs the stairs to his office.
John sighs, he’d rather clean desks or sort books or polish trophies like Professors usually made him do in detention. This seemed like pure rubbish.
Paul turns to the chest, examining it quietly. The chest was about the size of a pillow, and was about half a meter deep. The Slytherin boy reaches his hand inside, pulling up a part of the thick rope. There were various knots in it of all different kinds. Paul pulls out the entire thing, holding it up. The rope seemed to make an endless loop, there were no ends in sight.
“How does he expect us to unknot it if there’s no end to the rope?” John asks, taking a look at it and picking up the other end of the loop. The two boys hold up the large ring. The circumference of the full loop was about a meter across.
Paul is awfully quiet, and he still won’t make direct eye contact with John. He starts picking at one of the knots, placing his end on another desk. John scoffs. “Not going to talk to me, then?”
No reply.
John rolls his eyes and does the same as Paul. He tries undoing one of the simpler looking knots, but the tie seems to get tighter the harder he pulls. He looks over at Paul, who hadn’t made any progress, either. John tries picking at another knot, but to no avail. The knots even seemed to get tighter and tighter, somehow.
The two work in total silence for several minutes, neither of them succeeding in undoing any of the rope. John checks the clock, they had already been working for almost fifteen minutes. He was getting frustrated, this had to be impossible. Whittaker made it sound so simple.
“Maybe if we tried switching sides?” John suggests. Paul finally looks up at John when he says this, his lips in a gentle frown. He nods, and they rotate around one another until they can have a go at different knots.
John felt he was able to loosen one of them slightly on Paul’s side, and when he looked at the one Paul was currently picking, he could see Paul was getting somewhere, too. That was encouraging. John keeps going at it, but several more minutes pass and they stay stagnant.
With a scoff, John drops his side of the rope. “This is ludicrous. We aren’t getting anywhere and it’s been twenty minutes.” He shakes his head.
Paul blinks at John a few times, still giving him the silent treatment. But then, “What, haven’t you done this before?” He asks.
John nearly laughs, “Do you think this is what you do in every detention?” He asks.
Paul shrugs, “I’ve never been to detention before. How would I know?”
The Gryffindor boy looks at Paul dumbly, “Never?”
Paul shakes his head, “Nope.”
“You never said something you shouldn’t have? Or made a joke in poor taste?”
Paul shakes his head again.
“Damn.” John chuckles, “How do you go to Hogwarts for six years and never piss a Professor off?”
Paul raises an eyebrow, “I find it’s rather easy, actually. You should try it.”
John frowns, “Alright, Paul McPerfect. Any other words of advice for poor little John Lennon?”
When this interaction happens, the rope folds in on itself again, creating another series of tight knots and tying itself in half, creating an even smaller and more complex ring. The two boys look at it, dumbfounded.
“Fantastic.” John scratches the back of his head. So much for ‘a few minutes’, they were going to be here all night.
They spend another twenty-or-so minutes tying it in and out of itself, picking at knots and trying anything to get it undone. Nothing is working. If anything, they were just making it worse, and their brains were starting to get tired. Nearly an hour had passed of futile unknotting when Paul finally groaned in frustration.
“You’re making my side tighter!” He complains.
“I am not! You’re making my side tighter!” John defends.
Paul scoffs, “This is your fault, y’know.”
“It is not! You’re the one who singled me out in class! I just fought fire with fire. If you can dish it but can’t take it, that’s on you.” John folds his arms, seething.
“As if!” Paul folds his own arms, “You were copying my notes!”
“I was not copying your notes!” John rolls his eyes, “I know it’s hard for you to believe but I actually can work hard in a class!”
“Since when do you care about working hard in class?”
“I always have!” The rope starts to coil into one giant, messy ball.
“No you haven’t! You only started caring when you did it to make me look bad!” Paul retaliates, and John stutters on air. Paul was right. Was it that obvious? When had Paul picked up on John’s methods? “Ah, see? That’s what I thought.” Paul raises an eyebrow. John frowns.
The rope now resembled a ball of tangled yarn, tightly wound about itself. They would never undo this. It seemed to get worse with their arguing. John holds his tongue for once. If the two of them wanted to get out of here, they’d have to try something else.
Paul picks up on it, too. He was clever, all Slytherin’s were. And when Paul was so obsessed with academics, he was quick to think of some new methods.
Paul takes out his wand, “ Revelio .” Nothing happens, the rope stays perfectly knotted into a complex ball. Paul frowns at that, “ Accio End.” No rope end draws to him. He rolls his eyes, “ Diffindo .” Nothing. “ Incendio !” Flames engulf the rope but slowly sizzle and die out until the rope is left perfectly intact, as if nothing happened. “Fascinating…” Paul examines the rope in his hand with wide eyes, completely enthralled by it. “I’ve never seen anything like this. I wonder what spell was used on it to make it like this.” He sounds nearly excited, and John barely contains his disbelief.
“Complimenting it won’t do anything.” John replies.
“You don’t know that, it might.” Paul shrugs, and then tries it, “You’re a very impressive rope.”
At first, John is absolutely confused by Paul’s behavior. The lad looked absurd trying this, how he was able to do it with a straight face was beyond John. But as Paul persisted, John couldn’t help but find it amusing as Paul came up with more and more outrageous praises for the inanimate object.
“Pretty rope. Like a… a very pretty… what's rope made of?” He asks John.
John shrugs, “Uhm… straw? I think?”
Paul nods, “Very pretty straw. I’m sure you were the prettiest straw in your entire field-“ He says but then bursts into laughter. The entire situation was just absurd. It was laughable. At least Paul had a sense of humor, John respected him for that.
John couldn’t help but laugh along with Paul, even chiming in, “You’re the fanciest rope. All other ropes envy you.” He whispers to the rope, like it was sweet-nothings for a lover.
“If I were a rope, I’d want to be you!” Paul says between laughs.
“Rope with a thing for praise… who knew?!” John laughs. They both sigh, coming down from their giggling. To their relief, the giant, messy ball of knots had started to loosen up.
“See! It does have a praise kink!” Paul gestures to it, and that makes both of them howl with even more laughter. The idea was ridiculous, and that’s what made it enjoyable. They both laugh for a good minute longer, but then they both are starkly reminded of who they’re laughing with, and the energy subsides quickly.
They both quietly work to undo a few knots, and to their surprise, they get a few out.
“I don’t think it’s a praise kink.” John says after he unties his second knot. “I think it’s enchanted to loosen only if we work together. And at least try to get along.” Those words feel like cotton in his mouth.
Paul nods, “Alright. Let’s try it.” John didn’t know it, but Paul was impressed that John came up with that before he did, and maybe a little disappointed, deep down.
“Here, hold this part for me, and I’m going to pull this part underneath,” John explains, “Yeah that’s it. Now we’ve got it.” They start making some progress.
“Wait wait, here, if I take this loop, and you push that bit through it—yeah that’s it!” Paul’s eyes light up. The rope seemed to work with them, helping them along. Before they knew it, it was no longer a giant ball, but started to resemble the ring from the beginning.
The two communicated through the task at hand, and rather than work on individual knots, they tag-teamed the same knot. Most of them were at a complexity which required four hands to untie.
“There we go. Look at us!” John exclaims happily when they undo the second ring, getting the rope back to the state they found it in.
“Yes!” Paul smiles and holds his hand up for John to high-five. John slaps Paul’s palm with his own, making a crisp sound. Nothing hypes up a sixteen-year-old boy quite like a good high-five, and they both admire the sound their hands make.
But then, they are once again reminded of who they just epically high-fived, and with a clearing of a throat and a hum, they act like it never happened.
“So, what do you usually do in detention?” Paul asks as they start on the next knot.
John chuckles, “Clean usually. Windows, cauldrons, toilets. That sort of thing. Sometimes you sort books—here take that part for me and I’ll go under—sometimes you fix shelves. Really depends on the Professor.” He explains.
“Hm.” Paul hums, “Have you been to detention with every Professor?” He asks, but it isn’t lathered with judgmental subtext for once. It’s clear that Paul is just curious.
John shakes his head, “No. Haven’t been to McGonagall yet. But she’s new. It’s only a matter of time.”
Paul chuckles at this, “Doesn’t it bother you? Oh here, I’ll take that side.”
“Thank you. Not really. I mean I’d rather not go to detention, but it’s not the worst thing in the world. Oh nice, I didn’t see that loop.”
“I see. I guess we have different ideas of what things are bad.” Paul shrugs.
“Look, this loop is almost done, let’s finish it.” They juggle two conversations at once, “It’s nice to be alone sometimes. Detention lets me clear my head.”
“You can always just be alone and say you’re studying.” Paul suggests. “That’s what I do.”
John smiles, “ You? Alone? I can’t imagine you being alone. You’ve always got that Ravenclaw boy with you or Black or someone.”
“George. He’s my best mate. Here, thank you. Everyone needs to be alone sometimes.” Paul adds. John respected Paul for that. He agreed.
“So you lie about studying? Come on, Paul. Isn’t academic dishonesty worth losing points for?” He asks teasingly. Paul gives John a knowing look.
“Alright, you got me there. But at least I’m not in detention.”
John chuckles, “George isn’t a sixth-year, is he? I never see him in class.”
“Nope. He’s in his fifth-year. I’ve known him since we were boys, though.”
“Does he come from another pure-blood family?” John asks.
Paul nods, “The Harrisons. They’re a fine family. I actually think you and George would get along, you have a lot of the same humor.” John thought there was something ironic about Paul hating John but liking George if they were so similar.
“Do you only associate with pure-blood families, then?” He realizes maybe that question could be insensitive when he sees how Paul’s shoulders tense at it.
“No.” Paul shakes his head, “But pure-blood families tend to stay within their own circles. It’s just how they are. But I say it’s time to branch out. Times are changing, y’know.”
“Who are you and what have you done with Paul McCartney?” John asks with a chuckle and Paul looks at him with a smirk.
“I’m full of surprises, Lennon. You’ve just been too distracted to see me for who I really am.”
John raises his eyebrows, “Is that so?”
Paul smiles and shrugs.
“Y’know. I could say the same to you. But you don’t associate with dark-wizards, so I better not waste my time.” There’s some underlying hurt in John’s tone here that doesn’t go unnoticed.
Paul swallows thickly, “Look, I shouldn’t have said that.”
John was surprised to hear Paul admit that. Maybe Paul’s ego wasn’t as big as he initially considered. “Yeah.” Is all John says.
Their conversation was deep and distracting, because just as John says that, the rope was completely untied and was just one long, singular strand with two ends. John and Paul held each end, shocked at how it seemed to unravel itself after a while. They stare at the rope, and then up at one another, dumbfounded.
“Magnificent work, boys!” Whittaker says from the top of the stairs. He starts to walk down them. “I thought that would have taken you at least another hour or two. It’s half-past nine.”
John was shocked to hear that. The last hour flew by. It feels like just moments ago the clock read eight. The first hour seemed to move in complete slow motion, but the second could have only been a few minutes.
It must have been whatever charm was on that rope. John understood what Whittaker meant when he said “it should only take a few minutes” at the start of the task.
“See what I meant when I said you two would work together well?” He smirks knowingly. They both continue to stare blankly. John was almost sad it had come to an end… although he could never admit that.
Whittaker continues, “Unfortunately, I still expect to see you two bright and early Saturday morning. We’ll meet here at nine. Please bring any homework you need to work on. You two are dismissed.” He nods to the door and takes the rope from their hands, coiling it up and placing it back into the chest.
John didn’t know what to say, and neither did Paul. So the two of them simply walked out of the classroom quietly and parted their separate ways back to their common rooms.
John gets a bit brave, however. He turns around just as he starts to go up the stairs back to Gryffindor tower and turns to look at Paul. Sure enough, Paul was standing at the stairs headed to the Central Hall looking back up at John.
Maybe they could try to be friends.
Maybe.
John waves.
Paul waves back.
It must have been whatever charm was on that rope.
Notes:
Tumblr: @buttahpie
Chapter 9
Notes:
Yippeeee! Here’s another chapter for you all because you were all on the nice list!
Reading your comments brings me IMMENSE joy. Every morning when I wake up, it is the first thing I check on my phone. They have really helped me through this sickness (which I still haven’t kicked), and I am going to work on replying to as many of them as possible! Thank you my friends you all make me giggle and kick my feet like a joyous little kid.
Also- so many of you have commented that you’re afraid this fic will be abandoned! Baby’s… I have already written well over 100k words of this fic and if that happens it will not be any time soon! I am already writing in February of 1958 in my own work! Worry not, I love this project too much to ever give up on it!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Saturday morning had come around, and John would have to miss out on Quidditch practice for detention. He knew that missing a full Saturday of practice was pissing Elliot off more. Elliot was anti-John enough these days. Telling Elliot this did not go well, as John was met with a heavy eye roll. John intentionally left out any mention of Paul, knowing that was part of Elliots frustration with John to begin with.
Truthfully, John had spent the entire last two days thinking about his interaction with Paul on Wednesday night. He kept replaying their conversation in his head; how Paul laughed at the rope, his admittance to being wrong about what he said about John, his unexpected opinion on the changing times. It was a lot to take in from just one conversation.
In potions on Thursday, he didn’t try to outdo Paul for once. His potion work has improved over the last few weeks, so he still impresses Slughorn, but for the first time he doesn’t do it out of spite. He and Paul make eye-contact at the end of class but don’t say anything.
They’re both a bit confused on where they even stand with one another right now.
It was snowing this morning, soft and gentle. The castle has a quiet air to it. Many students went to Hogsmeade for the day, and the common areas were filled with primarily younger students. John loved Hogwarts on days like these: when it felt less like an academic institution and more like a cozy home. Fireplaces were burning, students wore their favorite sweaters, and the ceiling of the Great Hall dropped light snowflakes onto the burning candlesticks.
John makes his way into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, his jumper from Flynn’s mum keeping him warm.
“Alright, boys.” Whittaker takes off his outer-robe. “Now you both handled Wednesday night’s task very well, but today won’t be as such. Today is your real penalty.” He lights the fireplace with the wave of his wand, the room has a definite chill. “Regular detention rules apply. Absolutely no talking, that shouldn’t be hard for the two of you. You can work on homework, but you cannot do any personal, frivolous reading. We’ll go to the Great Hall for lunch together at noon. There will be no talking then, either. Detention ends at four. Do either of you have questions?” He looks between the two boys. Paul shakes his head.
“I’m a detention veteran at this point, Professor.” John smirks and sits at a desk. He’s had plenty of detention in his time, although he’s never had to do a full day of it like this. Whittaker must have been really upset with them when he outlined their punishment. John supposes they deserved it after months of bickering.
Paul sits at the desk in front of John, immediately pulling out several stacks of books and parchment.
“I’ll be in my office. I’ll come check on you two hourly. Lavatory breaks will be granted as necessary. No talking.” He leaves the two and moves up to his office, leaving the door cracked slightly open.
John sighs, looking around the room. He picks at his nails and bites a few off. He gazes out the window where it was snowing. It was getting colder every day, John wondered if this would be the first snow to stick. The promise of Christmas excited John. He always enjoyed the Holiday season but had spent last year in a Ministry cell. Maybe he’d get a better Christmas this year.
He picks at the wood of his desk, carving into it with his thumbnail. Other carvings include a heart with the initials ‘R’ and ‘S’ in it. Another carving is the date ‘28-04-1861’.
He checks the clock. Boredom was setting in quickly. John brought homework, but he wasn’t in the mood to start it yet. He drops his head in his arms, closing his eyes for a minute. Maybe he could finally catch up on sleep.
He must have successfully drifted to sleep for the first hour, because he’s rudely woken up by Whittaker hollering, “No sleeping, Lennon!” When he checks on the boys after the first hour. John wakes up drowsily. “It would be wise for you to work on some of the homework you are no doubt behind in.”
John expects Paul to turn over his shoulder and smirk at John for getting scolded, but it never happens. Whittaker returns to his office, and John pulls out his Astronomy textbook.
Paul scratches away at his parchment, completely enthralled in whatever he was working on. John tries to read the chapter from last night, but can’t focus from Paul’s incessant writing. He clears his throat, and when Paul doesn’t stop, he clears his throat louder a second time.
Paul stops writing for just a short moment, but then goes back to his work.
“Hard to read when you’re writing so loudly.” John whispers sarcastically, hoping it's enough to read as a joke. Paul doesn’t reply, always the rule-follower. John rolls his eyes, “You’re no fun.” He sighs.
John goes back to his book, but he has to reread the same paragraph three times because his mind keeps wandering. He gives up, dropping it on his table with a thud. Paul freezes again, sighs, and then keeps writing.
John gets curious, and leans forward in his seat to get a better look at Paul’s spread of work. What he finds is gruesome.
It was expansive. There was certainly more than the typical eight or nine classes of work to be done here. It looked like the Slytherin prefect was working on two essays simultaneously and had six textbooks open across the entire desk. Paul was hunched over his work, clearly overwhelmed.
John clears his throat, “How do you do it all?” He asks, genuinely curious.
Paul looks to John, blinking slowly, “We aren’t supposed to be talking.”
John clenches his jaw, “What is it with you and rule following? I was asking you a genuine question.” He scoffs, irritated. Even after their rope-untangling session, Paul was still Paul at the end of the day. John kicks his legs up onto his desk, resting his ankles on the table.
It’s quiet for a moment, the snow gets a bit heavier. John was bored out of his mind, so he took out his wand and spun it between his fingers like a drumstick, practicing some tricks he’d started over the summer when he had his wand but couldn’t use it for magic due to the trace. He drops it once, and it rolls against the stone slab on the floor under Paul’s seat.
John swallows, “Paul.” He whispers. Paul doesn’t reply, “Hey, McCartney.” No response. “Paul!” John says in an almost full voice.
“What?!” Paul turns around, irritated. He replies much louder than he meant to, and they both turn to check Whittaker’s door for any movement after his response. When the coast is clear, Paul looks back at John, dissatisfied.
“I dropped my wand under your chair.” He points.
Paul rolls his eyes and bends down, picking up John’s wand and handing it to him. John takes the end of it and pulls, but Paul doesn’t let go. They play a short game of tug-of-war where Paul has a mischievous grin plastered on his face. John smiles too. After one particular rough tug from John, Paul lets go, making John’s weight tumble backwards into his chair. He was sitting on two hind legs of the chair already, balancing the two front legs in the air, so he almost fell back into the desk behind him.
It makes Paul snort with an apologetic look on his face, holding his hand over his mouth to keep himself from laughing at John. John also snickers quietly, but holds himself together, placing all four legs carefully back on the ground. They both check Whittaker’s door again.
When the coast is clear, John speaks up again in a hushed voice, “What class is that for?”
“Advanced Arithmancy.” Paul explains. John didn’t even know that was a class you could take. He took basic Arithmancy their third year when they had to, and that was that for John.
“You put Ravenclaws to shame.” John says in disbelief, keeping his voice quiet.
Paul smiles. “I have to.” But then his smile fades slightly. “My dad… he uh. He won’t accept anything other than a high-end Ministry job for me.” Paul clears his throat, sorting some papers. “Not just any position at the Ministry. I can’t just be a secretary or a janitor. He wants me to be an Auror or an Advisor or an Investigator. Reckon he expects me to be the Minister one day.” Paul chuckles.
John sits with that for a minute, trying to take in what Paul really means by all that. His father is deciding his future for him. John rubs his eyebrow, speaking up “What do you want to do?” He asks.
Paul freezes and goes very quiet. All one could hear in the entire classroom was the gentle crackle of the fireplace. John wonders if anyone's ever asked Paul that before.
The dark-haired boy slowly turns fully in his seat, looking at John with his round-eyes. He blinks at him, “It doesn’t matter what I want.”
“Bull. Are you your dad?” John says a little too loud and Paul hushes him.
Paul looks to Whittaker’s door, then back at John, “N-no.” He says in a gentle whisper.
“Well then you don’t have to do what he says!” John shrugs quietly like it’s nothing. “You're your own person, after all.” John could hardly believe he was giving advice to Paul McCartney.
Paul chuckles in disbelief, “I’m afraid you don’t understand.” He shakes his head. “What does your dad want you to do?” Paul asks.
John’s face drops, and to his surprise, Paul picks up on it. Paul cocks his head, looking at John with something resembling an apology. John didn’t like it. He hates feeling belittled for his family. He glances away, “I never knew him. He didn’t want me.” He mutters. Surely, it’s just another thing for Paul to use against him in the future.
“I see.” Paul replies quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah well, what are you gonna do? Seems like mummy and daddy are just obsessed with you. You’ve got it all, don’t you, McCartney?” John deflects, trying to get under Paul’s skin. If there was anything John was good at, it was that. He hated being vulnerable or put on the spot.
But Paul doesn’t react. He doesn’t blow up like he usually does. “Just dad, for me.” He admits.
John’s surprised both by Paul’s lack of emotional response, and his statement. John had an idea of how perfect all pure-blood families were. Maybe he was wrong. “What d’you mean?”
Paul exhales, “Me mum died. In our third year.” He says, clearly still processing it, but suppressing it under years of deflection. There’s a haunted air to Paul’s tone, and it chills John to the bone.
It hit John like a wall. For starters, he could see Paul for the first time. Really see him. He saw him as the sixteen year-old boy who was horribly overwhelmed by his father’s expectations and the reality of a mother who died prematurely.
But it really hit him because John also lost his mum. Just recently. She was killed unfairly and unexpectedly this year.
“M-mine too.” John’s breath hitches. “Me mum, that is. She just died a few months ago.” His voice quivers.
The air went deathly thin as the two boys stared at one another, finding a true middle-ground between them. Neither really knew what to say. It’s a terrible thing losing a mother when you’re just a boy. John’s never met anyone else who knows how that feels, and he’s willing to bet Paul hasn’t either.
Whittaker was right, they weren’t so different after all.
Before anything else can be said however, Whittaker is opening the door of his office with a frown. “Absolutely no talking, you two.” He states yet again.
“Yes Professor.” Paul instantly nods and turns back to his work, ignoring the moment of brevity the two just shared altogether.
John frowns at Paul, but nods at Whittaker, turning back to his own book, and stealing a few glances at the back of Paul’s dark head every so often.
The promise of winter also meant the sun setting much earlier. It was almost four, and John and Paul could see that the sun was already much lower in the sky. The day dragged on since Lunch. Paul moved on from Advanced Arithmancy to Alchemy and then to Ancient Runes. Paul’s classes were much more complex than John’s, and it seemed he had already completed Magical Creatures, Charms and History of Magic on the N.E.W.T level, meaning he had more time for other classes.
John was impressed, truthfully. He always watered Paul down to an overachiever, and even if he was, Paul was more advanced in his studies than any other sixth-year. He was clearly taking classes with seventh-years. John respected that, although he’d never be that ambitious himself.
Sure enough, four o’clock came around, and Paul hadn’t spoken to John much more since the morning (other than a bit of banter here and there). Any excursion into their mutual grieving was avoided entirely. It was for the best, John was still processing everything that happened last year.
“I hope you two have learned something from this.” Whittaker says just before four. “I expect no more disrespect in class from you two.”
Paul gathers his things, packing them into his bag, “I understand, Professor.” Paul says. “I think things will be better.” He says to John.
John’s a little surprised by it, but nods “I agree.”
“Fantastic. Enjoy your evening. See you in class on Monday.” He excuses them about twenty minutes early and they both start to exit the class.
When they get to the door, John’s mouth works before his brain, “Did Slytherin have practice today?” He asks Paul. He isn’t sure why he suddenly wanted to talk to Paul more.
He shakes his head, “We canceled today because of the weather.”
John smiles, they were in the hall now, “ Not because the Captain was in detention.” He says playfully.
Paul looks less amused, “I have to go, I’ve got tutoring with George.”
John’s jaw drops, “Tutoring? Don’t you ever need a break?”
Paul chuckles, “Oh yeah, but I’ll never get my Ancient Runes homework done without him.”
This is even more surprising to John, “Wait, George is tutoring you ?”
Paul nods, “Don’t act so surprised. I tutor him for his O.W.Ls and he helps me with Runes. He’s got a real gift for them.”
“It’s just hard for me to believe that you would take help from anyone, especially someone younger than you.”
“That’s just the thing, though. Ravenclaws are sorted by intelligence, not work ethic. They’re two different things. Earlier today, when you said I put Ravenclaws to shame, I thought—I really don’t. I’m only smart because I’ve worked for it, George is naturally smart.”
John hums, “I’d never thought of it that way, I suppose.”
They stop at the top of the stairs, looking at one another quietly, waiting for the other to speak first. They both speak simultaneously:
“I’m sorry about your mum-”
“-I know what it’s like to lose a mum-”
Both John and Paul smile sheepishly at it.
“Sorry.” Paul clears his throat, “I shouldn’t have spoken over you.”
“S’alright.” John nods.
They’re both quiet for a moment again, patiently waiting for the other to end the conversation.
“Well… I had better go. George hates when I’m late to things.” Paul nods, holding his books to his chest and then running down the stairs, leaving John behind entirely.
Elliot stirred his tea with the wave of his finger, his face tucked into his Quidditch playbook. John sat across from him at the table in the Great Hall. Elliot doesn’t look up from his book.
John rolls his eyes and reaches for some of his own food, not saying anything. If Elliot was still sour about everything, that was his own problem. Arthur sits next to John, accompanied by Collette and Lance.
“How was practice?” John asks them.
They’re all very quiet, looking around the table at one another. John picks at his food. It’s awkward for everyone involved. He notices how Lance looks at Elliot, who still has made no recognition of John being present.
Arthur clears his throat, “It was good. Cold.”
The other two on the team look at one another tensely. They then nod, “We missed you.” Collette says quietly.
“The substitute can’t seem to catch a ball.” Lance chuckles and the other Gryffindors who weren’t ignoring John laugh with him.
John keeps his gaze fixed on Elliot, who still seemed to be pouting. He sighs, “Elliot? What did you think about practice?” He asks, ballsy as usual. The entire table goes deathly still.
Elliot looks up slowly from his book, stone faced. “It was fine.”
“He speaks!” John claps his hands. Elliot looks less than amused, however. Arthur nudges John in the side for that, John lets out a slow huff.
“How was detention, John?” Collette changes the subject.
John nods, “Typical. Honestly it wasn’t so bad.”
“With your sworn enemy?” Lance asks with a lifted eyebrow.
John shrugs, “Maybe I misjudged Paul.”
With that, Elliot stands up quickly, abandoning the table without saying a word and leaving the rest of his team and friends dumbfounded. John tries to ignore the sizzling sense of frustration and anger under his skin as he watches who he thought was his best friend storm out of the Great Hall like some immature preteen.
The other three Gryffindors are rendered completely silent, unsure of what to think about the ticking time bomb that was brewing on the team. Collette digs into her food, Lance coughs awkwardly, and Arthur shakes his head in disappointment for his friend’s behavior.
“Unforgivable curses.” Whittaker says to the entire class, the chalk on the board writing out what he was saying for him. The class tenses when he says it. They had all been patiently waiting to start this unit. “Extremely dangerous, extremely powerful.” He addresses his students.
John bounced his leg under the table, unable to focus. He’s had a few run-ins with what these curses are capable of. All students had their speculations, their fears. But John has seen it. He’s lived it.
The leg bouncing must have really been bothering McCartney, because after a minute he’s nudging John’s side with his elbow, making the Gryffindor stop. John scowls at Paul for that, who ignores John and keeps his gaze fixed on the chalkboard as he puts his notes down.
“Who can tell me what the three unforgivables are?” Whittaker asks. Paul raises his hand, along with a few other students who hesitate. The tension was palpable. “Mr. McCartney?”
“The Imperius Curse , the Cruciatus Curse , and the Killing Curse. ” Paul says. John flinches at the sound of the Cruciatus Curse . He knew that one all too well.
“Indeed. Ten points to Slytherin. Now do we know why these curses are so dangerous?” Whittaker asks the classroom. John’s mouth tastes of mercury. “Miss Powell?”
Cynthia speaks up, “They’re the most powerful spells in the Wizarding world. They take a great deal of power to conjure, and they can result in great suffering and death.”
“Very well. Ten points to Gryffindor.” Whittaker nods. “Now boys and girls, these spells have questions surrounding their legality. And casting any of them will guarantee expulsion from Hogwarts.” John feels eyes on him. “Just because they’re not explicitly illegal does not make them safe. Killing another wizard is, in fact, quite illegal. It is not my job to teach you how to cast these spells, but I am to teach you about them and their history. I am to teach you how to survive them, and ultimately avoid them. This is a Defense Against the Dark Arts class, not a Dark Arts class. Are there any questions?” He asks. The class is very silent.
Every wizard who grew up in the Wizarding understood the danger of these spells. They were sinister and taboo, and no one ever spoke of them openly. Even the muggle-born students knew, they learned quickly.
John was probably the only student in here who had ever even tried to cast them. And he had succeeded in casting all three at some point. A year ago, he would sneak away into the forbidden forest to test out what he was learning from the book… his skin crawls at the memory. It took many months of rest and rehabilitation to kick his obsession with The Grimoire.
“Now, these curses were declared unforgivable in 1717. Some witches and wizards heavily influenced by the occult will believe that use of them makes salvation impossible.” Whittaker continues on with his lesson as the other sixth-years begin taking notes, but John can’t ignore the bile in his mouth.
Regret is a funny thing. When one is under the influence of something dark and confusing, it’s easy to get lost of who you are. John’s relationship to the spellbook that taught the deepest and darkest of magic was like that of a dirty drug.
You try it once out of curiosity, and before you know it, you’re relying on it to get out of bed in the mornings.
The lesson was difficult to get through, but on the bright side, he and Paul went the entire class period without saying or doing something nasty to the other.
Notes:
tumblr: @buttahpie
Chapter 10
Notes:
VIC: very important chapter.
Happy update day! Very happy to be on some sort of schedule again haha.
Also I’m still sick. But much better, finally I have some energy to write new material.
Happy (almost) New year!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
John waited impatiently at the fountain in the Central Hall. He felt a little silly with what he was wearing, but Arthur insisted he needed to dress nicer for the Slug Club. He was in a tweed jacket with elbow-patches that was handed down from Arthur, and he felt terribly self conscious. He runs his hands through his hair for the hundredth time, obsessed with how it lays. He’s never put this much effort into his appearance before.
He hears footsteps come from the Slytherin dungeon area, and he turns to see Paul approaching him.
Paul was dressed incredibly well. He wore a smart waist-jacket that was blue, and had a silk button-up shirt underneath it. His hair was combed nicely, and he wore expensive Oxford shoes. Everything looked very new and tailored, just like his robes. Of course, his polished prefect badge was shining on his chest, glimmering in the light and completing the look entirely.
“Must be someone you want to impress, then?” John stands up from where he was sitting on the fountain, readjusting his jacket.
Paul smiles, “If Professor Slughorn counts, then yes.” He puts his hands in his tailored-pant pockets. “First Slug Club meeting, how exciting.” Paul smiles and beckons with his head, starting to lead John to where they were headed.
John nods, “Feels rather posh, a little out of my league I must say.”
Paul snorts at that, no doubt agreeing with John. “Is Arthur going to be there?” He asks.
“I think so. He offered to take me but after I told him Slughorn asked specifically for you, he insisted we honor that.” John explains.
Paul hums, “Wise move. Slughorn would probably be offended if we didn’t.”
Maybe John didn’t quite realize how uptight Slughorn really was. He was so warm and jolly in class. John knew about how Slughorn collected students like trophies, he felt polarized about being one of them. Part of him felt terribly out of place, the other part of him felt properly recognized. He would need to write to his aunt about it, she’d be thrilled to hear the news.
Paul takes John up to the faculty wing, the two of them only making small conversation here and there. John was still adapting to this new version of Paul he was getting to know. He felt so secretive, and John still had a hard time feeling he could trust Paul. He was hesitant to tell him things. What if Paul used them against John in the future?
That was just the thing: Paul’s spoken to John with so much vitriol in the past, and John hasn’t understood why. Sure, John wasn’t much kinder to Paul himself, and certainly gave the lad reasons to retaliate in unkindness. But Paul’s initial meeting with John was nothing short of aggressive. The silent treatment, the profiling, the constant agitating.
Calling John a ‘dark wizard’ hurt, but it wasn’t entirely untrue, after all. John has dabbled in the Dark Arts more than any other sixth-year at Hogwarts typically would. Maybe Paul was just afraid? But that seemed unlikely, considering the fact that Paul was a Slytherin. The Slytherin house produced the most dark wizards of any house. Besides, these days dark wizards are hardly common. There were more laws surrounding the Dark Arts, more penalties. John doubted a serious dark wizard would rise any time soon. Paul was smart enough to think the same way, wasn’t he?
Perhaps it was an education thing, Paul felt superior to John for his intelligence and status. That seemed likely, but what was the sudden switch? John proving to Paul that he was also smart? That was intended to irritate Paul, not make Paul more apt to John’s presence. John would take it either way, the less irritating Paul was, the better.
John thinks most of it just boiled down to house rivalries. But even then, John was still a little butt hurt that Paul had wished for his ‘big, ugly nose’ to break. That had nothing to do with their house.
His nose wasn’t that ugly, was it?
If John wasn’t already feeling self conscious from his clothes, the reminder of Paul’s opinions of him contributed.
“Here we are.” Paul knocks on an elaborate door in the faculty wing twice, and it opens wide into Slughorn’s quarters. John’s never been inside a Professor’s dormitory before, and it was less like a dormitory and more like a nice flat.
Slughorn had it lit up nicely, there were some enchanted candelabras throughout the room but the primary source of light were these grand, Chinese lanterns hanging above the large, round table in the center of the room.
“Paul, John! Please come in!” Slughorn cheerily invites them in.
“Good evening, Slughorn.” Paul shakes his hand.
“Ah, lovely to see you both!” He shakes John’s hand, “Splendid to have you join us, John. Come, sit.”
Slughorn gestures to the table, where Dorian and Cynthia already sat. John didn’t realize Dorian was part of the club, although it makes sense considering he was headboy. Arthur was already there as well, along with the headgirl, a Slytherin named Margot Avery. There were four more seats after John and Paul sat down (John in between Slughorn and Arthur, Paul across from John by Margot and an empty seat). They were still waiting for a few more students.
There were small hors d'oeuvres on the plates in front of them, wizard food that John could tell was high end, not what was usually served in the Great Hall (which was typically universal dishes in both the muggle and Wizarding world). No one was eating yet, so John held his hands in his lap, terrified of making the wrong move. There were even extra spoons and forks set on the sides of the plate. John swallowed thickly, he had no idea what he was doing, and he was about to make a fool of himself in front of the classiest students in school. Perhaps he was too ambitious in his efforts to get here.
He catches Cynthia’s eye, she looks lovely. Dorian seemed to be rather surprised to see John here at all, but he held his tongue.
Two more knocks on the door are heard, and Slughorn gets up to let them
John leans to Arthur, “What the hell am I doing here?” He whispers.
Arthur chuckles quietly, “Just fake it until you make it, Jonathan.”
“Not my name.”
Two more students come in: The pretty Hufflepuff girl Jane Asher and Graham Black. Paul takes special note of how Paul sits up when they enter the room. It annoys John, although he doesn’t understand why. They sit across from John as well, but still leave an empty seat next to Paul. John’s aware of how each student looks mildly confused to see him there. He suppresses how naked it makes him feel.
“Well, I know we’re all hungry.” Slughorn says, “Any word on if Mr. Harrison will be joining us tonight?” He looks to Dorian, who shrugs.
“He should be.” Paul chimes in, “I’m not sure why he’s late.” John understands the empty chair next to Paul now, it was for George.
“Well, let us eat and he may join us when he does!” Slughorn sits in his seat, “Everyone, let us give a warm welcome to Mr. John Lennon, who has joined our little society.” He smiles and claps for John. Arthur and Cynthia both clap for him too, but the rest of the table awkwardly stares at John. He sees Jane want to clap as well, but she hesitates after a look from Graham.
John uncomfortably clears his throat and politely nods.
Slughorn senses the tension and with a chuckle introduces the meals, “Tonight we have prepared some phoenix feather puffs.” He explains, John looks down at the little pastries, “Charmed goat cheese, a bit spicy but laced with pepper up potion. Then a bit of salad, got to get our greens in, yes? Our entree is a bit of Venison with moondew and elderberry sauce and some heirloom carrots, a personal favorite of mine. I’ve also made sure there was more of that delightful bread from last time and dessert will be Frosted Fairy Ice cream. I’ve had the elves make each of your favorite flavors for you.” Slughorn chortles. John felt overwhelmed by the amount of food that would be eaten tonight. It wasn’t that long ago John was eating rations from the ministry prison.
The other students begin eating their phoenix puffs. John’s a bit hesitant at first, but takes a small bite of one of his.
The flavor was complex and rich, and he couldn’t deny how wonderful it tasted. He’d never had any food of such high quality before, especially not at Hogwarts. Perhaps being here would be completely worth it.
“So, Professor.” Dorian speaks up, “How were your midterm exams?” He asks. Mid-term was a few weeks ago, they must only meet once a month.
Slughorn smiles, “Ah, quite the year I must say. I’ve been rather impressed with the student body this term.” He explains.
John can feel how Graham Black hasn’t quit staring him down. He makes a special effort not to make eye-contact, “Yes well, it seems even the lowest of students get the highest praise these days.” Graham says, and John instantly knows he is speaking about him. Arthur pushes his leg up against John’s under the table.
“Shame about those fourth-years, though.” Arthur says, not letting anyone engage in Graham’s comment.
Slughorn chuckles, “I warned them about the dangers of love potions. Had quite the mess on my hands for a moment there. I think I’ll have to wait to teach about love potions until the fifth or sixth year.” There are a few scattered chuckles among the guests.
John sees how Dorian and Cynthia glance at one another. He quickly looks away, sparing him any more embarrassment.
The conversation is bland to John, mostly just students going around and commenting on recent gossip and news throughout the school, just for Slughorn to spill some information students probably shouldn’t know or to overshare. He stays mostly quiet, unsure of how to fit in. During the entree, he picks up on how every student is on their best behavior, their tones polite and posture perfect. Even Arthur seemed to be playing the part. John felt horribly out of place, and it was then that he realized every single one of these guests came from a pure-blood family.
John was the only Muggle-Born in the room. He suppresses the concern that fills his veins from that. He doesn’t think Slughorn was like that, but he knows that pure-bloods consistently had more impressive track-records at Hogwarts. The system was set up for them. John also knows that it’s the pure-bloods who aren’t above code-switching and making them look like the best they can be.
What’s ironic is it’s the pure-bloods who don’t have to do that.
They were finishing up with the entree when the door opens, and all heads turn to see George. He looked frazzled, embarrassed even.
“I’m so sorry, Professor Slughorn.” He apologizes as he takes his seat next to Paul.
“No worries, George! We’re pleased to see you here!” He chuckles warmly.
John hears George mutter to Paul “Rings.” Paul nods knowingly, and whispers something back to George. John can’t ignore how his curiosity gets the better of him, but then he and Paul make eye-contact and he’s quickly looking away.
They were all half-way done with their ice cream when John was finally asked a question, “John, how has returning to Hogwarts treated you?” Slughorn asks him. Everyone holds their breath, and suddenly John feels like a contestant in a pageant, carefully formulating the best answer to win. All eyes are on him, and he hates how he feels put on the spot.
He clears his throat, “It’s been… challenging. But good. It’s nice to be back.” This was a vague enough answer. It’s actually been rather hard and completely isolating, but this was the last group of people John wanted to disclose that to.
The table stares at him, blinking awkwardly.
“I can imagine!” Slughorn smiles, “You’ll be taking your O.W.Ls after the break I assume?”
John nods.
“Shame you can’t just take it with the other fifth-years.” Dorian says with a twinge of malice in his subtext.
“Yes, well I’m not a fifth-year, am I?” John swallows, trying not to let it get to him. He feels Arthur’s leg up against his again as if to say careful, don’t push it .
“I think it’s great you’re taking them at all.” Cynthia says kindly.
“I didn’t have much of a choice.” John says playfully, although it was true.
“Too bad you’re missing a full year of N.E.W.T preparation.” Graham says pointedly.
John chuckles, “Oh, I don’t intend to take N.E.W.Ts.”
The entire room went silent, someone sputters on their ice cream. Everyone stares at John like he had a second head. He realizes that this isn’t the crowd for such blasphemies. Of course all of these students—many of them Prefects and Headboy/girl, all of them pure-bloods—would want a Job at the Ministry.
To John’s surprise, it’s Paul who speaks up, “There are plenty of options for work after Hogwarts.” He says. It was one of the first things Paul said tonight.
“You can’t be serious.” Dorian chuckles.
“What are you going to do after Hogwarts?” Graham asks.
John shrugs nonchalantly, “I’m not sure yet, although I can’t imagine the Ministry would take me.”
“Why is that?” Jane asks.
Margot, the Headgirl snorts at Jane’s question. John clenches his jaw, “Well, Miss Asher, was it?” She nods, “The ministry doesn’t take kindly to delinquents, usually.”
“This ice cream is delicious, Slughorn.” Arthur says, hating the direction this evening was headed in.
“Delinquent? You aren’t a delinquent, John!” Slughorn is equally aware of the discomfort.
“No, just a criminal.” Dorian laughs.
“Dorian!” Cynthia berates him and he shrugs innocently.
“It’s true!” Dorian scoffs.
Slughorn chuckles uncomfortably, “Mr. Pritchard that is not-”
“No, it’s true. If Dorian wants to believe that, let him.” John sets his spoon down, feeling his neck heat up. The last time this happened he had an outburst outside of Hogsmeade.
“I really enjoy this ice cream, Paul, don’t you enjoy this ice cream?” Arthur sweats.
“Fantastic ice cream, thank you Slughorn.” Paul shoots a pointed look at Dorian and Graham who were picking on John.
“So, what happened then, that made them change their mind about you?” Graham asks.
“Boys, please.” Cynthia shakes her head.
John raises an eyebrow, “Fair trial. Was let off with a few hours of service to the Ministry and a solemn vow to never practice Dark Magic again.” This was the truth.
“Headmaster Dippet stood as witness for John!” Slughorn adds.
“What flavor of Ice cream is yours?” Arthur asks Paul, “Mine is pineapple mango.”
“Fair trial! That’s likely.” Graham snorts.
Paul drops his spoon loudly, “Do you doubt the validity of John’s trial?”
Dorian speaks up, “Since when do you care? You despise John.”
“My ice cream is strawberry with fudge.” George says calmly, sitting between Dorian and Paul.
“My father was the Judge in John’s trial, thank you very much.” Paul says aptly.
John had forgotten this, he knew the last name ‘McCartney’ sounded familiar but never pieced the puzzle together. That would explain how Paul knew so much about John before they ever properly met. Now that John thinks about it, he plainly remembers Paul’s dad judging his trial, although at the time he didn’t know he was Paul’s dad.
The bullies at the table shut up after this, realizing that they now have insulted Paul, one of their own. The silence at the table is too much to handle, the room feels several degrees warmer and John’s cheeks must be flushed.
Jane speaks up in a timid, mousey voice, “My ice cream is caramel and vanilla bean.”
“Well…that went… well.” Arthur sighs as he and John walk back to the Gryffindor common room.
John was angry, he had been totally singled out and ganged up on. “I’m not sure I belong in the Slug Club.” He frowns.
Arthur shrugs, “It really wasn’t as bad as you’re afraid. I think Slughorn could tell who was causing the issues.”
“I just don’t fit in with that crowd.” John sticks his hands in his pockets.
“Maybe, but I don’t see why not. I don’t really, either.”
“Well, you’re wicked smart and a brilliant wizard.” John scoffs.
Arthur stops in his tracks, “You’re those things, too.”
John almost laughs at that, “Yeah but they all respect you.”
“They don’t respect you because they’re afraid of you. They know you could whip them in anything.” Arthur starts walking again, “Besides, you earned your place in the Slug Club. If they don’t like that they can take it up with Slughorn.”
He supposed Arthur had a point, although it still made him angry. “So, when is Elliot going to talk to me again?” John asks, taking a detour away from Gryffindor tower. Arthur doesn’t question it, he just follows his side.
“Elliot is being a big baby. I don’t even know what’s going on with him.” Arthur sighs, clearly disappointed in their friend. “Every time I bring it up to him he deflects, changes the subject.”
John rolls his eyes at this, “Absurd, really. I mean maybe I was a little crass during the match but it’s been two weeks, he needs to move on.”
They wander into the clock tower, not really sure where they were going to end up. However, they quickly realize they aren’t alone in the tower, and both instantly recognize that on the other side of the room, behind the caged wall was a posse of students.
The very group they just shared dinner with.
Arthur grabs John’s wrist and pulls him back behind a pile of bins and boxes of old armor. John carefully peaks his head around the side, making sure they weren’t caught. To their relief, they still seemed incognito, holding their breath.
“You can’t be serious.” Graham says loudly, they clearly still assumed they were alone. “It’s here ?”
John feels that awful pit in his stomach he got back in Hogsmeade. He listens closely, curious about what all the fuss was about. Something told him he would be involved whether he liked it or not.
“Of course it is, the Minister insisted it stays here.” Dorian speaks up, his voice a little more hushed than Graham’s. With them was Paul, George, Margot and Cynthia. John wanted to jump out and scare them, he wanted to take Cynthia away from whatever this mess was.
“But why?” Cynthia asks, her voice coated in concern.
“He said Hogwarts was the safest place for it. He said he was afraid of it getting in the hands of the wrong person.” Dorian elaborates.
“I don’t like any of this. I don’t want anything to do with it.” Paul says, starting to walk in John’s direction to the door back to Gryffindor tower. John slips behind their little barricade, his heart suddenly racing.
“Paul!” Graham stops him, “You’ve been acting weird all night. Are you with us or not?”
John’s legs feel like jelly. What was happening here? What did he and Arthur stumble upon? He turns to his friend, who had a look of concern and confusion on his face.
Paul huffs, “You’re all going to get in trouble for this. I know it. I care about my future, so I’m staying out of it. Come on, George.” More footsteps head in John’s direction and he holds his breath. They were not out of sight from the door. Quickly, Arthur pulls out his wand and casts a disillusionment charm on him and John, camouflaging them into the environment, albeit not very well.
“This is about Lennon, isn’t it?” Dorian calls out.
Now John was really starting to feel stressed, he and Arthur shared a look of complete apprehension.
Paul sighs, “No.”
“It is, isn’t it? Ever since you were in detention with him last week you’ve been strange. You never talk about him anymore. What did Whittaker make you two do? Snog?” Graham prods.
It makes Dorian chuckle. They can hear Cynthia scoff, “You’re all being babies. I’m with Paul on this. We should tell the Headmaster.”
John has no doubt this is the same subject he overheard Paul and George discussing in the alleyway in Hogsmeade.
“He already knows. Dippet is the one who arranged for the book to stay here.” Dorian informs. “I’m saying we need to make him find it again, get him out of this school for good.”
John’s teeth clench, this was not going in a direction he liked. His heart rate starts to rise and he pushes himself to relax, he couldn’t have another outburst.
“Why?” Cynthia asks, “What has he ever done to any of you?”
“Dark magic, get away with things we never would, he’s a criminal.” Graham adds. John knows exactly who they were speaking about. “He’s gotten special treatment, if any of us did what he did we’d never be able to return to Hogwarts.”
“Those mudbloods get away with everything.” Dorian bites. John exhaled darkly, he was going to snap.
“Now they’re even let into the Slug Club, too.” Margot scoffs, John and Arthur had forgotten she was there.
“Stop it!” Paul says, it’s loud and startling to everyone. “You’re the leaders of this school. Think of all the muggle-born students you are the Head boy and girl of. A prefect of. It’s terrible and wrong for you all to say such things. We are the future of the Wizarding World. Shame on you. The Ministry would be foolish to take any of you as an official. What if a dark wizard rises to power? Would you just let him kill innocent people? Innocent muggle-borns? You’d probably all be followers of him! What kind of people are you?” Paul’s voice cracks. The room goes dead silent.
John’s body suddenly feels on fire, alive. To hear such a call for accountability was inspiring, but to hear it from Paul’s mouth made it infinitely better. John really believed he misjudged Paul now. Arthur looked equally impressed.
Paul was right. If these were the future of law and order in the Wizarding World, there would be an all out war in no time. The seeds were being planted now. John understood what Whittaker meant when he said Paul did a lot for the school. Paul was the only prefect who seemed to really care for all of their students.
John always thought prefects were stuck-up. They were posh and obsessed with titles and praise. But now he understands what a real prefect should be: a leader.
He gained immense respect for Paul at that moment.
“Dark Wizards are made out of people like John.” Graham says quieter.
John starts to get up to beat him up, he couldn’t listen to any more without interfering. But Arthur grabs hold of his wrist, holding him back. John turns to look at him, and Arthur just shakes his head with a pleading look.
Don’t prove them right.
“Well, take care of him yourselves, then. I won’t be your puppet any longer.” Paul says and storms out of the clock tower, George on his heels.
Everything was starting to make sense to John. Although he wasn’t happy about it.
So much for a normal year at Hogwarts.
“I’m with Paul. I want nothing to do with any of this. John’s my friend.” Cynthia’s voice says, and John and Arthur can hear her light steps heading to the door. Then there's the sound of a struggle, and a small yelp from Cyn’s mouth. It takes everything in John not to lose it at that. The only thing holding him back was Arthur’s hands on him.
“You’re going to do exactly as I tell you, got it?” Dorian said through gritted teeth.
Cynthia gasps, the fear in her breath obvious. John was totally trapped, he leaned around the barricade to see that Dorian held her wrists in his hands and she struggled against them.
John’s blood boiled. He’d perform the Cruciatus on Dorian if it wouldn’t prove their point. His heart broke for Cyn as a primal instinct in him screamed at his nervous system to protect her.
“Dorian. Stand down.” Graham says softly, placing a hand on Dorian’s shoulder. He drops his girlfriend’s wrists forcefully. Cynthia seemed to be on the verge of tears. John gripped his fists, full of rage.
“So what now? Paul could go tell John.” Margot asks.
“Let him, I can’t imagine John ever trusting him, not after the way Paul’s treated him.” Graham adds.
“Don’t worry about it.” Dorian says, a little calmer, “I’ll take care of Paul. The Headmaster won’t find out about our little… plan. But we need to get out of here. We never should have met here to begin with.” Dorian says, “Come on, Cynthia.”
He grabs her and drags her to the door with resistance. John could hear how she mutters apologies to Dorian, almost like she was begging him not to do something to her. It made John feel horribly sick.
“Come on.” Graham says to Margot, and in an instant John and Arthur are finally left alone.
It’s a lot for the both of them to process. They let the door close and wait a few minutes for the coast to be clear before standing up, letting the disillusionment curse wear off.
John was seething, he starts to the door after Cynthia.
“John, wait!” Arthur grabs him again.
“Please don’t hold me back this time, I can’t let him treat her this way.” John pulls away from Arthur.
“John, no. You can’t. If they know you overheard all of that it will be a nightmare. They’ll make sure you get expelled for good. They’ll go to any length to make sure you’re gone. I think they’re already doing it.” Arthur pleads with John.
John shakes his head, angry and confused, “But it’s not right. I’ve got to protect Cyn-
“You can’t. You’ll only make it worse for her. Come on, we’ve got to tell a Professor.” Arthur says. “Cyn will be alright, she’s strong and smart. But if Dorian thinks she played any part in you overhearing that conversation he’s going to make things so much worse for her.”
John supposed Arthur was right. It was terribly convenient that they ended up here at the right time. Dorian would be suspicious that Cynthia told John about it. He takes some deep breaths, coming down from his panic. It was so much to learn about at one time, John felt overwhelmed.
Arthur and him spend more time in the clock tower discussing it all. It took John a long time to come back to his senses fully, but he does it without an ounce of Dark Magic or outburst. He’d take that as a win. Arthur stayed with John the entire time, letting him be angry, listening to his friend patiently as he spews out his anger and rids the malice from his system verbally.
They head back to the common room with some fundamental truths revealed: Dorian Pritchard and Graham Black were Wizard supremacists who were out to get John. Paul and Cynthia have both been roped into their mess (although John still doesn’t understand why). And The Grimoire was back in Hogwarts somewhere, on purpose. John’s worst addiction and most dangerous obsession.
It was going to be a long night.
Notes:
Tumblr: @buttahpie
Chapter 11
Notes:
Happy new year!!
My new years gift to you all is the start of act two of our little story. Another VIC (very-important-chapter), if you will.
I hope 2025 brings you all health, safety, kindness and love. Oh and Beatles Yaoi.
Also— regarding my illness for those of you curious: I’ve been diagnosed with pneumonia. Which sucks, but it extra sucks because I am an asthmatic. Pneumonia literally kills asthmatics (lol). But don’t worry! I am truly on the mend, I’ve gotten lots of medical help and have managed to stay out of the hospital (albeit barely. It was legitimately scary for a few days there…). I have made an effort to write and update when I feel good enough because it is so uplifting and truly my escape. Thank you for being part of my recovery, truly. My doctor thinks I will be myself in about two weeks. I intend to keep updating, if I die I’ll leave it in my will to have my Beta readers update what has been written for me haha.
Thank you all for your kind messages, comments and inboxes regarding my health specifically. You all have made a stranger feel very loved. That is a wonderful thing. Thank you.
Sorry for the long notes. Let’s get to this very important chapter….
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The corridor is dark and dusty. The air feels horribly thick, and a sense of unease floods John’s senses. He pushes his glasses up and takes out his wand, casting Lumos .
He continues down the narrow passageway, something pulling him from within, something dark and unnatural. He can hear the faint whispers of thousands of voices calling to him. He knew he shouldn’t be here, but every time he tried to turn back, he was sucked back in.
The hair stands on the back of his neck, his mouth goes dry. He’s never been in this part of the castle before.
The haunting whispers get louder until they sound like a choir of hissing ghosts. He reaches the end of the corridor, the sound of distant water dripping could be heard. He comes across a white sheet, stark against the black environment. John’s hand reaches out to the old sheet. He pulls it away, eager to subside the horrific screeching coming from underneath. A cloud of dust flies off when he pulls it away. A chest is revealed, heavy and dark.
His mouth goes dry, he should go back to the common room, but he can’t. He’s been hearing these whispers for weeks now, and he’s finally found them. He bends down to the chest, unlocking the rusted, heavy padlock with a swish of his wand.
The large chest cracks open, and John pushes the lid up the rest of the way, revealing an otherwise barren container.
However, in the center of the chest sat a book. Thick, heavy, and bound in a leather John’s never seen before. It was patchy, different shades of leather stitched together across the cover. Some of it was rough and cracked, some of it was smoother. He reaches his shaking hand out to touch the book, knowing the hissing came from it.
When his hand touches it, the shrill whispers finally subside. John picks it up, it’s lighter than it looks. He pulls it out of the chest, examining the book. It was rather thick, and its spine resembled that of a human’s spine: boney vertebrae sticking out in a twisting scoliosis making the bind. John looks over the entire cover, there doesn’t seem to be a title or author inscribed anywhere.
He kneels on the ground, placing the book in his lap and continuing to use his wand as his light. John runs the pads of his fingers across the stretched leather. It was rough, dry. Nothing like the leather that books were typically bound in.
John pulls open the front cover slowly. The pages stick together and ache with each movement. He then thumbs through the pages, flipping through them quickly. Most of it was written in a language he didn’t understand, and much of it was even inscribed in foreign letters unlike the ones he recognizes.
He flips to the front page, where a table of contents had been written in ink in English, no doubt by the book's previous owner.
The chapters had various titles, but there were some that stood out to John in a way that made his stomach flip and twist: Unforgivables, Hand of Glory, Inferius, Dybbuks, Necromancy…Horcruxes.
John’s stomach twisted as his mouth filled with bile. He tried to put the book down, but couldn’t. It sucked him in. It chose him.
He looks to the top of the page, where written in messy ink was the book’s title.
The Grimoire.
John shot up out of bed, panting and sweaty. He gasped, his nervous system on high alert. His heart was racing, and he wasn’t able to calm his breathing. He stared around at where he was, clocking all of his surroundings.
He was in his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory, Elliot was snoring away in the bed next to him. The small fireplace in the center of the room was burning softly, outside the snow gently fell. It was the middle of the night.
John takes a few deep breaths, but his anxiety was too much. He couldn’t control himself. He felt all of his nerves were electrocuted, and his head was spinning.
Ever since he found out about it being near him again, he hasn’t been able to sleep very well. It was exhausting and terrifying.
His dream felt so real. It was the exact events of how he found it . He had been forced to relive it again, and couldn’t handle it. Not knowing what he knows now. His mind was racing, he tries reminding himself that he’s safe, but it’s no use. His mouth was sand, his legs jelly.
John grips his bedsheets, squeezing his fingers into the quilt, trying to find some purchase. He closes his eyes and holds his breath until he feels like he can think again.
He runs through his list:
My Name is John Winston Lennon. I’m sixteen, no, seventeen years-old. I’m from Liverpool. My birthday is October 9th. I am a student at Hogwarts. I’m in Gryffindor House. I am alive. These are my thoughts. I am safe. I am safe. I am safe.
His breathing finally relaxes, his fingers loosen their white-knuckled grip on the bed sheets, and his heart rate slows. He slowly opens his eyes, and he can finally think freely.
John sits still for a moment, trying to pull himself together more. After a few more minutes of meditation, he gets out of bed to slip some shoes on. John pushes his glasses over his nose, takes his wand and pulls a sweater over his pajama top.
He isn’t sure where he’s headed, and he doesn’t have any idea what time it is. He just lets his feet lead him out into the common room, where the fire was still roaring. This means it can’t be too late. No students were up, though.
John should have stopped in the common room, but before he knows it, he’s walking through the fat-lady’s tunnel and into the Hogwarts corridors. It was late, he needed to go back to his bed where it was safe. This is how it all started last time, anyways. Now that the book is back in Hogwarts, he’ll never be safe from it. He needs to be vigilant, and yet he can’t ignore the feeling that he needs to get up and search for something.
Or someone.
So, his feet let him wander, his mind mostly blank. He passes by sleeping portraits, all grumpily telling him to put his light away. John strolls the halls, seeing a few ghosts wandering. The snow outside was serene, he’d go out onto the grounds if he was wearing warmer clothes. Instead he rubs the sleep out of his eyes.
John finds his way to the Astronomy wing, his feet guiding him up to the Astronomy tower. He could see the snow better up here. There are a lot of stairs up to the tower, but he doesn’t mind. It distracts him, lets his heart rate beat for something else.
It was deathly quiet now. Everything got quieter when the snow fell. John made it to the top of the Astronomy tower, the moon was full and it illuminated the balcony and telescopes in cool, soft light.
John’s startled out of his skin when he gets to the top, however. A figure sits at the edge of the Astronomy tower, looking up at the moon with a heavy crocheted blanket around its shoulders. He can’t imagine who else would be up this late, or how he managed to wind up in the same place as them. But when John takes a few more careful steps to see who it is, he’s too surprised to believe it.
“Paul?” He asks, startling the boy twice as bad as John was. Paul turns around to see who called his name, his hair messy and in silk pajamas.
“Lennon.” He says, calmly. “Scared me half to death.” He grabs his chest.
John smiles, “What are you doing up so late?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” Paul smirks, looking back out at the moon.
John takes a few more steps, closing the gap between the two of them. He stood just behind Paul, now.
“Really, what are you doing up here? Don’t tell me you’re studying.” John pokes.
Paul shifts over, making a spot for John to sit next to him. John’s initially hesitant, but he takes the offer, settling next to the lad. It was better than being alone with his thoughts, even if it was Paul.
“No. I have insomnia. Rarely sleep these days. Coming here just clears my mind.” Paul explains, looking out at the falling snow.
John doesn’t say anything at first. He was secretly relieved to have found company. Although he wasn’t expecting to find it in Paul of all people. He rests his arms on his bent knees, looking out at the snow and castle along with Paul.
Paul speaks up again, “What brought you here?”
“Not sure.” John shrugs, “Just followed my feet and they took me right here.” He explains.
“Up late yourself?” Paul asks.
John shakes his head, “No. Had a nasty dream, I need to clear my mind too, I guess.”
“Hm.” Paul hums, “Funny coincidence.” He says.
“I suppose.” John nods.
Then, the two of them don’t say anything for a good long while. They don’t feel like they need to. They’re both just perfectly content in their shared silence. John was getting a bit cold, though. “Insomnia?”
Paul nods, “It’s part of why I can handle so much work and extracurriculars. When you don’t need to sleep, you can get a lot done.”
“Sounds taxing.”
“It is. But it could be worse. Could always be worse.”
“I never pinned you as an optimist.” John smirks at Paul.
Paul looks at John from the side, a sly smile on his face, “Full of secrets, remember?”
“Ah, yes.” John nods.
They go quiet again. It never feels awkward or unwarranted, however. They just listen to the other’s breathing. John rubs his hands together and looks at Paul a few times, who doesn’t ever seem to notice. He musters up some more courage to say something. “Tell me one.”
Paul turns to John blankly, “A secret?” John nods. Paul thinks for a moment, and then, “I’ve fallen asleep in every Arithmancy class in the last week.” He chuckles, embarrassed.
“Oh come on, that’s not exciting! Is that really the best you can come up with?” John asks, nudging Paul in the side.
“Alright, alright. I uh… I sometimes wish I was a Hufflepuff.”
“Is that so? Mr. Slytherin-Prefect and Quidditch captain.”
Paul rolls his eyes and nods, “Slytherins have so many expectations. All your peers want you to act a certain way and be a certain thing. It’s exhausting sometimes.”
John remembers Paul’s words from the night in the clock tower. I won’t be your puppet anymore.
“Wow. That’s more like it.” John nods, impressed. “Going deep I see.”
“All bets are off on the Astronomy tower.” Paul chuckles. “Your turn.”
“My turn?”
“Yeah.”
“Aw, that's no fair.” John deflects, but Paul stares at him straight down, unamused. John sighs, “Alright…I’m… well I’m terribly isolated here. At Hogwarts.” It felt strange to say out loud, even stranger to say it to Paul.
Paul nods, “Preaching to the choir.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Paul looks to John. “Why?”
John exhales, leaning back on his hands, “The drama last year. No one really trusts me anymore. No matter how hard I try.”—Especially now that he knows that the smartest and most powerful group at Hogwarts wants him gone—“And with Elliot wanting my head on a platter, it’s hard to feel like I have any real friends. Arthur’s older, he’s got his own group of seventh-year cronies. Cyn’s busy with her boyfriend,” more like abuser, he thinks, “The Quidditch team is all I have but I’m not close with any of them there.” He spews out, not sure where this new-found vulnerability came from.
Paul doesn’t reply at first, which makes John terribly nervous. But Paul eventually speaks up, “I know how you feel.” John wasn’t so surprised to hear this. Not after what Whittaker told him weeks and weeks ago. “You can try surrounding yourself with every popular, smart and pretty person in the school but it won’t make any difference.”
John thinks about that for a minute. The two of them were rather lonely in their own self-inflicted ways. There was something ironic about that. “Tell me another one.”
Paul smiles as he thinks, “I’ve never told anyone this…”
“All bets are off in the Astronomy tower.” John smirks.
Paul chuckles, and then with some hesitation says, “I don’t want to work for the Ministry.”
“I knew it.” John teases. Paul chuckles. “What do you want to do, then?”
“I haven’t got any clue.” Paul also shifts his position. “That’s what’s so scary. I don’t have it all figured out like you, John.”
John almost bursts into laughter over this, “Oh trust me, I don’t have anything sorted out.”
“Well you fake it well.”
“As do you.”
They’re quiet again. John ignores how cold his hands are.
“Your turn.” Paul nudges John.
“Okay. I only worked harder in those classes to get inside your head.”
“I know.” Paul looks at John, who feels rather sheepish now. “It worked, for the record.” Paul runs his hands through his hair, “What was your dream about?” He asks John.
“Nightmare, more like.” John shrugs. He looks at Paul, not really wanting to go into detail, but Paul’s look of genuine curiosity breaks him. John sighs, “I was reliving when I found The Grimoire. ” He admits.
“I see.” Paul’s voice trails off. “What really happened?” He asks.
John hasn’t told anyone about it other than the Ministry. He never expected to tell McCartney first.
“Why should I trust you?”
Paul shrugs, “You don’t have to. I’ve given you no reason to trust me in the past. I know that. But I hope you know that I am sorry. I know no amount of what I said or did to you can be forgiven quickly.” John still hesitates, and Paul picks up on it, Paul speaks up again, “All bets are off in the Astronomy tower. What happens here, stays here.” He holds out his hand for John to shake.
He was still unsure. But he can’t ignore the overwhelming feeling that he could trust Paul. Or at least that he should trust him. Maybe it would be good to get it off his chest finally. Especially after the night in the clock tower. John felt like he’s found an ally in Paul. It was ironic to think, but Paul stood up for him in a room he assumed John wasn’t in.
That means something.
He shakes Paul's hand with a sigh, and begins.
“I found it in an old chest. Don’t ask me where in the castle, I can’t remember. It called to me.” He starts. It was difficult to get out, but when Paul doesn’t immediately jump in, he feels the push to continue.
“I don’t know why. The Minister thinks it was because I had expressed an interest in the dark arts. I was young, muggle-born and reckless. All the things a book like that looks for. It chose me .” John adds, having learned that vital piece of information was necessary to understanding what really happened. “I found it and it started to… well it started to change me. I tried not to read it but I couldn’t help it. It was like I was addicted to it, and when I tried to kick my addiction, I had terrible withdrawals.” He explains. He didn’t dare look at Paul at first. But the silence from him pulls John’s attention.
He checks Paul's reaction, expecting him to show some sign of disbelief or distaste. But instead, Paul was looking at John with real intent. He wasn’t judgemental or afraid. He was genuinely curious, maybe even concerned. Maybe Paul cared.
Maybe.
John continues, although he can’t explain why, “It had these spells in it, and it’s almost like I would black out when I opened the book. I don’t have many memories using it. I’d go into the forbidden forest and just… try them. And it’d hit me like a drug.” A quick high of adrenaline, endorphins…power. Strong, but overall superficial.
He presses forward, “The more I tried, the more I needed. In retrospect, I think it’s a good thing Dorian reported it. I probably would have died otherwise.” John fixes his glasses, feeling suddenly self-conscious that he wore them at all. He doesn’t think Paul has ever seen him in them before. John wouldn’t dream of giving Paul another excuse to make fun of him any more than he already has. But after this evening, John thinks he might be able to handle it.
“So, after I tried a… particularly awful spell…” John leaves out that he had successfully conjured Avada Kedavra on an already dying giant wolf. Dorian happened to be spying on him. John’s intentions were to alieve the beast of some of his suffering, but the power it takes to successfully perform that curse would be alarming to see from a sixteen-year-old. John shudders at the memory. Paul could his imagination.
“…some Aurors came and got me. And I was hostile. Of course I was. I wasn’t meself. One fired Confringo on me.” John reaches across his torso where his skin was still healing from the burn, “The other used the Imperius curse on me. It was… bloody awful. They took me to Azkaban for a night—when I was sixteen—they didn’t know where else to put me. That’s where they always put other wizards who performed spells like… well like that one. I had been so power-hungry for the book, it was for my safety.”
John’s voice quivers.
“There’s nothing worse than Azkaban. I’ve never felt so empty. So mortified. Like all humanity was drained from the world.”
He decides to stop. He can’t even bring himself to look at Paul. He was too embarrassed. He clears his throat, putting his brave face back on.
When Paul doesn’t reply to even that, John glances at him. Paul just stared at John softly. His lips were parted and his eyes were blown-huge. John thought maybe Paul had glossy eyes, threatening to cry from his tale of woe. He just hoped Paul believed it.
They stare at one another, unsure of what to say or how to say it. John rubs tears out of his eyes, hoping it looks like he’s just wiping away the remaining stings of sleep out.
The moonlight hits Paul’s face perfectly, and John never realized how pretty Paul was until now. He shakes away the feeling, not daring to even entertain it.
Paul speaks up then, “It wasn’t Dorian who reported you.”
“What?” John was confused.
“It was Cynthia.”
His stomach dropped. It felt like the worst betrayal. Or was it? If Cynthia was so afraid for John’s wellbeing, maybe she was just doing what she thought was right. It was right, afterall. But it caused John so much pain and suffering. How could she do that?
Tears prickle behind John’s eyes and he wills them away, turning from Paul.
Paul breathes in like he wants to speak, but holds his tongue.
“What is it?” John asks.
Paul sighs, “Look… I want to try and put everything behind us. The teasing, the fighting, the rivalry, the bullshit. But only if you’ll let me.” He says, holding his hand out. “I know no amount of apology will make my wrongs right. But I’d at least like to try.” Paul says.
John blinks at it, and then takes it, shaking his hand. “I’ll give you a second chance, I suppose.”
Paul smiles, “Y’know, I know you’re taking O.W.Ls after Christmas, aren’t you? If you wanted, you could come to me and George’s tutoring sessions. It could really help you.” He offers. “Only if you’d like, though.”
A week ago John would have laughed at Paul in the face, told him to sod off. But this time, he really considers it. He really could use the help.
And Paul is starting to feel like one of the only people at Hogwarts who didn’t have it out for John.
Who could have guessed?
“Uhm… yeah. Sure.” He says, dropping their hands. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
Paul smiles, “Of course not. We meet Saturday’s at 5 or Thursdays at 7 depending on the week. We meet here in the Astronomy wing, just under the Astronomy classroom. In that little common area there.”
It felt like the start to a new era. A clean beginning for John and Paul. It felt refreshing, something actually genuine and for good.
They’re quiet, and for the first time since the school year began, these two boys didn’t feel quite so alone.
“Thank you.” Paul whispers to John.
“What for?” John asks, perplexed.
Paul smiles, “For trusting me with the real story.”
They looked at one another, Paul’s smile so soft it was almost imperceivable. It was reassuring and calming. John realizes that no one ever thanked him for his side of the story. No one cared to listen to his full version. No one other than Paul’s father when he was judging him. Not Elliot, or Arthur, or Cynthia, or his Aunt.
John sighs, “Thank you for listening. Truly listening.” He decides to nudge Paul’s shoulder with his own. Paul chuckles at it, and they both return their gaze up at the falling snow and gentle light.
They mull in it for a moment, before it’s completely ruined.
“Students out of bed!” A mischievous voice calls out from behind them, one they knew all too well.
“Peeves.” Paul stands up. “You know this is where I get some air. Come on.” He folds his arms, looking at the student-hating poltergeist. John stands up too, not wanting any more trouble with Peeves. John has had his fair share of run-ins with the specter.
Peeves chuckles, “Better run off to bed, then! Before I go and wake up the caretaker!” He giggles maniacally and flies through the floor underneath him.
“Asshole.” Paul scoffs. “He usually doesn’t bother me.”
John chuckles, it was him. It was always John causing problems. “We better go.”
Paul nods, and starts down the stairs, “Hey, I’m here most nights… if you’d like to take off all bets some other time.” He smiles and runs down a few steps, but then he stops himself and turns around again, “I like your glasses, by the way.”
John smiles, watching Paul walk down the stairs. He adjusts his glasses on his face, having completely forgotten they were even there.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 12
Notes:
Hello my friends! I am feeling muchhhh better. Still not 100% but just in the last 24 hours I’ve really made a turn for better! Yippee!
I LOVE this chapter. Thank you all for reading. You all make me sooooo happy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“The Yule Ball.” Professor McGonagall announces with excitement. “A tradition lost in recent years, typically saved for The Triwizard Tournament, will be held this year.” She beams.
There’re mixed reactions amongst the other Gryffindor students, all the girls seemed to be particularly excited, some of the boys were as well. John sat with Arthur and Peter. Elliot hadn’t come to the house meeting.
“It’s first and foremost a dance.” McGonagall describes. There’s more excitement and chatter from the girls. “It will be held on the night before Christmas Eve, and it is for fourth-years and up. The last Yule Ball was held when my parents were students at Hogwarts, which is where they met.” This causes even more excitement.
The prospect of love was a beautiful thing for a teenager to fantasize about.
McGonagall was only 24 or 25, she was an upper-class student when John started at Hogwarts and he remembers seeing her on the Quidditch team. She wasn’t much older than these students, which made her feel like a peer much of the time. Most Hogwarts professors were elderly and felt disconnected (Professor Binns was dead, after all). So, all students enjoyed having a professor they felt closer to. John had even heard of a Hufflepuff boy having a crush on McGonagall. She was kind, funny, and smart as a whip. John respected her for that.
“I’m the one who has organized it for this year. It’s very important for students to experience social dances where you can meet and mingle.” She explains. Perhaps she had wished the Yule ball was held when she was a student so she could have met someone new. “I encourage you all to ask one another out on it. Boys I expect you to be chivalrous, girls you should be polite.”
Cynthia raises her hand, “Are all houses invited to the ball?” She asks. John chews his cheek, he knew she was asking for Dorian. Arthur looks at John, both of them knew exactly what Dorian really was. A nasty wizard-supremacist.
McGonagall chuckles, “Yes, Miss Powell. You and Mr. Pritchard will get to attend together.” Cynthia and Dorian had become the ‘it’ couple of Hogwarts this term. Which just made John more frustrated about their entire relationship.
Second and Third years looked up to them, little girls dreaming of when a smart older Headboy would pick them as their girl. Little did they know that Dorian was a schmuck.
John looks around at the girls in Gryffindor house. He was really needing to blow off some steam after everything. He needed a date to the Ball, or at least a good snog. It’d be convenient to get both in one night. If he couldn’t take Cynthia, he’d need another option.
There was Collette. John thought she was pretty with her firey hair and even fiercer personality. But she was one of the boys with John and Peter. She was funny, even masculine in some ways. Not that that turned John off, but he saw her more like a sister. Besides, she’d probably never be interested in John. She doesn’t seem like the romantic type. Plus, there was a ‘no-snogging teammates’ rule on the Quidditch team.
Of course Katherine was the other girl he spent lots of time with because of Quidditch. But Katherine was quite a bit younger than John, and she still had a lot of growing up to do. She was awkward still, barely transitioning from girlhood to womanhood, her face pimpled and personality moldable. They still enjoyed her, she was a good beater and an even better friend. But that’s all she was: a friend. John couldn’t even see her as anything other than that. And she was less attractive to John, with her black hair that almost went to her waist and muscular build. Although he knew how much it would mean to her to be asked.
Suzy Foster was a complete mystery to John. One day she’s Cynthia’s best friend, the next they aren’t talking. She seemed a bit overwhelming, even if her singing voice was nice.
John can’t even remember the name of the Ravenclaw girl he danced with at the Gryffindor Quidditch after party. That was on John. If he saw her in the hall he wouldn’t be brave enough to even talk to her.
John didn’t know many girls. Outside of Quidditch he didn’t hang out with anyone.
Other than Paul secretly on the Astronomy tower in the middle of the night, apparently.
But Paul was completely out of the question. He wouldn’t even entertain the idea.
“I’ve got to meet some more girls.” John whispers to Arthur as McGonagall answers other questions around the room.
Arthur chuckles, “Ask Collette.”
John shakes his head, “I can’t take her out. She’s like my sister.” John really wanted to take someone he could snog.
Arthur nods, humming, “True. Katherine?” John just looks at Artie with an eyebrow raised, Arthur nods again, “Sorry for even suggesting it.”
Peter leans over to them, “Who are you two going to ask out?” He asks in a whisper.
John shrugs, “Haven’t any clue. I don’t know enough girls.” He’d been so focused on Cynthia during his time at Hogwarts that he failed to ever notice anyone else. And now he was so focused on Paul—who was certainly not a girl.
“I’m thinking about asking Katherine.” Peter suggests.
Arthur nods enthusiastically. “Yeah yeah, good you should do that-”
“-Fantastic idea, really. You need to go ask her today.” John speaks simultaneously with Artie
Peter’s face lights up, “Brilliant!” He scoots back over to his spot.
“I might ask Perdita Wood.” Arthur says. She was a Hufflepuff seventh-year, the keeper for their team. “But she might still be mad about the Quidditch match. So maybe I’ll talk to Holly Howell.”
“You know so many more girls than I do.” John huffs, “I haven’t got any leads.”
“Time to get on the market, Jonathan.”
“Not my name.”
John was having very little luck so far. In Herbology the next day he tried talking to a group of ladies who all looked at John like he was growing devil’s snare from his ears. In the Transfiguration courtyard on the next day, he went up to talk to a pretty Ravenclaw only to find out she already had a date. At least she was polite about it.
John had found out that Elliot asked Lila—his Slytherin partner in Defense Against the Dark Arts—and she said yes. Elliot always told John about his crushes, so this came as a huge surprise to John when Arthur told him. He had no idea Elliot was even interested in her. It seemed out of character for him, he never went for Slytherin’s.
Elliot and John were roommates but they acted like they didn’t even know each other anymore. It was disappointing to John. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what he did.
Then John found out that Arthur asked Perdita from Hufflepuff and she agreed. Lance asked Collette, and Peter and Katherine were going together. John was literally the only person in his social circle that didn’t have a date.
This was doing nothing for this ego.
It had been a full week since the ball was announced, and the mid-November weather had secured a few centimeters of snow on the ground indefinitely, which slowed down the Quidditch season (now they were only practicing three times a week instead of five) where Elliot would only speak to John when it was absolutely necessary). Gryffindor didn’t have another match until after the term, and Slytherin canceled their scrimmage due to weather (although they are all convinced it's because they were scared of losing). So not even Quidditch was making John social.
It was bleak, to say the least. Dating should not be this complex, and yet it was. John thought he had plenty of charisma worth getting a date to the ball, but after he talks to three girls from Gryffindor at breakfast on Saturday morning and not even they seemed interested in John, he was losing hope altogether.
“If I can’t get a date in my own house what in Merlin’s name am I meant to do?” He asks when he plops down on the sofa in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room.
Arthur sighs, “We’ve got a whole month before the ball, you have plenty of time.”
“These things take time.” A portrait on the wall says, making the two boys turn to look at it.
“Like he knows.” John snorts.
“He has a point, though.” Arthur says, “Be patient. You never know who might be interested.”
Before John can respond, Elliot is entering the common room from the Fat Lady. They make instant eye contact, and the air goes thick. Arthur clears his throat, looking down at the textbook that sat in his lap.
John watches Elliot cross the room towards the dormitories, decidedly choosing not to address either of them. It ticks John off, and just as Elliot goes through the door frame to the corkboard room, John stands up.
“Els.” He says. Elliot stops and turns to John, his arms folded and face stone. He doesn’t say anything, and John realizes he had no idea where he was going with any of this. He takes a deep breath, “Have a good night.” Is all he comes up with.
Elliot nods, looking somewhat softer, “Goodnight John. Artie .” And turns to the stairs.
John watches him as he goes, staying standing. When they know Elliot is out of earshot, Arthur speaks up, “Well… that’s a start.”
John couldn’t sleep that night again. He was feeling plagued by the book still, and was decidedly restless. He was mostly afraid of having another nightmare that felt so real, and that’s what really kept him wide awake in his bed. Plus, without Elliot to chat with, he felt lonely in his dormitory. After about two hours of sleepless rest, he gets up.
He had no idea if Paul would even be up in the Astronomy tower, but there was only one way to find out. So John put on some shoes, his sweater, his glasses and grabbed his wand. This time, he also thought to snatch a blanket.
Paul told him that he was in the Astronomy tower most nights, so John felt confident. And even if he wasn’t there tonight, maybe a walk would help him feel tired enough to go to sleep. He would just have to be more careful of Peeves this time.
John makes his way up to the Astronomy tower, keeping a close lookout for Peeves or anyone else looking to get students in trouble. He climbs to the top of the tower, his blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his hair completely tousled.
To John’s delight, Paul was sitting in the same spot he was last time.
“Evening.” He says behind Paul, starling him. “Sorry, don’t know how else to announce myself.”
“No worries.” Paul says, scooting over for John to take his perch. John lets himself sit a centimeter closer this time.
It wasn’t snowing tonight. But it was still very cold. The sky was very clear, and every constellation was visible. The winter constellations were starting to shine beautifully against the midnight-blue sky. The moon was waning which made it darker than the other night, but John could still see alright.
“Can’t sleep again?” John asks Paul who just nods with a huff. “Me too. But no nightmares tonight.”
Neither speak, both ruminating in the comfortable silence for a while. There’s a gentle breeze, one that nips at ones cheeks.
“I hope Peeves didn’t see you.” Paul speaks up.
“I think I covered my tracks quite well this time.” John nods.
“Good.” Paul says, looking at John with a glint in his eye, “Then we can talk for longer.” They both chuckle under their breath, looking away from the other afterwards.
“Shall we tell secrets again?” John suggests as they look up at the night sky, feeling equal-parts microscopic in the universe and vastly important at the same time.
“Only if you go first.” Paul says.
John smiles, “Alright…” He thinks of something good for a moment, “I’ve never actually gotten a letter by owl before.”
“Not even one?”
“Nope.”
“Not even your Hogwarts acceptance letter?” Paul asks.
John shakes his head, “Nope. That was delivered by hand. It’s a long story. Me mum got the letter and had to come deliver it to me at my aunt's house. You can imagine the look on my aunt’s face when her reckless little sister claimed it was delivered by owl.” He chuckles.
“You were raised by your aunt?” Paul cocks his head.
John hums, “She took me in when I was very little.”
“Why didn’t your mum raise you?” Paul asks.
“Hey now, one secret at a time.” John teases, “Your turn.”
“Alright.” Paul also stops to think for a little while, looking down at his lap as he conjures something up. “This is quite embarrassing but… I’ve never dated anyone before.”
John was very surprised to hear this, knowing how popular Paul was. “Really?” Paul nods slowly, clearly embarrassed. “I’m surprised by that.”
“Now why’s that?”
“Well, you’re so popular.” John unintentionally begins digging himself into a hole with his explanation, “You’re charismatic. You’re smart. You’re not… bad to look at.”
“Gee, thanks Lennon.” Paul scoffs.
“Look, all I’m saying is that it seems like there would be plenty of girls who would be interested in you. That’s all.” John defends, changing the position of how he was sitting in the process.
“Right…” Paul trails off. “There have been. I just can’t say I’ve ever shared the attraction.” He shrugs. “It's your turn.”
John fiddles with the edge of his blanket for a minute as he thinks, “Elliot and I have been fighting ever since the Hufflepuff match.”
“ Really? ” Paul was quite intrigued by this. “I thought you two were best friends.”
John nods, “He won’t talk to me, really. It’s frustrating.”
“Why? What happened?”
“I’m not totally sure. I mean we both got a little short with the other during the match. We both said some things we shouldn’t have, but you get it. You get worked up during the game and mellow out afterwards. It’s just part of the process.” Paul agrees. John continues, “But he’s still letting it bother him. I can’t help but feel like there’s something else under the surface that I’m missing.” John shrugs.
“Interesting.” Paul says and John instantly hopes that Paul doesn’t use that against him for any reason. Although he doubted he would. John really could trust Paul nowadays. “Maybe you should just try apologizing for whatever happened between you two. Even if you don’t know what it is. Just give him a blanket apology and that will usually shed light on the situation.” Paul suggests. John agreed, he would need to try that. Although he could not fathom what he could have done to Elliot that warranted such a long period of animosity between the two of them.
“Your turn.” John says.
Paul sighs, “Mind if I go deep?”
“All bets are off on the Astronomy tower.” John reminds Paul.
Paul sighs, “Alright. I sometimes don’t think I ever really got over losing my mum. I sometimes feel like she’s still here, and when I remember that she isn’t, it’s like going through the stages of grief all over again.”
“Boy, don’t I know it.” John shakes his head. “Is this your way of telling me it doesn’t get easier?”
“No.” Paul chuckles, “It gets easier… but it never really goes away. My dad once told me that grief is just love with nowhere to go. I just want my love to have a place to go so it stops staying in place, I guess.” He shrugs as he explains.
John understood that feeling intimately. He’s lost so much. Both of his parents, his uncle, his friends. “I get it.” John nods. “I mean, how many people can say they’ve lost their mom at such a young age?” Paul huffs, almost a laugh of irony. John keeps going, “It’s isolating, it’s frustrating, it’s confusing. I mean I just lost her. And I was just getting to know her. It happens and you’re like ‘how am I supposed to move on from this’? Y’know?”
“I do.” Paul nods. “It’s just hard for me to know that I’m never going to see her again. That she won’t see me grow up and become a man. She won’t see me succeed.” Paul’s voice cracks, and John realizes that he was silently crying. A perfect tear rolled down his cheek as he looked up in the sky.
John wanted to reach out and touch Paul, but he knew he couldn’t. He wanted to hold him and tell him it would be alright, even if John didn’t know that for himself yet. He had to process his mum’s death on his own, completely alone. He envied Paul for at least having a brother. Maybe John didn’t want to comfort Paul, but he wanted Paul to comfort him .
“I just miss her, I guess.” Paul sighs, sniffling.
“What was her name?” John asks.
“Mary.” Paul says. “What was yours?”
“Julia.”
They sit in that for a while. Letting themselves feel it. John rarely cried, and he wasn’t now. But he was letting himself feel for her. Letting himself see her up in the night sky.
“Your turn.” Paul says after a long moment of reverent silence.
John swallows, scared but needing to tell someone. “All bets are off?”
“All bets are off. What happens in the Astronomy tower stays in the Astronomy tower.” Paul confirms, glancing over at John as he says.
John takes a shaky breath, “Okay… I’m sure your dad has already told you but… I-I accidentally killed me mum. It was my fault.”
They both go very very quiet.
“He didn’t tell me that, actually.” Paul replies.
“I hope you don’t think I’m some crazy murderer. It was an accident.” John explains. “She came to the Ministry when I was held up there. Well, she tried to, at least. But the Aurors wouldn’t let her. She was a muggle, and she got all mixed up there. I heard about it and I came to see her outside of the Ministry, but the Aurors got upset with me because it was just before my trial. They tried to cast the Imperius curse on me to put me back in my holding cell. But I learned how to resist it and retaliated with Crucio . But it backfired and it accidentally hit her. The book’s influence took over my senses and I lost myself. It was awful. The Aurors broke the curse, but my mum was too far gone. She was barely alive. The Aurors let her lose after they Obliviated her and while she was wandering home she got hit by a car. Killed her in an instant.”
Paul doesn’t reply at all at first. John’s afraid he’s just revealed something too dark, too secretive. Paul would hate him again. He would be afraid of John, they all were anyways, weren’t they? He instantly regrets it and wishes he could take it back.
But then, “John… you didn’t kill her.” He says. “I mean… holy shit. But you can’t blame yourself for that. If anything, blame the Aurors. But really. You may have made a mistake, but it wasn’t you . It was the book. So you didn’t directly cause her death.”
“But I did. In an unfortunate butterfly-effect way.” John shakes his head, feeling full of doubt.
“Maybe, but it wasn’t you. It was a darker version of you that you can’t dwell on.” Paul reassures. “That’s bleak, and you’re allowed to be angry and confused about it, but never blame yourself for what you did when you had no control over yourself.”
“But-”
“No. You’re not a criminal. You’re not a murder. You’re not a dark wizard. You’re just a boy. You’ve made mistakes, but they’re in the past. You can’t do anything now but make sure you're better for the future.” Paul explains.
He was right. John was just still learning how to believe it. Neither of them said anything after that for a good long time. But Paul nudges John with his elbow, a comforting smile on his face. “Thank you. For trusting me with that information. I’ll hold it to my heart.” Paul says.
This really did relax John. He takes a deep, cleansing breath. “Who would have guessed. I mean, me and you?”
Paul laughs, “Whittaker, I guess.”
“Everything happens for a reason or summat.” John chuckles. They look up at the sky, quiet and content, happy to be in each other’s company.
Then suddenly Paul gasps, scaring John half to death. “What is it?” John asks, concerned.
Paul points up at the sky, “What in Merlin’s name is that ?” He asks with something mixed of enthusiasm and fear.
John squints up at the sky, readjusting his glasses. He watches a small, blue dot of light move across the night sky slowly.
“A broom? A pixie? How strange!” Paul exclaims. John blinks at it a few times, and then he begins to burst into laughter. “What?” Paul asks, looking at John, “Tell me, what is it?”
John sighs, “It’s Sputnik .”
“Gesundheit.” Paul says, “What, is that some kind of creature? A spell?”
“No, no.” John shakes his head, thoroughly amused by his wizard-born friend, “It’s a muggle satellite. It was just sent into space a month ago or-so.” He explains.
“Satellite?”
“Mhm. It’s for science. Like Astronomy. The muggles are all obsessed with space right now. The USSR sent it up there.”
“The USSR?” Paul cocks his head, completely oblivious. It made John feel fantastic to know that he was the smart one in this situation. Paul was usually the one explaining things to John. It was a refreshing change of circumstance.
“No matter what the USSR is— that’ll take ages to explain. But it’s just orbiting the earth. It’ll drop eventually.”
“Seems like a temporary waste.” Paul shrugs, “Can’t they use a charm or something to keep it up there?”
John shakes his head, “No, Paul. Muggles don’t believe in magic. That’s why they study science.”
“Fascinating.” Paul looks up at it in awe. “I’ll have to talk about this in my Muggle Studies class!” He continues to watch the satellite, bright-eyed and entranced by it.
But John looks at Paul watching it. Stares at him as he experiences the Muggle’s version of magic for himself. John realized perhaps the Muggles did have their own special kind of magic. It was grand to behold, and even grander to see Paul so enthralled in it.
John remembers what he thought of when he first sat down here tonight: how overwhelming it is to feel so simultaneously microscopic in the universe and equally vastly important at the same time.
“Sputnik.” Paul says under his breath. “It would make a great broom model name.”
John laughs, he agrees.
The two stay in the tower for many hours longer. Mostly discussing brooms and Quidditch, sitting in bliss from sharing their restless night with someone else.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
That Sputnik section was written for my nerdy Roomate who basically begged me to add it when I explained to her the timeline of this story. It’s now one of my favorite moments in the entire story (published and unpublished)
Chapter 13
Notes:
Let it be known— I wrote this back in early November, long before I got pneumonia.
Ironic. Isn’t it?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul looked deathly ill in class today. His eyes were sunken-in with dark bags underneath. His hair was barely done, and his breathing was slow and shallow. John instantly noticed, but was hesitant to bring it up. Whittaker was spewing history about the Unforgivable-Laws of 1717, and Paul was barely writing notes. -
John peers to Paul’s journal, where all that written at the top was the date 20/11/1957 and the year 1717 underneath. This was concerning to John. Paul not writing notes was highly irregular.
Perhaps the most concerning thing about Paul’s appearance wasn’t how he almost looked green, or that his lips were horribly chapped; it was the lack of prefect pin on his clothing that really proved how awful he felt.
Paul not writing notes was one thing.
Paul not wearing his prefect pin was an entirely different type of crisis.
“You should go to the hospital wing.” John whispers to Paul.
Paul turns to look at him, looking miserable. “Can’t.”
“Why not? You look deathly.”
Paul blinks, “Thanks, Lennon.”
John shakes his head, “Piss off, I don’t mean it like that.” He checks Whittaker, making sure he hadn’t noticed their chatting. The two of them haven’t gotten in trouble since detention. Everything was different since that detention. Neither of them could really pin why, nor did they care to. “It’s just… you aren’t yourself. You’re not even writing notes.” They keep their heads down as they speak.
“I’m writing notes!” Paul defends, but he looks down at his paper and sees what he’s written, and he groans quietly. “Dammit. I am really sick.”
“Go see Madam Merriweather. You can get your notes from me.” John offers. Paul looks at John with his eyebrows pushed together, almost offended John would even suggest such a thing.
“Boys.” Whittaker says quietly above them, startling them both. When they look up and he sees Paul’s face, he’s a bit taken aback. “Mr. McCartney, you’re rather pale.”
“I’m alright, really.” Paul nods, sitting up in his chair. Whittaker looks at John who then shakes his head, non-verbally telling the professor that Paul was lying.
“Everyone please discuss with your partner your opinions on the Minister banning the Imperius curse several years after the other two, and the ramifications it caused!” Whittaker says to the full class. The room starts humming with the students speaking, muffling out any sound from the conversation happening at John and Paul’s desk. Whittaker squats down, resting his elbows on their table. “I know you don’t want to leave because you’re afraid of how it will make you look-”
“-No, that’s not it. I’m fine, really.” Paul shakes his head but then his entire body shivers and he lets out a nasty cough and a groan. Whittaker gives Paul an overwhelmingly paternal look, and Paul just nods, standing up and collecting his books. John admired that Whittaker thought to distract the class from what would otherwise embarrass Paul. He wondered if the Professor would do that for any other students, but he and Paul were particularly close. John watches Paul as he stands up, slow and methodical like he’s afraid he’ll tip over.
But that’s just what happens: Paul loses his balance and falls over himself, tripping onto the floor weakly. John stands up at that, overwhelmed with concern for the boy. A few students notice the racket and look to see what the fuss was about. Paul was on the ground, holding his head in his hands.
Whittaker tuts and leans down to help Paul up. He beckons for John’s help, and John squats down to help Paul as well. It takes them a moment to lift him back to his feet, but he doesn’t really stop wobbling.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” Paul holds his stomach in his hands.
“Mr. Lennon, will you please escort Paul to the hospital wing?” Whittaker asks John. John doesn’t hesitate to nod, taking Paul’s arm around his neck and supporting him. “I’ll have Mr. Ashford pick up your books for you.” Whittaker explains. John agrees, it would force Elliot to interact with John.
To Paul’s dismay, the whole class watched as the two boys limped out of class. But John ignores them, trying to support Paul in more ways than one.
When they get out of the classroom, they take their time making it to the hospital wing, Paul was not himself.
“Look at me. May as well be carried there.” He chuckles pathetically, embarrassed.
“S’alright, Paul. Really.” John says to him. “I don’t mind.” This was true, although it wouldn’t have been just a few weeks ago. “What’s goin’ on?” John asks.
Paul sighs, “I’m really not sure. I think it’s the insomnia. Or something.” He shakes his head. “Think I’ve got some vertigo, too. I’m knackered.” He shudders, clearly running a fever.
“Why don’t you try a sleeping draught? Or spell?” John asks.
Paul looks at him like he was an idiot, “Night is the only time I have to finish all my work.”
John nods. He hadn’t thought about that, but it made perfect sense considering Paul’s unrealistic schedule. “Madam Merriweather will take good care of you. You’ll be back in class in no time.” John says kindly, knowing that’s exactly what Paul was stressed about.
“Slytherin’s first match is this week.” Paul sighs. “I can barely run practice like this. I’ll have to cancel the game if I don’t get better.” He groans. John can hear the anxiety in Paul’s tone, it’s undeniable. He knew Paul had no worse fear than letting down his house. Everything Paul did seemed to be out of concern for his own personal image.
He has no choice other than comfort, “Don’t worry, Macca.” John starts, “Merriweather can work miracles.”
“Macca?” Paul asks, stopping and turning to look at John. Their faces were only inches away. From here John could see how Paul’s eyes were bloodshot. “That’s what George calls me.”
John smiles, “Great minds think alike, heh?”
Paul grins and snorts, “Don’t let it go to your heard.”
Madam Merriweather gets Paul in bed as soon as she sees him. She placed a cool towel on his forehead and gave him a hot pink elixir. She takes note of his heart rate and breathing as John looks on, suddenly nervous for his friend.
“You don’t have to stay, Mr. Lennon.” Merriweather says in her thick Scottish accent. “I’ve got it under control.”
John nodded, but he was hesitant. Paul’s breathing was labored, and he was going in and out of consciousness. It was bleak, and it scared John. He turns to go, knowing that Paul would likely want his brother or George here. John had no idea where either of them were, but he’d be willing to go searching for them if it brought Paul comfort.
However, as he turns to go, Paul says in a weak voice, “Wait.” John stops, turning to see the boy in the hospital bed. Paul’s eyes were open again, and he was looking at John, still shivering. Paul clears his throat and with all his might squeezes out, “Stay.”
John looks to Merriweather, who purses her lips, holding the back of her hand to Paul’s cheek.
Paul speaks up again, “Please.”
Merriweather sighs and looks to a stool nearby that John can use. John nods to Paul, grabbing the stool and placing it by the hospital bed. He leans forward on his knees, resting his head in his palms as he watches Merriweather tend to Paul.
Paul closes his eyes then, taking a deep breath and letting himself finally rest. He falls asleep seconds later while Merriweather dabbles an oil of some kind to his temples.
John just looks at Paul, studying his face intently. He’s never seen anyone sick like this before. He could tell Paul’s body hurt from how it quivered in his sleep. He watches Merriweather cast a pain-killing charm over Paul’s full body, which seems to help him.
John watches how Paul’s eyelids twitch, watching his forest of black eyelashes that flutter against his flushed cheeks. His eyebrows were relaxed finally, no longer knitted together in discomfort. His lips were slightly parted as he breathed through his mouth, and his fingers on his left hand mindlessly fidgeted with the bedsheets.
He felt sick just looking at Paul. The poor bloke was exhausted. His deep rest was greatly overdue.
Then, Merriweather uses her wand to pull the sheet off of Paulm who shudders at that. John is unsure of what she was doing, and just watches out of concern. Paul asked him to stay, so he’ll stick around.
She then uses her wand to lift Paul at the waist, as if he was sitting upright in bed. He is still completely unconscious, however. She then carefully pulls his sweater-vest and shirt off of him. She did it with minimal effort, and in an instant Paul was laying back down in bed but completely topless.
John blinked away, feeling embarrassed. He wanted to spare Paul his dignity, even though he wouldn’t remember any of this. John tries not to look, but curiosity gets the better of him, and he glances at Paul while Merriweather walks away to get a dressing robe for Paul.
Paul’s ribs were all defined against his skin. He looked almost skeletal, like he hadn’t had a good meal in a few days. He also had very little color in his skin, and his collar-bones were strongly pronounced.
It was grim, and everything in John told him to look away, but he couldn’t. Paul’s arms were chicken-arms, he looked nothing like a Quidditch player should. John felt horrible. Did anyone know that Paul looked like this? Did anyone care? His stomach flipped for the poor lad.
Paul told him about his insomnia, but he’s never said anything about not eating, which was apparent.
Merriweather comes back to his bed, pulling the partition around Paul. “I’ve got to change him out of all his clothes.” She explains, looking at John with a raised eyebrow.
John wasn’t sure what she was getting at, and just stared at her blankly for a moment. Then, with great embarrassment, John realized she was implying that she would be getting Paul naked.
He nods and stands up quickly, removing himself from the partitioned curtain. He shakes away the embarrassment, hoping his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.
There were a few other students in the hospital wing on the other end. A first or second-year Gryffindor who was also asleep, a Ravenclaw fifth-year with a broken arm who was quietly chatting with a Hufflepuff third-year in the bed next to them. It was common for students to get sick this time of year, but Paul was really sick. John wanders around, waiting for Merriweather to be finished.
It’s a few moments longer before Merriweather reopens the curtains. Paul was laying cozily under the sheets and in a fresh, clean pajama set. Merriweather had neatly folded his clothes and placed them on the nightstand next to his bed.
“Pneumonia and serious sleep deprivation, dehydration and no doubt malnourishment.” Merriweather says to John after she’s finished with her initial aide. “Each sickness has been making the other ones worse. He’s going to be down for quite a while.”
John nods, walking back to his stool but not sitting back down, “How long do you think?”
“Well, I’ve put him under a coma charm. He’ll need to sleep off the deprivation. I’d like him to sleep until tomorrow morning. Then he’ll have to go through the throwing up phase of dehydration. I’ve given him two tonics for nutrition, but his body will have to go through its course. He’ll have a nasty cough for a week or so, his lungs are infected. But I can fix that easily. He can return to class when he’s gone a full day without any throwing up, and a full day after the fever breaks.” She explains.
“But that could be days!” John says.
“He should have taken better care of himself.” She says matter-of-factly, arranging some medicines on the table for him. “I’m guessing Saturday at the absolute earliest, but it will likely be Sunday.”
“Slytherin plays Ravenclaw this Saturday.” John shakes his head, “He’ll be devastated if they have to forfeit.”
“It’s common to reschedule matches for instances of sickness. I’ll let Professor Slughorn know. As head of Slytherin house he can arrange a rematch with Professor Wren of Ravenclaw.” She explains curtly.
John looked at Paul, who looked pathetic. No one else was here for him, no one else knew. He felt terrible. “Is it alright if I stay with him for a while? I don’t want him to be alone.” John would have never felt this way about Paul before their detention together, but his sympathy ran deep. He wouldn’t want to be alone if he were in this situation.
Merriweather nodded, “The wing closes to visitors at seven o’clock.” She then walks to the other students in the room, checking on them.
John sinks to his bench, looking at Paul with concern. Paul’s hand was palm-up, fingers curled and pale. John realizes how easy it would be to just reach his hand out and take Paul’s, to let him know that he wasn’t alone.
He pushes away the thought.
The next day, John sat quietly, reading his Transfiguration textbook on the stool by Paul’s hospital bed. He had just gotten to the Hospital wing for the lunch break. He barely got out of Transfiguration and had Herbology in an hour, but he didn’t want Paul to be alone if he woke up during the lunch hour.
To John’s relief, Paul was still sleeping heavily when he arrived. He had more color in his face today, and his lips looked less chapped. But John knew he was still feeling unwell. He had left yesterday after about an hour before seven.
John enjoyed the alone time. He was able to think clearly, and it gave him an excuse to get out of class. No one else came to check on Paul, at least not while John was still there. He felt a little guilty leaving Paul there alone for the night, but reminded himself that Paul wouldn’t know.
“His brother stopped by this morning.” Madam Merriweather says to John, startling him. “Says he’s written to their father.”
John nods, “That’s good.”
Michael was still a massive question mark to John. He doesn't think he would recognize the younger McCartney if he saw him in the hall.
“He should be waking up any time now. If he does while I’m away just shout for me.”
“Alright.” John smiles as Merriweather walks away. He turns to look at Paul again. He looked much more comfortable and rested, his eyelids were heavily shut, eyelashes long as ever.
John catches himself staring, but he doesn’t make himself stop. Paul would never know.
A strange feeling settles in John’s stomach. Almost nauseating. He was probably just hungry. He decided skipping lunch for this would be worth it, even if it meant he would be starving during his afternoon classes.
Elliot brought his books back but left them on his bed and was asleep by the time John finished his homework in the library with Arthur. That was an issue for future John to deal with.
Elliot was still busy being a wanker. John wasn’t patient enough to deal with him right now.
Unfortunately, John couldn’t get Paul out of his head all last night. Every time he settled in to go to sleep, all he could think about was how Paul fell on the ground in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The image of him collapsed on the stone, shaking and unwell kept replaying in John’s memory. That and how Paul leaned on him as they walked to the hospital wing, his weight propped on John in a dependent tug. Of course Paul’s gaunt torso kept running through John’s thoughts.
It’s not like John could get up and go to the Astronomy tower last night to talk with him until they both felt tired, either. So John just had to toss and turn in bed until he finally felt rest tug at his eyelids.
John had initially thought Paul was a nasty overachieving prick. Obsessed with making himself look better than anyone else.
But now John has realized that Paul was really a self-destructive perfectionist. He’d take himself to great and terrible lengths to achieve his goals and expectations: expectations of academia held by his father. John didn’t know what it was like to have a foreboding father expecting things of him, and he never would. John’s father abandoned him when he was only a toddler. He couldn’t sympathize with Paul over that. But he can imagine what it’s like to have standards that feel impossible to reach.
When John sits and really thinks about how much Paul has put on his own plate, he finds it hard to comprehend it all. He’s in eleven classes (Divination, NEWT Charms, DATDA, Advanced Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Alchemy, Potions, NEWT Transfiguration, Wizard Law and Order, Muggle Studies and Astronomy), he’s a Prefect, which has meetings every Thursday night and duties every morning and evening, even on weekends. He’s the captain of the Slytherin team which practices from 5-7 almost every week day, he’s the president of the Dueling Club which meets Sunday afternoon, he’s in the Slug Club which has monthly meetings, he tutors George on Sundays (or Tuesdays), and he’s Whittaker’s teacher’s aide, which must take up an hour in the afternoon every day. Plus Quidditch games and Hogsmeade trips on Saturdays.
He does the math, the only free time Paul has other than Lunch hour is from 4-5 o’clock on Mondays and Wednesdays, and free time on Sunday mornings.
He can’t even comprehend how Paul can take that many classes at once unless Professors made special accommodations for him, which was probably likely considering how he spoke to them with such charm.
His father being a Ministry Judge likely had to do with it, too.
It was entirely unbelievable. John thinks he would explode if he had that much to manage at once. It was impressive. Of course the bloke never sleeps, when else would he do his homework? And of course he’s on edge all the time. He must not do anything fun or for himself. His friends were obviously assholes who were ‘puppeteering him’ (although John still doesn’t totally understand what that meant). He seemed to barely get along with anyone other than that George kid.
John felt bad. Paul was going to leave Hogwarts having never done anything fun. The fact that he even showed up to that Gryffindor party was hard for John to believe, but it at least convinced him that Paul does allow himself some semblance of fun.
They were polar opposite students. John usually had loads of free time, too much, probably. At least before this year and the excessive O.W.Ls preparations.
Before this year, would sod off and explore the castle, map-out secret passages and discover hidden corridors behind portraits and statues. He goes to bonfires on the lake shore and gets pissed, he blows up gobstones for fun, he sleeps in. John only ever tried to be a good student when he thought it would impress Paul, and sure enough it worked. But what if Paul took a page from John’s book?
Paul’s gotten so sick because he’s stretched so thin. And it was just going to happen again if he didn’t make some much-needed changes to his lifestyle.
Humans aren’t meant to be stretched so thin, especially not teens.
Maybe it was a good thing Paul had wound up in the hospital because it’s forced him to finally rest. To slow down.
John hears the lad starting to stir awake, and he sits up. Paul groans, bringing his arm up to his eye and rubbing it with his slender fingers. He sighs deeply, opening his eyes slowly.
He was obviously confused, and as his vision adjusted to the midday light, he squinted. Paul looks around the room for a moment, his eyes dilating. When he finally can see better, he clocks where he is. John watches the memory flood his face: the shivering, the fever, the tripping in class, the walk here.
It was unclear whether he remembered asking John to stay with him in the softest, weakest voice.
Paul’s eyes glance to John, and he drops his hand to his side. They make eye contact, and Paul’s face relaxes. “John?”
“Morning.” John says.
Then, Paul is sitting up and gagging. John remembers what Merriweather said about him going through the vomit phase of dehydration. He looks around quickly for something Paul can puke in, and he quickly grabs a bucket that was close by, holding it up for Paul to take in his hands.
Paul drops his face in the wooden bucket and hurls. He empties what little contents were left in his stomach, but mostly just vomits bile. He gags, and it sounds awful. John feels nauseous himself over it, and calls for Madam Merriweather.
“S’alright, Paul. Get it all out.” John mutters, feeling ambitious enough to place his hand on Paul’s shoulder. He gets brave and rubs small circles against the boy’s shoulder blade as Paul empties his stomach. He always felt better when his Aunt Mimi would do this to him when he was sick.
Merriweather hurries over just as Paul finishes. Paul groans, spitting into the bucket and frowning at it. He huffs out an uncomfortable breath, and John pulls his hand away. Touching was only warranted if the other was puking, John decides.
“Ah, nasty thing throwing up from dehydration.” Merriweather tuts. “It’s not over yet, deary. But it’ll be mostly bile.” John wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. She takes the bucket from Paul and presses her hand to Paul’s forehead. “Still a bit feverish, but better. I’ll give you an antidote to help with the nausea but your body will have to sort itself out.” She walks to her expansive medicine cabinet across the room, leaving Paul alone with John.
Paul keeps his gaze from John, looking down into his lap uncomfortably. He picks at the skin around his finger nails.
John clears his throat, “Your brother came to visit you earlier.” Is all he’s able to come up with.
Paul nods, but doesn’t say anything. He still looked very weak, and John wasn’t really sure how to proceed. Their friendship was unclear at this point, if you could even call it a friendship. John knew Paul was likely rather embarrassed about the entire ordeal.
“Merriweather arranged for Slughorn to move your match to next week.” John says after another moment.
Paul looks up at this, his eyes wide. “What? No. We can’t.” He shakes his head, “I’ll be better. I will. I have to be.” He pleads.
“No, Paul. You’re sick. Really sick. Not just tired.” John tries explaining, but Paul won’t have it.
“No. No John, you don’t understand. I can’t miss anything. I’ll be ruined.” His breathing picks up as his hand runs through his messy hair. “My father, he’ll-”
“Paul.” John says sternly, reaching out to grab Paul’s hand that was still resting at his side. It startles both of them. The skin-to-skin contact was different than ever before. The two of them have touched plenty of times, but this time there was an underlying sense of complete transparency that frightened the both of them. All walls were down, and anyone else in the hospital wing could see it if they chose to look at the boys.
They simultaneously pull away from one another. It was instinctive. They make quick eye-contact, but it’s interrupted by Madam Merriweather coming back.
“Here you are. Drink this up and you’ll start to feel better.” She hands Paul a small blue bottle. He tosses it back, grimacing at the taste.
Almost instantly, however, Paul starts to gag again. He’s reaching back for the bucket before starting to throw up yet again, completely cleansing his body of any antidote it could have had.
Merriweather hums, “This is worse than I thought.” She sighs, “you may be in here longer than anticipated, Mr. McCartney.” Paul looked up at her as if she had just given him a death sentence. “Perhaps Mr. Lennon will bring you your books sometime tomorrow? I’ll inform your professors of the severity of this illness.” She walks away again, going to grab something else for Paul.
Paul swallows thickly, feeling utterly knackered. “This is it. I’m ruined.” He says with a shudder.
John’s almost tempted to laugh at the boy, but he just smiles warmly, “You’ll be alright.” He begins, “This isn’t the end of your life. People get sick all the time.”
Paul looks at John with his eyebrows knitted together, “Easy for you to say! You haven’t got half as many responsibilities as I do!” He frowns, “I could lose my chances at Headboy.”
“Paul.” John says again, his eyes glancing down to Paul’s open hand at his side, “It’s going to be alright. You’ll get better in a few days. Everyone will understand. But you pushed yourself too hard, put yourself under too much pressure and that’s how you ended up here, don’t you see?” John explains, their eyes meet again.
The sick boy has a permanent pout to his face, he looked pathetic, frankly. He doesn’t say anything for a while, but then “You stayed here with me?”
John nods, “Left for class this morning, but I wanted to be here when you woke up.” He explains.
They blink lazily at one another. Paul shivers, “I’m not feeling well.”
“We know.” John chuckles. He watches as Paul’s eyes get heavy again, his body on overdrive in order to function. Paul starts to drift off to sleep again, but he is fighting it. John could see that he was attempting to stay awake, trying to keep his eyes open. It was futile as he started to lull back into a state of rest.
But Paul’s able to pull himself out of it for one moment longer. Just enough to say, “Thank you, John.” In the smallest, weakest voice. It could have made John’s heart shatter if it had been anyone other than Paul. His tone timid, the volume quiet, the sincerity overwhelming.
Paul falls back asleep after that, and John gets brave enough to reach out and grab Paul’s hand one more time, holding it in between two of his for just a moment. He lets his nervous system bask in the electricity of it. Paul’s skin was soft, but it felt thin and fragile in his current state. He was pale as can be, and John couldn’t stop himself from letting his thumbs stroke the top of his hand, trying to give the sick boy any comfort that he could.
This was alright. This was safe. He was sick and asleep. This was a completely normal and acceptable thing to do when someone was feeling unwell. No one was watching them. Paul wouldn’t even remember it in a few hours. It was alright under these conditions.
John says in a gentle whisper, “You’re welcome, Paul.”
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 14
Notes:
HAPPY UPDATE DAYYYY
Wow I have had the longest, busiest week EVER. My pneumonia is better though and all i have is a cough now!
Also in the last week, i started reading all the young dudes and… my life is changed. I’m on chapter 142 and i started like seven days ago. Totally hyperfixated. Totally obsessed with wolfstar. Entertained by how many unintentional similarities between wolfstar and hogwarts!mclennon there are. Whoops. For what it’s worth i had never read a lick of marauders fanfic before starting this. But I will never be the same.There’s lotsss of internal monolgue in this chapter. John talks to himself a lot, just as a heads up. Also theres some internalized-homophobic thoughts in it, just so you know.
Okay sorry for the long note I just MISS TALKING TO YOU GUYS ALL THE TIME. Ugh. Anyways. Enjoy.
This is a long chapter for how patient you have been.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was Saturday before John saw Paul again. In the afternoon— after Quidditch practice— he stopped by the hospital wing to see if Paul was feeling any better. Truthfully, he had avoided the lad for the last day or so. He couldn’t move on from the feeling of Paul’s soft hand in his own, and it scared John. He didn’t even know what any of it meant.
John was in his Quidditch sweater, freshly showered and warm as he turned into the Hospital wing to see two other people sitting next to Paul’s bed. He gets sheepish, not wanting a run-in with any pure-blood prefects who had it out for him. He hesitates, considering turning around entirely. However, Paul’s awake and sitting up, and he catches sight of John as he tucks his head down.
“John!” He calls out, not letting him escape. John clears his throat and walks into the room where the other two boys sitting at Paul’s bed were turned around, staring at John. It was George from Ravenclaw and another boy John didn’t recognize.
John couldn’t quite explain why, but the feeling of seeing other people gathered around Paul made him feel possessive of Paul. He knew Paul’s wasn’t his to possess, but where were these lads when Paul was in the coma? Or when he was throwing up?
He forces a smile. He was happy to see Paul, but he didn’t want that to be too obvious to anyone new and strange. “How are you feeling?” He asks.
Paul smiles, “Better. I’m being let out tomorrow.” He says. “John stayed here with me when I got sick.” Paul tells the other two boys. “He was here when I woke up.” John feels how his cheeks warm at that. So much for two strangers not knowing his intentions.
“Yeah, don’t go soft on me now.” John deflects, always one to avoid with some humor.
“John, this is George and Ringo.” Paul introduces him to the boys.
George stands up, “We didn’t properly meet last week at the Slug Club.” He holds his hand out for John to shake, who takes it. George was a bit smaller than John, but he seemed nice enough, albeit a bit standoffish. John didn’t like knowing he was a part of the pure-blood group of menaces that hated John. Although John remembered he walked out of the clock tower with Paul that night. It was unclear whether that was of his own volition pro just because he was at Paul’s heels like a puppy. He shakes his hand regardless.
“Heard loads about you.” Ringo says, still sitting.
“Bad things, I can assume.” John chuckles, folding his arms over his chest as George sits back down. It was instantly clear that George was more refined than Ringo. Ringo was a bit rougher around the edges, and John thought he could hear a bit of a Liverpudlian accent in his tone.
He was very small compared to the other three. He had down-turned eyes and a large nose, but it was paired with a countenance that was warm and welcoming. The hair above one of his ears had a white patch. He was dressed in a cozy Hufflepuff sweater.
Ringo laughs, “Let’s just say your reputation precedes you.”
John hums, “Oh.” He was entirely unsure how to feel about that. He looks back to Paul, the person he came here to see. “No more throwing up?”
Paul shakes his head, “No, thank Merlin.”
John nods, feeling a bit naked in the situation. “Well. It’s good to see you with some color back in your face.” He says matter-of-factly, not wanting to give off the wrong idea to anyone in the room. “See you in class on Monday.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to go, pushing away the empty feeling he got. He feels Paul’s eyes on him as he leaves the Hospital wing and heads towards Gryffindor tower.
He had a knack for deflecting when things got hard or uncomfortable.
The last thing John needed was George and Ringo speculating anything about the two of them. Or the gossip-mongers whispering about how they were suddenly friends. All of John’s meaningful interactions with Paul that have helped change his mind about the lad have happened in private, so one would understand their sudden shift in energy towards one another.
He knew he shouldn’t be cold to Paul, it was the last thing he needed after this week. But obviously Paul had plenty of support. More than John would have in this situation. That stung for some reason, although John couldn’t quite pinpoint why.
The feeling that John needed Paul more than Paul needed John was humbling and frustrating. John had started looking forward to their private talks on the Astronomy tower and the shared moments of privacy they stole together. He was a fool for this. Paul had every friend he could possibly want in this school, John was just a pawn in his game for power and control.
John needed to take a step back if he was going to protect himself.
It makes his mouth fill with the unpleasant taste of metal and betrayal. He clears his throat as he wanders the halls. Students were scattered about practicing charms and eating sweets. November was coming to a quick halt and the end of term would be just around the corner.
John makes it to the grand staircase before he starts to hear the hauntingly faint whispers of a thousand ghosts in the back of his head. He freezes in his steps on the staircase, a Hufflepuff second year running past him down the stairs, almost running into John.
He shakes his head and ignores the shiver that rips through his spine. He was probably just hearing things again. He had to be.
John gets back to the fat lady portrait, trying to get Paul out of his head but failing to. All he could think about was Paul and his protruding ribs, his paler-than-pale skin and his shaking shoulders when he was sick.
Inside the common room were several Gryffindor students, all lounging around since the Slytherin-Ravenclaw game got canceled and it was too cold outside to do anything on the grounds.
In the corner of the room was Elliot, sitting with Katherine and Lance. They all look at John when he enters.
He isn’t sure what comes over him, but John approaches them, feeling ambitious. They just had practice with one another an hour ago, where Elliot decidedly ignored John the entire time.
“Can I talk to you?” He asks Elliot.
Elliot chews on his cheek, “Yeah.” He doesn’t move.
“In private.” John clarifies, looking to Katherine and Lance.
Elliot stands up with a sigh, crossing his arms when he meets John’s level. John says nothing and moves towards their dormitory. Elliot follows with dragged feet. Luckily no one else is in there when they get in, and John closes the door behind them.
The other boy crosses to his bed, sitting on it, facing John’s bed. John leans up against his bed post. Neither of them say anything at first. The energy is toxic and thick.
“What’s going on? Really.” John eventually rips the bandage off. No reason to keep beating around the bush.
Elliot sighs, fidgeting with his bedsheet. “You want the truth?” John could tell it was already hard for Elliot to say anything.
“Why wouldn’t I?” John asks.
“Because it might ruin our friendship.” Elliot states plainly. John swallows, unsure of how to respond. He just nods, and Elliot shakes his head. “Look, you probably would be a better captain than me. I’ve been feeling so bloody insecure about being the captain this whole year and when you act like you know better than me it’s really hard to assume my position.” He explains.
John wants to defend himself, he wants to retaliate with some sort of witty comeback. But he forces himself to cool down before he replies. “Okay. I’ll stay in my lane more.” He nods, “But can you at least recognize my reasoning? We can’t succeed unless you’re in the right headspace.”
“I know.” Elliot nods. “That’s on me. It’s just been hard to be in the right headspace these days.” He keeps his eyes away from John.
Something shifts in the energy, they both feel it. John stands up straighter, “What else is it?”
Elliot shakes his head, “It’s nothing, really it isn’t.”
“No.” John says with conviction. “Don’t do that to me this time. Just tell me. What am I doing that’s bothering you so much?”
“John. Please-”
“Tell me!”
“It’s Paul! Alright! It’s your weird obsession with Paul!” Elliot snaps, finally making eye contact with John.
The room goes entirely silent. John feels every nerve in his fingertips go numb. His face is slack. He doesn’t know how to respond.
“What?” Is all he comes up with.
“Oh, don’t play dumb.” Elliot scoffs with a chuckle, standing from his bed and moving to one of the windows, looking out at the clear, winter's day.
“Dumb?” John moves to Elliot, standing behind him. “What do you mean dumb? I honestly haven’t got a clue what the hell you’re on about!?”
Elliot chuckles in disbelief, “Unbelievable.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, let me spell it out for you, then.” Elliot starts, turning around, “You obsess over this guy. Talk about him endlessly, everything you do is part of how you’re going to one-up or humiliate him. Everything is done for him. He’s all you think about. It’s frustrating. It’s exhausting.” He turns back around, fuming.
“Oh piss off!” John tugs on Elliot’s shoulder so he’s facing him, the two of them staring at one another with frustration and palpable tension. Elliot’s panting, staring at John with furrowed eyebrows.
And then, Elliot leans in and kisses John square on the mouth.
It surprises John out of his skin, and he doesn’t kiss back. He pushes Elliot away, stiff-arming him in the chest. It’s his guttural reaction. It makes John’s stomach twist, he looks at Elliot with confusion and maybe even fear. It was shocking.
“What the-” He shakes his head, utterly lost. He starts to walk out of the dormitory, needing to get away from Elliot, knowing he probably just humiliated the lad.
“John wait!” But he’s already out the door.
His head was spinning. John books it out of the common room. He isn’t sure where to, but he needed to get away from Elliot, to get away from that situation. He was so confused.
Elliot had made a move on him. Completely unwarranted and uncalled for. Now John understood what Elliot meant when he expressed concern of this ruining their friendship. John’s skin was burning and the feeling of his best friend’s lips still burned on his.
He books it out of the castle, moving very briskly through the crunchy snow and fallen leaves as he tries to understand everything.
John had no idea Elliot was queer. He never showed any signs of it in all their years at Hogwarts together. On top of that, John never once got the inkling that Elliot was interested in him. They were best friends, nothing more. They’ve seen each other naked, hell they’ve practically jerked-off in the same room together. John was feeling terribly self-conscious. How long has it been like this for Elliot? Sure they joked and teased about being in love but it was never serious, never real. At least it wasn’t to John.
Now he felt like a huge tosser because it was real to Elliot, maybe John was a shallow friend.
Regardless, John wasn’t queer. At least he didn’t think he was. He had no reason to ever believe he was. John had no problem with queer people, at least he tried not to.
The wizarding world was far more open about that type of thing than the muggle world was. But it still wasn’t celebrated. It was still illegal in the Muggle world, and the Wizarding world even had dicey unclear laws around it. And at the end of the day, John was raised by muggles. Specifically by a very uptight and conservative muggle—his Aunt Mimi.
Those things are instilled at a very young age, and while John has worked not to be prejudiced in his time at Hogwarts, it wasn’t going to magically happen like everything else at this school. Besides, he liked girls. He liked Cynthia. He’s kissed lots of girls, done more things with girls. He thought about girls most of the time, usually.
But John also thought about Paul a lot, too. Elliot was right about that. John had dedicated this entire term to his rivalry with Paul. He did everything with the guise of “what would Paul think?”. And perhaps it was a little excessive. But John couldn’t help that. He never meant for it to be.
He couldn’t help that Paul fascinated him. That he saw parts of himself in the lad. The fact that Paul was so obsessed with his work was motivating to John. Paul’s relationship with his father interested John in a way that seemed to fulfill his lack of paternal influence. Paul’s obsession with his performance and appearance was charming to John. Paul was so driven. So charismatic. So motivated. So ambitious.
Paul defended John in a room he didn’t think he was in. Paul defended John in a room he was in. Paul knew John was in there during the Slug Club and still stood up for him. And of course the clock tower.
Would Elliot ever do that for John? When John was expelled, Elliot kept his head down and acted like he didn’t know John. When John was back on the train on September first, Elliot didn’t even sit with him right away. When John was being ganged up on in Hogsmeade, Elliot didn’t step in until it was almost too late.
John wouldn’t deny the fact that Paul was irritating as hell to him. He pushed John’s buttons and got under his skin like no one else did. But he also knew that Paul’s heart was good. His character spoke for itself. He was a good man who’s been crushed under the unbearable pressures of his familial and house expectations. Not to mention the expectations he’s set for himself. Paul was so unkind to himself. John kept replaying the image of a weak Paul whose body forced him to rest.
And there was something about that, too. Something about John seeing Paul with his guard completely down, him in his rawest state in the hospital room crushed John. He saw Paul’s soul at its weakest. He saw Paul’s dainty skin, he felt Paul’s soft hands, he heard Paul’s broken voice.
Maybe John was drawn to the feeling of taking care of Paul. The need to protect him. The desire to be important to someone, to be needed. Or maybe it was him finally seeing someone with so much status and power be so powerless.
Maybe it was both.
Whatever it was, it was incredibly intimate for John to witness. To be able to count each one of Paul’s ribs, to hear how his breathing swallowed, how his clavicle dropped into his neck, how his hair tousled and flipped when it wasn’t combed down...
It wasn’t Paul McCartney: the Prefect-Captain-President-Slug Club-Teacher’s aid-Golden boy.
It was Paul. Just Paul.
So John’s head was spinning rapidly, and his heart rate had not slowed down.
He reacted to Elliot’s kiss with so much shock that it turned into vitriol. Something burned deep in his belly that was dark, it was betrayal. Elliot was his friend . His confidant. Or at least he used to be. John was so confused now.
But he also could not deny how that kiss woke up his body. How his nervous system electrified through his body. However, John didn’t think that had anything to do with Elliot and everything to do with the fact that he was a boy .
John’s feet finally stopped moving when he got to the owlery. He goes inside, climbing up the tower to where the birds stayed. At least this way he wouldn’t be alone.
He had a lot to sort out.
He hadn’t slept in his dormitory for two nights now, and he hasn’t seen Elliot at all (luckily Gryffindor stopped practice for the term, since their next game wasn’t until March). He had no idea what he would say. John started sleeping in the rafters above the Central hall. It was uncomfortable, and if Peeves or the caretaker found him he’d be in big trouble. But it was better than seeing Elliot.
John sat in Defense Against the Dark Arts on Monday, his leg rapidly bouncing and his mind spinning as he waited for class to begin. Except this wasn’t really about class starting or not, it was about Paul coming to class.
Truthfully, John had not stopped thinking about Paul and what he would say to him next for the last two days. He was like a drug for John, and he was having withdrawals.
But that’s what terrified him. The last drug John used put him in Azkaban for a night. He was still having nightmares a full year later. He could not get hooked on any other substances. And that included Paul.
John latched onto things that were secure. His crippling fear of abandonment caused that. The book. Cynthia. Paul. And this quality made him weaker, it made him more susceptible to manipulation. It wasn’t until after he kissed Cynthia that the book called to him.
He needed to protect himself. If he obsessed over Paul anymore, he could lose everything. He needed to pull himself together and stay vigilant. He could not lose himself again. John had to put himself first.
Paul sets his books down and takes his seat, startling John out of his skin. He jumps in his seat, and then looks up at the boy.
He looked infinitely better than Saturday, but somehow he was even more handsome than before he was sick. His body had a glow achieved after it received the rest it needed. His skin was brighter and peachier. It looked softer and warmer. His eyes had an extra glint in them and his hair looked cleaner. He was wearing his best robes and of course had his shiny prefect badge on his chest.
Paul was downright beautiful. Maybe it wasn’t just his healthier state. Maybe it was something deeper and more complex from John’s side.
He suppressed the feeling, knowing damn well that is exactly what’s going to get him thrown into a prison again. Either from being queer or from his desire being too much to handle, making him look for an outlet in anything. Even dark magic. He looks away from Paul, swallowing thickly and trying to focus on literally anything else.
“Afternoon, John.” Paul says in a kind tone.
John just hums and nods, not making eye-contact with the boy. He couldn’t risk it. Paul was dangerous for John. Now that Elliot had held a mirror up to John and showed him who he really was, he was terrified of what this meant for his friendship with Paul.
Paul noticed John’s standoffishness. He tries to ignore it, and sits down.
The entire class was just mental sparring between the two. Paul would try to start up conversation with John, or ask about what he missed last week, bring up notes, he even tried talking about Quidditch (despite the no-Quidditch-in-class rule, which Paul ardently followed).
But John wouldn’t have it. He kept his eyes glued to the chalkboard and his quill connected to his parchment as he took the most vigilant notes of his life, desperately trying to distract himself from anything other than Paul and how he smelled, how his voice sounded, how his left hand flexed as he wrote notes.
It proved very difficult, and out of his peripheral vision, John could see how Paul would frown and look away after every failed attempt at a conversation. This gutted John, but he just kept reminding himself it was for the best.
He and Paul had already gotten too close. Closer than they ever should have. He never should have gone up to the Astronomy tower, never should have visited the Hospital so many times.
John had failed to protect his heart when that was one of his main goals for this year. He’s let Paul manipulate him into being something he isn’t. Both academically and emotionally.
Not to mention the fact that Elliot was somewhere behind John, likely looking at the back of his neck and feeling horrible for himself. That only made the confusion more debilitating. And only made the debilitation turn into diligence. He could not spend any more time wasting this year on what other boys wanted him to be.
The class felt twice as long as usual, and when Whittaker dismissed the class, John shot out of his seat and immediately left the classroom. He didn’t stop to talk to anyone, and he especially didn’t take time to look at Paul or Elliot.
He just needed to get to the end of the term. Once he took his O.W.Ls he never had to come back to this place. Never come back to these messes he keeps creating.
As John moves from Whittaker’s classroom to the library (where he’d be camping out away from everyone), he hears the chilling sound of a thousand ghosts calling to him again. It rattles his spine, and it makes his legs tingle.
He feels inclined to go towards the Astronomy tower, or to find the source of the voices.
John pushes away the feeling. He’d probably run into Paul in the Astronomy tower. He could not risk that. It was the beginning of December. He only needed to make it a few more weeks before the end of term and a break from all the drama.
Too bad he’d spend all of his study time thinking about Paul.
On Wednesday, John had skipped class entirely. He made up some bum excuse that he wasn’t feeling well, but he really was just too afraid to face McCartney. John had cooped himself up in the rafters, still not feeling much clarity about everything.
So, maybe he was a little queer? Just for Paul though. But that felt so wrong to say. He didn’t want to be queer. And he didn’t think so.
Paul was a friend. He thinks, at least. John can’t help but wonder if all of this simply stems from the fact that he and Elliot were arguing, so he was searching for secure male relationships elsewhere.
But John had plenty of secure male relationships. He and Arthur got along splendidly, and he never felt any queer thoughts or feelings towards him. Same with Flynn Weasley, and Lance, and even though he was a cheeky git half the time, Peter and John were friends.
It couldn’t be that. John had more male friends than female.
Maybe he was just horny? Touch starved? He missed Cyn but that was never going to happen at this point. Maybe hooking up with a bird would solve this issue. He could at least try that.
John couldn’t kick the feeling that it was because of their shared grief for their mothers. He’s never met anyone who had gone through something so life altering. John’s told Paul things he’s never told anyone else, and he knows Paul’s done the same. This had to go deeper than a confusing crush.
It wasn’t a crush. It’s not a crush.
John reminds himself of this over and over again. But no matter how hard he tries, all he could do was mull over the entire situation.
He never should have been put in that detention with Paul. Never should have untangled the rope. Never should have found him in the Astronomy tower and then gone back to him. It was all too much. He’s made far too many mistakes, he was almost in too deep. Almost.
There was still time to back out.
In Potions the next day, John kept glancing at Paul. He caught Paul looking back at him once, which made the lads look away quickly, embarrassed the other knew they were looking.
John feels the hair on the back of his neck stick up. He wasn’t making this easier on himself at all. He focuses on his brew, ignoring Paul for the rest of the block.
However, at the end of class, he could see Paul approaching him from his periphery. He swallows thickly, suddenly more nervous than ever before. He collects his books, grabbing his bag and making a move for the door before Paul could stop him.
He manages to squeeze out class, and turns down the long Gallery, trying to get Paul off his scent. But he hears him a few steps behind, and Paul’s calling out for John.
John keeps his head down, ignoring Paul shouting for his name.
“John!” Paul calls out, trying not to get swallowed by the other students moving to their next class. John tries to ignore the pit in his stomach. He knew how shallow this was but he had convinced himself he had to do it.
Pursuing Paul would lead him to nothing but despair and frustration. Not only was the lad certainly straight, but Paul would never imagine courting a messy, imperfect, muggle-born delinquent. He said so himself.
He manages to make it to his Magical Creatures class without running into Paul, pushing down the lump in his throat.
It was Friday at dinner when John saw Paul next. The Slytherin team had just come in from practice, all of them chattering in excitement for their match tomorrow. John was sitting with Arthur and Collette, the Great Hall was practically empty at this point.
He instantly looks down at his food, picking at it and praying that Paul wouldn’t notice he was there. Arthur picks up on it, and clears his throat. Collette glances over at the Slytherin team.
“They’re all so pompous. Walking around here like they own the place.” Collette scoffs and takes a bite of her food. “I hope they lose tomorrow so they can be a bit humbled. It’s downright exhausting being around them.”
John just hums, trying not to draw any attention to himself. Arthur leans over and in a whisper says, “Are you alright? Did something else happen with McCartney?” He knows better than anyone the warfare happening between John and some of McCartney’s friends. The younger of the two just shakes his head, hushing Arthur.
It’s no use, though. Paul immediately notices John, and after saying something quickly to his team, he approaches the Gryffindor table.
“He’s coming over here.” Arthur whispers to John, then sits up, smiling at the Slytherin Captain. “Evening, McCartney.” He says politely.
John keeps his head tucked down, afraid of even looking at Paul.
“How are the Gryffindor chasers? And you, Higgins?” Paul asks, perfect as usual.
“We’re good.” Collette says slowly, eyeing John who was decidedly not engaging in this conversation. “Have a good practice, did you?”
Paul nods, John could feel his eyes on him, “Reckon tomorrow will be a good game. I’m trying to make sure the team doesn’t get too comfortable, Ravenclaw was not an easy win last year. Need them to stay focused.” He explains, shoving his pale hands into his pockets.
Collette almost snorts at this. It had contradicted everything she said about them coming in. They weren’t doing a very good job at staying focused, in her opinion.
“Well, we’ll be there.” Arthur says with a smile, “Wouldn’t miss a match for anything, would we, Johnny?” He nudges John, as if to say be polite .
“Hm?” John looks at Arthur, “Oh yeah.” He nods, glancing down without giving McCartney the time of day.
“You’ll be there then, John?” Paul asks almost sweetly.
It melts John, literally melts him. Paul wanted John to be there, he had gone out of his way to invite him. If Paul had been a bird, John would have been able to come up with some sweet-talking flirtation in response, but instead he just feels how his stomach flips and brain tells him not to engage. Paul was playing a new kind of sick game. One that John would lose at. He wanted no part in it.
“John?” Arthur prods.
John then looks up at Paul finally. He had just showered, his hair wet and pushed back but with a perfect strand out of place dangling over his forehead. He looked and smelled clean, his eyes bright with a genuine look of interest. John’s jaw goes slack, and he has to remind himself to keep his mouth closed.
“I-I… yeah. I’ll be there.” He stutters, suddenly a bumbling mess. “Wouldn’t want to miss you getting beat, now would I?” He tacks on the end for good measure. It could be taken as a joke or not, but his tone was sincere enough that he saw how Paul’s shoulders dropped at it.
“Right.” He nods. “I also wanted to ask you if you were feeling alright.” Paul continues, “That’s what I tried to stop you about after Potions the other day. I heard you were sick and just wanted to make sure you were okay. You took good care of me when I was in the hospital.” Paul explains.
Arthur and Collette share a look at one another. John felt like a right ass now. Paul was trying to do something genuinely kind for him the other day and he just ignored him.
“You were sick?” Arthur asks. “I had no idea.”
Well, John wasn’t sick. He was just afraid of seeing Paul. That backfired on him now, he was stuck staring at the bloke, trying to come up with a good reply.
“You seemed alright before Defense Against the Dark Arts.” Collette adds, having been in Charms and Divination with John earlier that day. John shoots his friends a look of warning. But they don’t pick up on it.
Paul knows exactly what’s going on, “I see. You don’t have to lie, if you don’t want to see me you can just say it.” Paul says with a hint of vitriol on his voice. It cuts John like a knife.
But he stays vigilant. If he was actually going to protect himself through all this, he needed to make sacrifices.
“I don’t want to see you.” He says matter-of-factly, trying desperately to ignore how it stings to say. That gets increasingly harder when he sees how Paul’s face drops and the brightness in his hazel eyes subsides.
Paul’s lips thin, and he nods. “See you later, Higgins. Carter.” And turns back to the Slytherin table.
John felt terrible. He was being terrible. It wasn’t even true. He wanted to be around Paul. Really wanted it. He wanted to sit and talk to him for hours and laugh with him and beat him at games and duels. But he couldn’t.
He was too terrified of being abandoned by Paul. The same way he was abandoned by his father, by his mother, by Elliot. If he never got attached, he’d never have to face the inevitable abandonment from him.
He watches as Paul sits next to Graham, his back to John. But Paul turns over his shoulder for just a moment, making eye-contact with John. There were hints of betrayal and regret behind his eyes. John just looks away numbly. He was already in too deep.
So much for possibly becoming friends
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 15
Notes:
SURPRISE CHAPTER!?!?!
Since you all COMPLAINED SO MUCH last chapter. ;)
Also cuz I finished All the Young Dudes (I am forever changed, profoundly melancholic and emotionally wrecked) the other night. AND I got ahead on homework this week, so you’re all welcomeeeeeee tehehe
ALSO CAUSE I LOVE YOU GUYS. GOD. UGH.
Okay anyways, enjoy. There’s some sexual content in this chapter as well as teen substance use and whatnot. Just as a heads up
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The stands filled with students pressed shoulder-to-shoulder. It was much too cold to have a Quidditch match, and the entire school fantasized about the matches that would be held in the spring, when the sun was warm.
It wasn’t snowing, in fact it was a clear blue day, but the lack of a cloud cover only intensified the windy chill. Snow froze to the ground and the air was biting.
John wrapped himself in his warmest clothes, and the entirety of Gryffindor house huddled together in the stands, trying to keep some semblance of warmth among their bodies. They couldn’t even get excited for the game, not when they were all focused on shivering. One’s breath could be seen with each huff of air.
The Gryffindor Quidditch team stood together for the match, trying to trap some body heat between the seven of them. John and Elliot were on opposite ends of the group, still not on speaking terms. John had finally come back to the common room to sleep just last night. His back was in need of a real bed after almost a full week of avoiding any contact with Elliot.
Plus, he had a little run-in with Peeves and couldn’t risk any punishment.
Along with avoiding Elliot, John’s gone completely no-contact with Paul. He had made an extra effort to isolate himself, terrified of making any more foolish mistakes. He was mostly concerned about getting attached to Paul. The last thing John wanted was to need Paul.
But he couldn’t completely ignore Paul today. Not when he would be playing the Quidditch match. Despite the plummeting December temperatures, the full school was still out watching the game. Another Gryffindor wandered through the stands selling hot butterbeer, and everyone jumped at the chance to drink some in the hopes it would warm them from the inside.
Regardless, the energy was still there, the pitch was buzzing with anticipation for what was sure to be a good game. The Quidditch Cup match last year was between these two houses.
Arthur stood next to John, his nose tucked into his scarf, “Let’s hope this doesn’t go on too long.” He says.
John nods, pulling the hat around his ears further down, “I’d take this over a rainstorm, though.”
Madam Hyde takes her place on the pitch, and the announcer introduces Ravenclaw. The seven Ravenclaw players fly out onto the pitch in royal blue and silver. Half of the crowd cheers for them as they do their lap.
“Who do we want to win?!” John asks Arthur over all the noise.
Arthur shrugs, “If Slytherin wins we’ll have harder competition for the cup. So I’m rooting for Ravenclaw!”
John hated the Slytherin team. Even with his confusion towards Paul right now. The team was full of nasty players like Graham Black. He could bet on Ravenclaw winning and having a clear conscience. But he knows how important this game was to Paul. He needed a win after last week. Now that John knows how much pressure Paul puts on himself, he worries what would happen if he lost. This made him feel worse for what he said to Paul last night in the Great Hall.
He shakes his head, reminding himself to quit thinking about Paul so much.
At that moment, the announcer introduces the Slytherin team, “And let’s hear it for your defending Quidditch Cup champions! Slytherin!” The other half of the arena cheers as the Slytherin team zooms onto the pitch. Their emerald robes flew around the crowd, and when they flew over where a majority of the Slytherin house was sitting, the arena boomed with noise. The Slytherin’s had immense house spirit, even if it was obnoxious and rooted in generational supremacy.
The Slytherin team flew over where the Gryffindors stood, and John looked up, his eye instantly going to Paul in the line up. He wondered if Paul was looking back at him, but he couldn’t quite tell without his glasses. They fly by quickly, and before John knows it, the two teams are getting ready to start the match.
As hard as John tried, he couldn’t stop watching Paul. The players take their positions and with a blow of Hyde’s whistle, the game starts.
Typically, John would be watching the other chasers, taking note of their plays and trying to pick up on what they relied on. And he tried, really, he did. But every few seconds he’d glance back to wherever Paul was.
Paul watched around intently for the snitch, but he also kept an eye on his team. As the captain, he was likely taking notes on everyone’s playing. While the entire crowd followed around the Chasers and Beaters, John’s gaze was fixed on Paul and his movements.
It was alluring, his technique was carefully calculated, as most things were for him. Of course Paul was a skilled Quidditch player. He was good at everything he tried. And no doubt his father paid for expensive Quidditch camps in the summer months.
He flew high above at first, scanning the pitch for a glimmer of gold. But then, he plummets as the Ravenclaws push the quaffle down the pitch, intercepting their play and causing a huge commotion. It throws off the Ravenclaw’s play and groove entirely, and the Ravenclaw seeker starts to panic, trying to look for whatever it was that Paul saw.
But that was the trick: Paul didn’t see the snitch at all. Instead, he was inserting himself into the defensive play, throwing off the other seeker in the process. It was clever. A move that educational teams of Quidditch rarely play because it puts your seeker at risk. And there’s no game if there’s no seeker. It’s exciting, and John immediately wonders how the Gryffindor team can incorporate something similar into their gameplay.
To everyone’s chilly disappointment, the game is not a quick one. These two teams were very evenly matched, and every time one house scored, the other house would score in the next play. The score was already 120-110, with Slytherin up. It was a good game, and even Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were getting into it with vigor and enthusiasm in the stands.
But John felt he was on the verge of being frostbitten, even though everyone had warmed up with the excitement of the game. He blows hot air into his gloved hands as the score keeps climbing and the snitch was nowhere in sight.
“They need to start scheduling these matches in warmer months.” John says to Arthur.
Arthur agrees, “Shame McCartney was so sick last week! It was much warmer last Saturday.
“Oh he wasn’t sick!” Lance scoffs on the other side of Arthur, inserting him into the conversation. John looks at Lance with confusion.
“What d’you mean?” He asks as Ravenclaw scores, tying the game.
“I mean, it’s the same reason Slytherin canceled our scrimmage.” Lance says with a shrug, as if it were obvious. “They’re scared of losing their status.”
“Maybe.” John begins, trying to tuck away the need to defend Paul, someone who was his sworn enemy until a few weeks ago. “But McCartney was actually sick.” He attempts nonchalance, “I saw him, he had pneumonia or something!” He tries not to sound too informed. The less he talked about it all, the better he’d protect himself.
“Well that’s convenient!” Penny Tonks snorts from behind them, a Gryffindor fourth year who was always causing issues. “I mean come on, if anyone else had gotten sick they wouldn’t have rescheduled the game!” She says after John, Arthur and Lance turn to look at her.
Slytherin scores again, creating a wave of sound throughout the crowd. When it dies down more, Arthur speaks up, “I mean, Paul’s their captain and seeker. They couldn’t have a game without him. They don’t put alternates in for seekers.” He explains.
“Sure, but you can’t deny that McCartney gets everything he wants!” Lance adds.
John rolled his eyes, he didn’t want to be part of this conversation. But Lance picks up on it and just stares at John. John can feel how his friend stares daggers into him, and he tries ignoring it, but his neck gets hot.
“What is it, Lance?” John all but snaps at his teammate.
Arthur swallows between the two of them. He hated uncomfortable situations such as these, and John’s put him in plenty recently.
“You’ve been awfully weird about McCartney, recently!” Lance says over the crowd, “Is there something you would like to share with the class?” Elliot glances over at the commotion after this, peering across the girls who separated him from the rest of the team.
Ravenclaw scores, and John feels how his stomach starts to flip. This is exactly what he meant about distancing himself to protect himself. He was going to say or do something terrible if Lance kept this up. It was in John’s nature.
“Piss off, Bingham.” John cocks his head.
“Wow, what a play!” Arthur says nervously as he tries deescalating.
It just pisses John off more, “You stay out of this.” He says to Arthur, who’s face drops with hurt at that. Now that did make John feel bad. Arthur was really the only constant denominator in his crazy life these days. “I’m sorry, Artie I didn’t mean-”
The crowd explodes as John says this, drowning out anything he tried to say. He looks for what the commotion was, just to see Paul was holding the Golden Snitch in his hand. John had completely missed the winning play, and was upset he had. Especially since Paul had won it.
The Slytherins do a victory lap, and the crowd cheers for them with intense vigor (or heartbreaking disappointment, depending on which team they rooted for). John can feel the tension between him and Lance still. He was going to ruin his relationship with everyone on the Gryffindor team at this rate.
Paul flies above him, and John finds himself staring yet again.
What he didn't know was that Paul was staring right back at him.
“We’re going to sneak into the Slytherin after party.” Arthur says after knocking on the open door to John’s dormitory. John had been tossing his old, beat-up quaffle against the wall and catching it as he laid on his back, over and over again, trying to think of anything other than Paul-fucking-McCartney.
He sits up, setting the quaffle down to his side. It was barely eight o’clock, the party probably hadn’t even started yet. “Is this your way of inviting me?”
“Of course it is.” Arthur leans against his doorframe, John was the only one in here right now. “We’re all going. Lila’s going to get us in.”
Lila was the Slytherin girl Elliot was paired with in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and the girl he had asked to the Yule ball. She looked like a snake with her upturned eyes and sharp features. John never would have guessed she’d be the one for Elliot to go for, but then again, maybe Elliot couldn’t go for who he really wanted…
John pushes away the discomfort he feels. “Elliot’s going, then?”
Arthur nods, “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, and frankly I don’t want to. But you both have got to get over whatever it is. It’s going to tear the team apart. It already has.”
“Does that explain Lance’s attitude today?” John stands up.
“Yeah, in a way. You and Elliot have shown everyone else that it’s okay to talk back to one another and be just general pricks.” Arthur shrugs, “John this is my last chance to win the Quidditch Cup… and maybe it’s selfish, but I don’t want to miss my opportunity.”
John could understand that, respect it even. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just working through some stuff.”
“Does it have to do with McCartney?” Arthur asks innocently.
He was right, but John didn’t like that. He didn’t like that it was so obvious to everyone else. He probably looked like a straight up queer to everyone else.
“Not everything is about him.” Is what he comes up with.
“It’s okay if it is.” Arthur adds. “I mean, you’ve put a lot of energy into him. It’s understandable if it’s affecting your attitude.”
“It’s not.” John states pointedly. He didn’t want to discuss this anymore. It made him feel far too self-conscious, too bare.
Arthur picks up on John’s chagrin, and drops it. “Well, we’re gonna leave in an hour or so. We’d love for you to come. I heard they got some really wicked Lobe-Blaster from the states.”
John couldn’t pass up an opportunity to get pissed. And he really wanted a hook up. If he could get with a bird, maybe that would put to rest all of his queer feelings and his thirst for some touch. Get his mind off of Paul. Get his head screwed back on straight.
So before he knows it, he’s climbing into the Slytherin common room from a secret trapdoor with the rest of the Gryffindor team.
John remembered Paul mentioning that Slytherin knew how to throw a party at the last victory party. That was clear. They were playing loud music, and the atmosphere was thick and heavy with energy from the house victory.
It was hard to think about all these uptight pure-blood Slytherin’s partying so hard, yet here they were. It felt like half the school was crammed into their common room.
John had never been here before. It was a large, grand room that felt far less cozy than the Gryffindor common room. They were under the lake, and green light illuminated the space. There were tall ceilings, leather furniture and everything felt so… rich. Of course it did.
Hufflepuffs loved to party, and Slytherins loved Hufflepuffs. There seemed to be most of Hufflepuff house in attendance, and the air was thick with the scent of fluxweed and just typical cannabis. What Muggles didn’t understand was that marijuana was actually a plant of the Wizarding world that had been brought into their own world.
There were even plenty of Ravenclaws present, despite having lost. A party is a party, after all. And other than the Gryffindor team there were a few groups of other Gryffindors as well. But the house rivalries ran deep—since the beginning of Hogwarts—and any Gryffindor felt out of their element as Slytherin sneered and glared at them.
Even a considerable amount of Ravenclaw showed up, despite their devastating loss.
John was concerned about running into Paul at this party, and even if he secretly wanted to, he didn’t think it would be an issue with the sheer amount of students packed into the Slytherin common room. So that was a relief.
They weaved their way through the crowd, John stuck with Arthur as they found a table full of different bottles and vials near the giant, grand fireplace in the center of the room. This was a gamble. They could be drinking anything. Wizard alcohol, Muggle alcohol, potions. There was no rhyme or reason to how the table was set up, and the two teenagers looked at the options with wide eyes.
Arthur takes a purple bottle from the table which was about half-full. “Only one way to find out what everything is!” He shouts over the noise, and John still could barely understand what Artie had said.
John picks up his own bottle, a short, clear, square one, “Bottoms up, brother!” He yells back and the two of them link arms before throwing back their alcohol.
Whatever he picked was vile, and he grimaced almost instantly, his throat burning from whatever it was. John gags, sticking his tongue out, “That’s straight tequila. Muggle, for sure.” He says to Arthur.
“Mine is mead! Not half as concentrated as yours!” They switch bottles and Arthur has the same reaction to the tequila.
“Some Muggle-born has been saving that for months!” John takes the tequila from Arthur, taking another swig that he didn’t necessarily want. But he wanted to be drunk, and hard liquor was going to be his best bet for the fastest results.
“I can’t believe muggles drink that!” Arthur’s face was still contorted from the taste, “Mad torture is that!”
Someone sets off some enchanted fireworks on the other side of the common room, setting off a huge and loud explosion. The room lights up with pinks and oranges that contrast against the otherwise green-atmosphere for a moment as everyone turns to look at it, eyes wide. It startles John, but he whoops and hollers with everyone else at it after.
It doesn’t take very long for Arthur and John to relax and start feeling dizzy with delight. They join the party, chatting with whoever they run into, dancing to the music, watching as the enchanted fireworks put on a show. John’s had more tequila than he’s ever wanted and some sips of whatever else was being passed around. The air was cloudy and he could even feel a second-hand-high settling into his nervous system.
He’s sprawled across a sofa with an incredibly gorgeous Hufflepuff girl laying her head in his lap, passing her spliff to him. There were plenty of other people on the couch with him, but his tunnel vision was focused on this one girl.
Her name was Josie. She was cute, a seventh-year with curves in all the right places. She wasn’t pretty like Cynthia was in her alluring, other-worldly way. Or pretty like Paul in his contrasting features of light and dark and round, smooth edges.
Not that Paul was pretty, or anything.
Josie was pretty in a very girl-next-door way. Her hair was sandy-blonde and shoulder-length, her skin was tan and covered in cute little freckles. She’d be a good lover for the night. A good distraction.
One of the fireworks shoots out a sparkling, green snake across the common room, slithering into the air. Everyone cheers for its magnificence, and John stares up at it with his bloodshot eyes.
He was totally cross faded, and it was times like these he would say and do stupid shit. But he didn’t care. This is what being a teenager was about: recklessness and tomfoolery. And John Lennon was a pro at those things.
John looked down at the pretty Hufflepuff, her eyes were shut and her lips were slightly parted. John takes a drag from the doobie and leans down to blow the smoke into her mouth.
Josie looks up at him, foxy and playful. She takes the blunt back, taking her own hit.
There’s a huge commotion on the other end of the common room, and John looks to see what it’s all about. A group of boys stand up on a makeshift stage of tables pushed tougher.
To John's surprise and delight, they held guitars. Muggle guitars. He sits up, Josie’s head lifting off his lap as she throws herself into the lap of the other boy on the couch.
One of them starts playing a song, using a charm to amplify his music. The crowd goes wild for it. It’s some real-true muggle rock and roll, the kind from the states. It’s so loud, and John’s high brain struggled to comprehend what he was seeing.
He didn’t think anyone else in this school listened to rock, but he figured that was probably foolish of him to think. He pushes his way through the crowd, and when he gets close enough to the tables, he gets a better look.
To his shock, George from Ravenclaw was one of the ones playing. Along with two other boys who John did not recognize one bit. It filled John’s bloodstream with adrenaline as he was tempted to climb onto those tables and join the fun.
He couldn’t believe it. He’s been spending time with all the wrong people. He needed to get up there with them.
But he was too high right now, and so he just stood and listened, dumbfounded. The crowd quickly turned into a mosh, and John found himself in the center of it. He jumped with them, not even hearing what the song was over the screaming and the fireworks. It was like getting injected with heroin, his heart rate speeding and skin on fire as he succumbed to the energy of the party.
His head started to spin, but ignores it. He understood what McCartney meant when he said Gryffindor parties were ‘juvenile’. This was insane compared to their own parties.
It was unclear whether it had been hours or minutes since John got here when he found himself wandering into the dormitory hall of the Slytherin common room.
He was being dragged by that same Hufflepuff girl, Josie, but he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was totally fixated on how there were countless couples on one another in these halls, making out furiously over the music.
John’s ears had started to ring, and Josie opened a door to a linen closet of all places. John anticipates being pushed in, hopefully getting some much needed attention from her.
But they can’t go in, because it’s already occupied.
Occupied by Paul McCartney. Whose face was pressed up against the wall in a steamy fit of bum-to-junk grinding by none other than Leo Buckling, the Hufflepuff male prefect.
Male.
John’s eyes instantly darted to how Paul’s hands were grabbing at Leo’s waistband, how Leo’s hands ran up and down Paul’s back, grinding him forcefully against his very male frame. How Paul’s hair was tousled and messy, his cheeks pink and flushed, his neck blushing, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheek, his eyebrows knitted together in an arch of pleasure. John makes note of Paul’s swollen and red lips which were glistening in saliva, and Leo’s tongue which licks against Paul’s neck with wanton desire.
His eyes wander down, down, down to Paul’s hips which rutted against the wall. Paul was definitely… enjoying it. His trousers tented as his core pressed into the wall. It was downright obscene, and John’s cross faded brain could barely comprehend it.
But his body could. His stomach instantly flips while every nerve in his body wakes up. His heart races, and he feels an electric shock of desire shoot through his spine. John feels how the image immediately turns him on. How could it not? It was the picture of pure lust before him: hungry, inexperienced and steamy.
And of course it was Paul in a completely new context. In an intoxicating light. He was bloody gorgeous. And there he was, all of him.
“Not so perfect now, are you?” John says with a hiccup, and that’s when the two grinding finally notice John and his Hufflepuff tart. They must not have noticed the door opening over all the noise and commotion.
They push away from one another, shocked and embarrassed. Paul makes eye-contact with John, his eyes wide and chest heaving.
“John!” He runs his hand through his hair moving to push the door closed. John chuckles, biting his lip.
The door slams in John’s face, and his girl is pulling him off to somewhere else with a giggle. John doesn't stop laughing, the image of Paul in that situation burned into his memory. If anything, it turned John on more. He knew it probably shouldn’t, but he was too high and drunk to care. No one would know that he was thinking about Paul the entire time Josie went down on him, sucking him dry as he thought of nothing but the golden boy looking totally debauched.
It was alright when he was under the influence, wasn’t it?
He was knackered in the morning. He doesn’t even remember making it back to his bed last night. He must have blacked out at some point.
In fact, John could barely remember anything from last night. He partied hard . Harder than he should have. That was apparent when he shifts in his bed and feels another body pressed up against him. He opens his eyes, confused.
To his surprise, the Hufflepuff girl was pressed up against his side, half-naked and sleeping deeply. John blinks at her a few times, not even recalling having sex with her at all. He must have though, because he’s completely naked under his covers. He lifts his head up as best as he can, ignoring how his neck aches and brain throbbed. He looks over to Elliot's bed. It was empty, to his relief. He presses his chin to his chest as he looks at Flynn’s and the other’s beds. It looked like most of his dorm mates hadn’t made it back to the Gryffindor common room last night, and the ones who did had their curtains drawn tight. He was at least relieved about that.
John drops his head back on his pillow, heavy. This bed was certainly not big enough for two bodies. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, feeling a wash of regret from last night. He can’t recall what happened. What he took, what he said. He was probably an idiot last night and would have to cover his ass.
He felt awful, this was a hangover that might warrant a visit with Madam Merriweather, although he can imagine how badly things would turn out if a Professor found out what went on in the Slytherin common room last night. They were lucky the Head of Slytherin house was just Slughorn, who was quick to turn a blind eye to student activities.
John tries remembering what even went down last night. The fireworks… the rock music… and then it hits him like a boggart.
His eyes shoot open, his whole body shivers.
Paul.
He watched Paul McCartney pressed up against a wall, his ass pressed into the sex of someone else. Someone else who just happened to be a man. And John liked it. John got off to it .
It all comes back to John like he was watching it in a pensive. It’s intense, and it rips through his senses at a rate that is alarming.
Paul. Paul’s messy hair. Paul’s hot cheeks. Paul’s wet lips. Paul’s soft sighs. The tent in Paul’s trousers.
John’s nervous system reacts to it, he feels it in his spine. It’s intense. He’s seen plenty of people fooling around before. He’s fooled around plenty himself before. This should be no different.
Except it totally was. Of course it was. John had just gone through the realization that he was probably a little fruit for Paul just a few days ago, was kissed by a lad (his best friend), and completely isolated himself from any male relationships he felt emasculated by. Then he saw Paul groped by another man? It was all too much.
He never would have guessed Paul was queer. In fact, John was certain he wasn’t. It was part of his reasoning for isolating himself from Paul. He was so uptight, followed every rule, played by the book. Paul was practically the perfect lad in every way.
But why would him being queer change that?
John snorts at the sentiment. He shakes his head, looking down at the girl. Shit , he thinks, what’s her name?
He can’t even think of her name. Some lover John was. He rubs his eye again, feeling like he could puke. Johanna? Janet? Josie?
It was Josie. It was certainly Josie.
Or was it Julianna?
Christ, he couldn’t remember.
All he could think of was Paul: Paul’s look of shock when he saw John, how he slammed the door, how his face flushed with humiliation. John kept replaying the entire situation on a loop.
And then, he remembers Josie-Johanna giving him a blowie and how John thought about Paul the whole time. Imagined what Paul’s lips would look like stretched around his dick instead of hers, how Paul’s eyelashes would press against his cheeks, the noises he would make. That’s what got John there. Not the actual bird doing it to him. She was lovely, but John was far more enticed by the premise of Paul. The fantasy of him.
Merlin, it was affecting John now. He felt how his blood rushed to his core, and he tried ignoring it. He starts thinking about something else, anything else. Quidditch plays, guitar chords, the look of Josie-Julianna’s chest, her breathing against his shoulder, Paul’s breathing, Paul’s shallow gasps when he was sick, Paul’s ribs, Paul shirtless, Paul’s shirtless chest pressed against John’s shirtless chest.
“Shit.” John says, sitting up. It wakes up Janet-Josie with a groan. He swings his feet to the floor, grabbing a pair of boxers which had been tossed on the ground and pulling them up.
Julianna-Janet sighs, sitting up “Merlin.” Her voice was hoarse, “I should go.” She leans forward to kiss John’s shoulder. It’s tender, John wonders how it would feel if it were Paul’s lips instead of hers.
He shakes his head, combing through his hair with his fingers. He was a wreck.
“Thanks love.” He says, turning his head. Josie takes his lips in hers, giving him a tender kiss before getting off the bed and pulling her clothes back on.
The kiss was pleasant. She was clearly experienced. But it wasn’t Paul. John fantasized about what Paul’s lips would feel like against him.
Josie goes to leave the room, “See you later, John.” She says sweetly, implying this isn’t the last time she wanted to see him. John just smiles at her.
She closes the dormitory door behind her, leaving John sitting there, his mind a jumbled mess.
He turns around himself to see Josie left John a little gift on his mattress: her knickers.
His jaw drops when he sees it. She was dangerous. Lovely. But dangerous.
Of course, John’s perverted mind goes immediately to Paul again. Because Paul was the plague. Would Paul leave John something? Something distinctly his to remember him by, to think of him after he leaves? Would it be something so intimate as his knickers? Of course Paul didn’t wear knickers.
But what if he would? Would he do it for John? If John asked?
He laughs at himself. He was being delusional.
Regardless, he needed Paul after last night.
John needed Paul.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 16
Notes:
Happy Update day!
Woof this chapter gave me a lot of grief. I spent a lot of time trying to get it right, and I’m still not sold on it. But I know you guys will still enjoy it!
This is a darker chapter, there’s a bit of a tone shift here. Also lots of stream-of-consciousness (i know it can be hard for some people to understand, hence the heads-up), and some yucky thoughts. Also some non-explicit sexual stuff.
That’s all! Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
John knew he had screwed up.
If he had any intention of being friends with Paul again, he was going to have to apologize for how he treated him last week. They had taken one step forward but two steps back since Paul was in the hospital, and John was deeply regretting that.
In retrospect, he wishes he had just talked to Paul. He should have explained to him that he had some seriously deep abandonment issues, and made it clear that he respected Paul. But he was terrified of how Paul could hurt him.
He wishes Paul knew just how much power he really had over John.
Hindsight was always 20/20. John had terrible vision in all areas of his life, apparently.
He didn’t have the luxury to go back in time and try again, as much as he wished he could. All he can do is try to make things right.
But he had been a complete asshole to Paul. He knew that Paul held grudges, and it took him and John months to get where they were.
Was it going to take that long again? John really hoped not. He didn’t have the time or patience to wait. He wanted Paul now.
How he wanted Paul wasn’t completely clear. He knew he wanted him as a friend, at the very least. He and Paul were very similar, and it was nice to have someone to share secrets with and bond over grief with. That was appealing.
And of course, Paul was gorgeous. He was handsome and funny, clever and hardworking, he was kind when it counted but was able to stick up for himself when he needed to.
John remembers Elliot saying at the beginning of the term when he was still hung up on Cynthia that he needed someone who could put up with him; someone who could keep up with John. Now, John understands that Elliot was referring to himself. But it all seemed so convenient that Paul happened to be just that. Paul’s the only person who’s been able to keep John in line, to succeed in putting him in his place.
Their intellectual sparring was exciting to John. Paul pushed John in more ways than one to be better.
Plus, Paul liked other blokes. At least John thought he did. Seeing him crammed in a linens closet in a heated snog-session with a lad was pretty damning evidence that Paul was at least a little queer. That was reassuring to John.
But this was all uncharted territory for John. He wasn’t even totally sure himself if he was queer or not. But he was sure that he liked Paul. He was certain that he wanted to be around him, and that he found him physically attractive. And he especially found the idea and image of Paul in a sexual light enticing. It did something to John’s nervous system that was literally inexplicable.
No bird has ever made John feel the way he did about Paul from just the idea of them. Simply the premise of Paul being physically intimate woke John up. It turned him on. It was a fantasy he couldn’t get out of his head.
There was something appealing about this boy who had worked so hard on his reputation—who had done everything correctly, who was so perfect in every way—being lewd.
It was satisfying to imagine someone so uptight and put together being intimate and primal. The dichotomy of perfection letting loose was addictive. Paul would kiss up to anyone to get what he wants, and placing that trait in a sexual setting was nothing but enticing to John.
John shakes his head. Maybe he was sick and perverted for thinking about Paul that way. After all, he had zero proof Paul would even be interested in John. But the private thought of it was still exciting..
Plus, Paul was smart. He could help John in his classes, and with his O.W.Ls, which John needed. Even though it was getting too late to really benefit from any O.W.L tutoring. It was December already, and there were only two weeks of the term left. And exactly two weeks until the Yule Ball.
Which John still didn’t have a date for.
Between finals, the Yule Ball, preparing for O.W.Ls, fighting with Elliot, going crazy over Paul and hearing the whispers of The Grimoire again, John was feeling suitably overwhelmed.
He finds his seat in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Paul was already there. This was the first time he’s seen the Slytherin prefect since he caught a glimpse of him in that linen closet. John blushes at the memory.
John sits down, pulling out his text book and looking at Paul. Paul keeps his eyes down, scratching down some answers to his Advanced Arithmancy homework. John clears his throat, but Paul doesn’t react.
He supposes he can’t blame him. John was nothing but cold to Paul last week. He was simply getting a taste of his own medicine. Besides, he had explicitly communicated to Paul that he didn’t want to see him. Which he now deeply regretted. He could at least admire that Paul was respecting his wish, even if it was made in poor taste.
“Paul?” John asks quietly, unsure of how to go about this. Paul doesn’t make any move, he stays focused on his homework. John speaks up again, “McCartney?”
“I don’t want to speak with you.” Paul says coldly, glaring at John.
John’s taken aback from it, although he can’t argue. Paul really was just dishing it right back to John. He deserves it, really. He just hates that it’s come to this.
He just nods. If Paul was respecting him, John could do the same. It was literally the very least. This was going to be more work than he wanted it to be, but John was determined to make things right.
They go the entire class period only interacting when necessary. It stung John, but it was the consequences of his own actions.
Tuesday isn’t any better. It’s easy to ignore one another in Potions, but after class Slughorn invites the sixth-years in the Slug Club to his desk. Paul would have to interact with John here.
John wasn’t even totally sure he wanted to be in the Slug Club anymore. Now that he knows they’re all out to get him. So he approaches Slughorn with apprehension. At least the gourmet wizarding food made it worth it.
Cynthia is to John’s left. Jane’s standing to John’s right. Next to her is Graham and then Paul. John looks at Paul in his periphery, wishing all this was over already.
“We will have our December dinner in a week from tomorrow. Next Wednesday the eighteenth. I look forward to seeing you all there.” Slughorn says brightly. John feels his stomach twist.
“Thank you, Professor.” Jane says with a smile. Paul and Graham also give a nice nod, their bags slung over their shoulders. Paul won’t even look at John. It makes John feel terribly small.
The other three leave the table, but John lingers for a moment. “Professor Slughorn?” He asks, “I wanted to thank you for the invite, but I don’t know if I will be in attendance.” John says bluntly.
“Oh?” Slughorn’s face drops ever-so-slightly. “Do you have a prior engagement?”
John shakes his head, “No. I’m just not sure I quite fit in with your group.” He admits.
“Oh but you must come this month! The elves are preparing a Christmas dish from everyone’s home! Just got your aunt's recipe yesterday! And we’ll be taking our term photograph. You simply must attend!” Slughorn pleads. John couldn’t help but find his plans charming, plus the term photograph was a big deal. Every term, Slughorn would take a picture with his club, his star students, and it would be forever immortalized on the grand hutch in his room, along with all the past students of the club. John couldn’t deny it was tempting.
He sighs, “I’ll try.”
“I‘ve already had some words with Mr. Black and Mr. Pritchard. This evening should go far smoother. I’ll see you there.” Slughorn says with a nod.
John smiles, and turns on his heel to leave class, now the only student left in the room. As John walks out of the potions classroom, he sees Paul and Jane talking to one another next to the spiral staircase to the long gallery.
Their faces are an inch apart, and Paul has a charming grin on his face as he looks at her through his forest of perfect eyelashes. Jane’s back was to John, and she held her books to her chest, giggling up at Paul like some tart. It makes John roll his eyes. It puts a bad taste in his mouth. They don’t notice him at first, so he goes to leave. But as he starts towards the door back to the Central Hall, he hears Paul speak up.
“So, you’ll go with me, then? To the Yule Ball?” He asks, his tone low and flirtatious.
Jane giggles and nods, “I thought you’d never ask.”
It makes John’s blood hot, although he doesn’t want to admit why. Paul looks up then, seeing that John had heard him say that. They make eye-contact, and it sears John’s nerves.
Paul then lifts his hand up to Jane’s face, cupping it gently, and without ever breaking eye-contact with John, he leans in and gives Jane a deep, intentional kiss. She tightly closes her eyes and melts into it, sighing. But Paul’s hazel eyes were wide open, staring into John’s with something bordering hate.
Whatever Paul was trying to do, it worked. John’s jaw tightens, and he feels his neck get horribly hot. He scoffs and pushes through the heavy wooden door, irritated at Paul. What a player. He drove John crazy in more ways than one.
On Wednesday they were casting the Imperius Curse on spiders.
Their final would be proving they could resist the Imperius Curse. Whittaker would be doing the casting, and would only be controlling them to do simple things such as walking and jumping. The test was making the students resist it and fight back.
Whittaker explained how this could only be done if the students themselves understood how the spell worked and how to cast it. This would be performed on something small and unintelligent, so spiders it was.
John’s already cast this curse many times before. It was the easiest unforgivable curse to perform, but it still required much power and strength. He learned it from The Grimoire last fall. It’s strange for John to think about how that was all a year ago. The only thing he ever used Imperio on was rats in the dungeon and bugs in the Forbidden Forest.
Obviously Imperio is dangerous because the caster can make people say and do horrible things. But it’s also dangerous because it taps into a dark part of the witch or wizard’s psyche.
Humans like control. They have an innate desire to be in charge, and when one has complete and utter control over another person, it’s easy to get drunk on power, to lose oneself.
John instantly feels that part of his brain waking up as he casts the curse on the spider on his first try. He lifts the thing up with his wand and spins it around in the air. It’s simple at first, but then he feels the need to drop it on someone’s head, or throw it in a bucket of water, or slam it against the table.
His eyes darken, his thoughts got cloudy, and it isn’t until he’s feeling the gentle hand of Paul on his arm that he snaps out of it. Paul pulls John’s arm down, breaking the curse. The spider scurries off somewhere, terrified for its life.
John shakes his head, clearing his throat as his senses take control back. “Sorry.” He says.
Paul doesn’t reply. He just picks up his own wand and tries casting it on his own spider. “Imperio.” He says. Nothing happens, and Paul sighs, trying again. He doesn’t get it on his third try either, and John can hear how he huffs. Paul was so hard on himself when it came to this sort of thing.
“Do you want a tip?” John asks.
Paul looks at him with a frown, he struggles to admit when someone was better than him, especially when it was John. But he knows that John has more experience with this type of spell, so he swallows his pride and nods.
“If you flick on the down a bit faster, it will work.” He explains, showing Paul the wand movement with his own. Paul tries it again, but it still doesn’t work. He groans out in frustration, and John scoots in towards Paul. “May I?” He positions himself behind Paul, placing his left arm around Paul’s shoulder and setting his hand on top of Paul’s. He completely wrapped himself around Paul, and tried not to fall apart being so close to him. Of course, since Paul was left-handed, it would be more difficult to perform this curse. The wand movement was perfected by right-handed wizards.
John wraps his hand around Paul’s, gripping his wand through Paul’s hand. He tries to ignore how soft Paul’s skin was compared to John’s rough, calloused palm. John holds his breath, it was the first time he’s touched Paul since he was in the Hospital. First time he’s felt him since he saw him in that linen closet.
It went right to John’s core like some sheltered Victorian lad seeing an ankle for the first time.
He tries to focus on the task at hand, “Here, like this.” He explains and does the wand movement with Paul. He does it twice for good measure, and is tempted to do it a third time just so he can touch Paul longer, but after the second attempt he pulls away, his hand feeling extra cold. “Does that make sense?” He asks.
Paul nods, and then tries the spell again. He succeeds this time, controlling the little body of his own spider. Paul smiles and chuckles, happy to have figured it out.
He glances at John, wanting to thank him, but then clears his throat and looks away, going back to his coldness.
Thursday was just like Tuesday. Paul would completely ignore John in Potions, but would talk to Jane outside of class after. Give her a kiss in front of John, make her giggle, tell her she looked pretty. It was terribly frustrating.
But John had a better idea for Thursday night. Paul himself had told him that he spent most nights in the Astronomy Tower. Plus, they had their ‘all bets are off’ rule there.
So John waited until it was rather late in the evening to pull on his warmest clothes and make the trip up to the highest tower in Hogwarts. It was just past Midnight, which was the time John had met Paul last.
Anticipation pumped through John’s veins as he made his way to the tower, wanting to really talk to Paul, to properly apologize to him. Even though Paul was currently succeeding at pissing John off with his attention towards Jane. That was a new type of frustration for John. He thought Paul was a queer, after all. He saw Paul with a bloke, so why was he suddenly all over Asher?
Perhaps Paul was just part-queer, but John wasn’t sure. Maybe that’s what John was, too. Regardless, Paul’s obsession with kissing Jane in front of John was really getting under his skin. He knew it stemmed from jealousy, he wanted to be kissing Paul and inviting him to grand balls and dances.
John makes it to the top of the tower, but it’s completely empty. Paul was nowhere to be seen, and John stood completely alone. It was extra cold, as well. He was disappointed, his shoulders dropping when he saw he’s by himself.
Paul had to have thought about this. He had to have known John would come looking for him here. Paul was sure being petty, he really took what John said hard. John knew he shouldn’t have said it, cursing himself for letting this get so out of hand. He was so close to having Paul the way he wanted him, even though he didn’t know it at the time.
John decides to sit in their regular spot for a while, staring up at the moon which was now a thin crescent. Maybe Paul would eventually come up here.
But he never does. John cuts his losses and goes back to bed just before one.
However, on his walk back to the common room, John feels a horrible sense of dread come over him.
He can hear a thousand voices whispering in his ear, and his feet threaten to guide him someplace he shouldn’t be. It’s inexplicable, and he considers himself lucky when he winds up back at the Fat Lady portrait, having zero recollection of where he walked between the Astronomy Tower and here. It was almost as if he had teleported to this place. However, the later time on his watch suggested the opposite. John had been completely entranced on his walk back.
It reminds him of…
No, He shakes his head, entering the common room
Troubled, he goes to bed.
Finally Friday came around, but John wouldn’t have a chance to see Paul at all today. John had felt himself slip back into his old habits concerning Paul. He told Arthur he thought Paul was arrogant, and told Collette that Paul was an overachiever. There was some truth to these, but he was choosing to ignore the nuance he had learned about them a few weeks ago. John could feel himself wanting to dislike Paul again.
He sits in front of the fireplace, running through a few songs on the guitar when he feels the cushion next to him dip. He looks up, and to his surprise, it’s Elliot.
John can taste metal. He stops playing, but grips onto his guitar like it’s some kind of safety blanket. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say. The two of them have been completely ignoring one another for well over a month now. Elliot gets out of bed before John, John goes to bed after Elliot. They avoid one another. It’s easier that way.
But John missed who was once his best friend. So he waits, looking at Elliot through his glasses dumbly. He would have to be the one to initiate any conversation, John didn’t know how to start.
Elliot stares back at John, very still. And then, “That’s a good one.” He nods to the guitar.
John nods, “It’s called ‘Come Go With Me’. Brand new one, I’m still learning it.” The conversation feels nothing but unnatural.
“Muggle music. Always found it so strange.” Elliot says, it’s forced.
John chuckles, trying to relieve some of the tension. He looks away, unsure of how to continue.
Elliot speaks up again, “Have you found a date to the ball, yet?” He asks.
John shakes his head, “I don’t think I’m going to go.” He says.
“Oh.” Elliot says, “What are your plans for Christmas this year?” In John's second, second, third and fourth years he went to Elliot’s home for Christmas. He didn’t think that would be happening again this year.
“Probably going to stay here.” John explains, “I’ve got to focus on my O.W.Ls for after the term, anyways.”
“I see.” Elliot nods, picking at his fingers. There’s a long, uncomfortable moment of silence, the both of them hating the tension. “Well… it’s good to talk to you.” Elliot stands up. John feels his ears heat up with embarrassment. It’s like Elliot was a total stranger. This boy he had grown up with, who he’s shared a room with his whole teenage life, was a complete mystery to John all of a sudden.
Elliot starts to walk away, and John isn’t sure what comes over him, but he speaks up, “Ells?” He says. Elliot stops, turning over his shoulder. He looks at John, patiently waiting for him to continue. John clears his throat, “I’ll see you in Astronomy tonight?”
The dark-haired boy nods with a smile, and then goes to their dormitory.
It was a step in the right direction.
Saturday morning, the entire student body had been called into the Great Hall at ten in the morning. This was highly irregular, and everyone held their breath in anticipation and concern for what was going on.
The energy was strange, and John sat with his leg frantically bouncing. He looks over to the front of the Great Hall, where all the prefects stood behind the owl lectern. Dorian and Margot stood there too as Heaboy and girl, their presence commanding. Paul stood with his hands behind his back, looking utterly prim and proper, acting like he was better than the entire school.
John shakes the thought out of his head. There was no reason to keep villainizing Paul. He’s just frustrated and was projecting. He’d never get Paul the way he wanted him if he kept thinking like this. All the other prefects looked just as pompous as him, even Cynthia. It was part of their job.
The door opens and in comes the Headmaster. The room goes very still when he enters.
Headmaster Dippet was an incredibly ancient man. He’s the oldest wizard to have lived by nearly a century, but you would have never guessed that. He was frail and elderly, but moved with confidence and health through the Great Hall. He was well over three-hundred years old, and all students tended to avoid him out of fear and respect. No one else had the life experience he had. No one else had lived through both the American and French Revolutions.
He stands before the entire school in his midnight-blue robes, his eyes sunken in. He speaks up, “It has been brought to my attention that there was a little… party held last week.” He says.
Everyone in attendance tenses. John knew that party was intense, even for Slytherin.
Dippet scans the room with eyes, “Students are entitled to enjoy their successes. Victory celebrations have been customary in Hogwarts for centuries,” He elaborates, “However, upon further consideration of the nature and execution of the festivities last week, myself and Deputy Headmaster Dumbledore have decided to completely remove all post-quidditch celebrations in common rooms.” There’s a series of groans and complaints from throughout the entire hall, especially from the Hufflepuff table. Dippet holds up his hand, silencing the entire room with a simple gesture. “Your privilege has been stripped. For the safety of future students and yourselves. Celebrations may continue next school year. However, for the remainder of this year there will be no more of these raucous activities.”
John’s shoulders drop. He looks right to Paul. How ironic. Paul had been an absolute participant in these ‘raucous activities’ and yet there he was, standing before the entire school like he played no part in it. Him and his stupid combed hair and flashy badge and pretty pouty lips.
John rolls his eyes.
“The prefects and Heads of house will be sure to enforce this new rule.” Dippet explains. “But please, I still encourage you to enjoy your victories. Please participate in more… appropriate ways. Dismissed.”
There’s stirring in the entire Great Hall as everyone stands up to leave. “Was it really necessary to make all of us come to the Great Hall for this?” Collette asks, sitting next to John.
John shrugs, “It was a wicked party.”
“Shame, really.” Lance says with a frown, all of them standing from the table and heading out of the Great Hall. John stays in place, however.
His group turns back to him when he doesn’t follow, looking inquisitive. “What is it, John?” Arthur asks.
John looks to the prefects, “I’ve got to go talk to Cynthia.” He says, “I’ll catch up with you lot in Hogsmeade!” He starts moving against the crowd up to where the prefects stood in front of the students. He wasn’t really going to see Cyn, not really.
He walks up the steps to the raised platform, moving to Cyn, checking out of the corner of his eye if Paul was looking, but can’t tell.
“Cynthia?” He says when he approaches her, stopping just in front of her. He can feel Dorian’s eyes on his.
“Yes John?” She says with a polite smile, she looks over to Dorian slightly, nervous for how he would react.
John stutters on air. He hadn’t thought ahead about what he was going to ask her. He just wanted Paul to look at him, he wanted to look at Paul. He wanted to be unavoidable to Paul. But now he was looking like a bloody fool in front of the most powerful students in the school.
“I uh-” He clears his throat. For the first time, John looks at Cynthia and feels… nothing. No longing, no desire, no regret, no yearning. He still cared for her, but something had shifted. Something had changed. He wanted the best for her and was finally able to admit if that wasn’t himself. It was strange, overwhelming and oddly liberating.
But before he can come up with something to say, Dorian is inserting himself, putting his arm around Cynthia’s shoulders, “Are you coming, darling?” He asks Cyn.
Cyn looks at him, “Where?”
“To lunch with Headmaster Dippet!” He chuckles and then looks at John, “It’s customary for the Headmaster to invite all prefects to a lunch in his office just before the end of term.” He explains pointedly to John as if he didn’t know that.
“Right, yes. Of course.” Cynthia says, “But John was just going to ask me a question, dear.” She explains to Dorian, trying to subdue him with her tone. Everyone knew John and Dorian despised one another. John sees Paul start to leave out of the corner of his eye, and he realizes that this was stupid to begin with.
“Well go on, then.” Dorian raises an eyebrow.
John shakes his head, “It’s nothing.”
Dorian chuckles, “Better get lost, Lennon. This lunch isn’t one you can weasel your way into.”
John feels how his ears heat up at that, not appreciating Dorian's tone or subtext.
He stiffly turns to go, just steps away from Paul. He watches Paul from behind, the Great Hall emptying out more. Paul walked with so much poise and confidence. All rich pure-bloods did. He looked healthier, too. John hoped that meant there would be no more hospital visits for the lad. He reaches his hand out, almost as if to touch Paul, but he holds back.
Fear. Frustration. Confusion. They all fill John’s head. He feels weak. Nothing like the proud Gryffindor he once was.
John must have been the most hated person in this school.
His insecurities begin praying on him, eating him up like an infestation. Why would Paul ever want to be John’s friend? Much less a lover?
John was lesser than Paul in every way.
They were cut from completely different cloths.
A looming sense of dread washes over John, like an itch he can’t scratch.
He drops his hand, and with all the gumption he can muster, he zooms past the Slytherin prefect, bumping into him harshly with his shoulder before exiting the Hall to make a point.
After he leaves the Great Hall, he can feel Paul’s eyes on him. But all John can focus on is the feeling in his stomach as it drops. His spirit is drawn towards an entity. It was overwhelming…the sense of direction he felt from within him pulled and tugged at him maliciously.
His heart sinks, his feet feel heavy, and he can hear the choir of moaning ghosts somewhere from within his head.
The light dims, his fingers go numb.
He follows his feet through the castle, feeling entranced in the same way he did the other night on his way back to the common room. Students ran around him in every direction, but they weren’t really there. It was Saturday, students should be resting and going to Hogsmeade. These students around him were generations of blurry apparitions of ghosts and ghouls, whispering around him.
Whether or not he hallucinated them is unclear. John was not in his right mind.
He feels dizzy. This isn’t right. He tries pulling himself out of the trance, but the further he descends through the castle, the worse it gets.
The whispers get louder, and John’s brain goes numb. He forgets about Paul, forgets about Elliot, Cynthia, Dorian. He forgets about everything except for the voices telling him where to go and the pulling sense from within his chest. He becomes hypnotized, no longer conscious of what was happening.
He comes across an expansive stone wall. It was empty, and there wasn’t another soul in the corridor it stood in. Not even a blurry ghost. John didn’t know this part of the castle well. But it didn’t matter, because his thoughts were completely jumbled and lost.
John stands in front of the wall, and before his glossed-over eyes a door appears out of the stone, completely mystified. The shell of John which stood there opens the door, and it disappears behind him, sinking back into the flat stone.
He enters into a massive room, one that seemed to go on forever. The ceilings were tall, and every bit of the room was filled with miscellaneous items. Furniture, chests, clothing, books, cauldrons, brooms, trophies, cabinets, parchment, cages. Anything and everything someone could lose was arranged in the room. It created a vast maze of lost items and junk. It would be impossible to navigate where you were or what you were looking for.
And yet, John did.
His feet took him deep into the room. He could hear a golden snitch flying around somewhere, but it was quickly drowned out by the ever louder-screaming voices in his ears. He felt nauseous, his mouth was suddenly very dry, and his body temperature sky-rocketed.
He explores deeper into the room, unable to come to his senses. He passes many strange things, including an old skeleton of a serpent, and a large chest of dirty socks.
Until finally, he finds exactly what his soul was searching for: a chest which was tucked in a cove of bookshelves and glass vials.
John kneels, cracking open the chest and finding it for the second time.
The Grimoire.
It was larger than John remembered, and bile collected in his mouth as he looked at it. He reaches into the chest to touch it, running his calloused fingers over the leather.
The book was bound in human skin.
Muggle skin.
John wants to pull the book out, relapse on this drug he kicked. But as he starts to pick it up, he hears a rustle and drops it back in the chest.
“John!” Paul says, looking at John with fear and concern, only steps away. John whips around to see him. It snaps him out of his trance, and he’s conscious for the first time since leaving the Great Hall. It scares him, and he pulls out his wand.
This startles Paul, who takes out his own wand, pointing it at John. They both stand there, silently staring at the other, unsure of the other’s next move. They both see the other as a threat.
“You followed me?” John asks, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest.
“You rammed into me. How could I not?” Paul asks, “I now see what’s happening here.” He gestures to the chest. “How long have you known?”
“Ever since the Slug Club. But I had my suspicions on the first Hogsmeade trip.” John grips his wand.
Paul sighs, “John you can’t.”
Deep down, John knew Paul was right. He knew that Paul was just trying to protect him, that he had followed John out of concern, that he cared for Paul. But the pull of the book was too powerful, it was too convincing. He couldn’t get the call of the book out of his head as he stared at Paul. Paul recognizes it, and in an instant they’re both opening their mouths to cast a spell.
Paul beats him to it, “Stupefy!” He stuns John hard to the ground, freezing him in place and knocking him onto the ground, rendered entirely unconscious.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
(I’ve been LOVING all the recent asks. You guys are the best!)
Chapter 17
Notes:
Whattttt another surprise chapter!?
After doing homework for five and half hours straight today, I decided to reward myself with some much-needed VVA alone time. So here you all go :3
I know I’m making you guys earn their reunion. Just stick with me ok
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He wakes up in the hospital wing, the light bright and blaring in his eyes. John turns over with a groan, covering his eyes from the early morning light.
“He’s awake!” He hears someone say and the rush of footsteps to his side.
“Oh, what a mess.” Meriwether says, “Good morning, Mr. Lennon. You’re in the hospital wing and you’re alright.” She leaves to get her remedies.
John blinks his eyes open, blurry and delirious. He rolls back onto his back, propping himself up on a pillow. Sitting around his bed was Arthur, Lance, Collette, and Katherine. He rubs some sleep out of his eyes.
“Who died?” He asks, still trying to lighten the mood despite his gravelly voice. Everyone chuckles lightly. “What happened?”
“We aren’t sure.” Arthur explains. “Paul came to us in Hogsmeade yesterday and told us you were here, that you weren’t waking up after you dueled him.”
“A duel?” John couldn’t remember a duel, he couldn’t remember anything really.
“I can’t believe you dueled him without telling us, we all would have bet on you!” Katherine bubbly says, failing to read the room.
“Well, we all would have lost money, clearly.” Lance says with a hint of playfulness in his tone.
“Alright you chatterboxes. Enough. He just woke up.” Arthur says.
“Paul?” John sighs, “Where’s Paul?”
They all look around one another, the energy shifting.
“Paul turned himself in to Headmaster Dippet. He’s afraid he harmed you, and thinks he should be expelled for it.” Arthur explains.
John’s eyes open wide, shocked and confused. “What?” He swings his legs over the mattress, starting to get out of bed.
“Excuse You!” Merriweather stops him, pushing him back into his bed. “Absolutely not. You’ve been hit with an incredibly powerful stupefying spell. McCartney mustered great power to pull it off. I’ll be keeping you until the end of the day, at least.” He hands John a vial to drink.
He throws it back, grimacing at the taste. “Someone get Paul, I need to talk to Paul.” He says rather frantically.
“I’ll go.” Arthur stands up, “But I don’t think he’ll come.”
“I’ll come with.” Collette stands up.
“The rest of you should leave, too.” Merriweather says, “You’ve upset him just as he’s woken up.” She shoos them away with her hands, and the other Gryffindors hesitate to leave, but they all eventually do.
The room is empty then, and Merriweather checks John’s pulse.
“What day is it?” He asks.
“Sunday. Had you overnight. Paul brought you here. That boy must really care for you, he was absolutely aggrieved by your state.” She explains.
This came as a surprise to John. He thought surely Paul hated his guts and wanted him dead again, but maybe John was wrong. He hoped he was wrong.
“If you ask me, Mr. Lennon, I don’t think this happened because of a duel.” She hands him a pastry and mug of milk, “You had better confess the real story so that that fine boy doesn’t get expelled.” She walks away.
John sighs, shaking his head. He was utterly confused. But as he sipped the milk, it all slowly came back to him.
He remembers talking to Dorian, who made him feel terribly insecure. Then he felt the pull from within, the dark and awful power that led him to the Room of Requirement. The chest, the voices, the fear. Then of course the book, and Paul following John. Paul protected John.
There was no way of knowing what could have happened if Paul hadn’t been there. He had saved John from doing something horrible, surely. And Paul had twisted the narrative to protect John. He made up a story about a duel to keep John’s already tarnished name clear. Paul could get in a lot of trouble for physically harming a student bad enough to put them in the hospital for a full day. Merriweather was right. John needed to clear the story for Paul’s sake. He owed it to him.
The book did make him feel terrible in a unique sort of way. He had no energy, and his muscles were very weak. It wasn’t the way he felt while hungover, or after a long Quidditch practice. This came from someplace much deeper, more spiritual.
That book had a terrible effect on John. Using it was purely self-sabotage. He shuddered at the memory of it.
Something told John that the book wasn’t here under the Minister’s and Headmaster’s orders. He felt deep in his soul that it had been placed back in Hogwarts by another student, Dorian probably, just to harm John. And it had almost worked. But Paul prevented something terrible from happening. He had protected John and likely the entire school, and he was taking the fall for it.
John felt awful. He needed to see Paul, he needed to make this right, and he needed the book to go away for good.
Almost an hour passes by when Collette, and Arthur come back to the hospital wing, with Paul nowhere in sight. This disappointed John. He sits up in his bed.
“He won’t come.” Collette explains, “Says that it’s his fault you’re here.”
John shakes his head. Paul was being stubborn as per usual. “That git. He can’t turn himself in for this, it wasn’t his fault.”
“Dippet isn’t going to do anything.” Collette sighs, “He told Paul it was noble of him to admit to it, but it wasn’t a punishable offense.”
“It really goes to show how he feels about it all. He seemed worried sick about you.” Arthur adds.
“When he saw us, he immediately asked about you.” Collette nods.
“Then why won’t he come see me for himself?” John sighs, crossing his arms in irritation. “I need to talk to him about this mess.”
Collette and Arthur share a look, “What’s going on between you two, really?” Arthur asks.
John blushes, closing in on himself, unsure of how to really respond. “Nothing. Nothing is going on, we just… we’re just similar, I guess. No one quite reads me like he does. I guess I trust him. But he makes me angrier than anyone I know. I simultaneously understand him deeply and I’m horribly confused by him constantly.” John shakes his head.
“I see.” Arthur replies. “Look, Jonathan-”
“Art-”
“I know it’s not your name, shut up.” Arthur sighs, “Paul seemed really shaken up… like this was more than a duel.”
“Because it wasn’t a duel.” John says, and his two friend’s faces drop, surprised to hear the narrative shift on them. John elaborates, hushing his voice, “I found The Grimoire again.”
“What?” The color drains from Collettes face.
“What do you mean? Yesterday? Where was it?” Arthur asks.
“Shhh! In the Room of Requirement.”
“You found the Room of Requirement? I thought it was a myth!” Collette whisper-shouts.
John nods, “I found it yesterday and Paul followed me. He was there with me and he… well he stopped me from using it. He’s done a good thing like we cannot even understand. And I need to know what he did with the book after he knocked me out.” John explains.
“Wow.” Arthur shakes his head, “John that’s… are you okay?”
With a shrug, John says, “Mostly. My body is knackered from the whole ordeal, and I’m rather shaken up by it. That’s why I need to speak with Paul again. I need to clear this all up.”
“I see.” Collette nods.
“We need to tell someone.” Arthur says, “This has already gone too far and there’s no predicting how much worse it could get.”
John agrees, “Unless Paul’s already told someone.”
“It’s possible.” Collette shrugs. “You’re going to have to go speak with him yourself, John.”
John knew this. He had a lot he needed to talk to Paul about. He sighs, shaking his head. “Thank you for going to him for me.”
“Of course.” Arthur says. “Look, we’re here for you.”
Collette nods, and the three of them talk for much longer, the anxiety settling low in John’s belly.
It’s Monday. John waits at his desk in Defense Against the Dark Arts impatiently. He had rehearsed what he would say to Paul the entire day.
But Paul never comes to class.
They only had a week left of the term, this was highly irregular. On Wednesday they will be taking their final exam. For Paul to miss class at this part of the term was seriously concerning.
John’s acutely aware of how badly he needs to talk to someone about the book. He needed to know if it was still a major threat to him and his safety. If Paul couldn’t confirm that information to John, then how can he know?
The Gryffindor boy moves throughout the castle with fearful intent. He was vigilant, trying only to go places as long as Arthur or Collette were with him and avoiding the hall the Room of Requirement was in entirely. It was just safer this way.
Although the calling of the book could be heard from anywhere in the castle. So avoiding its alleged hiding place did little for John other than grant him peace of mind. It was exhausting, and his nervous system was on high alert.
He tried distracting himself with studying for his finals. This entire week was dedicated to finals, and John has been so caught up in his feelings for Paul that he’s entirely neglected his schoolwork. He locks himself on the second-floor of the library with Collette while they study for their Magical Creatures exam. John was having such a hard time focusing after everything.
After a full hour of futile note-reviewing, John drops his quill with a scoff. “It’s no use.” He sighs.
Collette looks at him, setting her own quill down. The library was rather busy despite it nearing curfew. Everyone was cramming in some last-minute studying. “Distracted?” She asks, her red hair pulled back into a pony-tail.
John nods, “I need to talk to McCartney. Until I know where that book is I won’t be able to focus on anything.” He shakes his head.
“You like him, don’t you?” She asks John non-accusatorily.
Her bluntness still surprises John, and he hushes her quickly, looking around at the other students who might have heard her suggest such a thing. Luckily, no one else seemed to care or notice. He clears his throat and looks back at his friend, “No.”
Collette smirks, “You do. It’s alright.” She scratches a few more notes down onto her parchment as if this was no big deal.
On the contrary, it was a very big deal to John. He stammers, “I-I don’t know. I like him as a friend. Yes.”
“Nooooo.” She draws out, looking at John knowingly, “Come on, Lennon. He’s literally all you’ve talked about all term. He’s gorgeous, smart, good at Quidditch, and he gives you a hard time. He checks all your boxes.”
“But he’s an arrogant asshole.”
“So are you, sometimes.”
“Well, he’s a pompous prefect.”
“Opposites attract.”
“He drives me absolutely crazy, being around him is dangerous for my blood pressure.”
“So he has a physical effect on you? You’re only proving my point further.”
“Yeah? Well I’m not a-”
“A what? Go on, say it.” Collette drops her quill again, staring at John with something fiery in her eyes.
John swallowed thickly, afraid to say it out loud. He bites the bullet and does it anyway, but lowers his voice before he does, “I’m not a queer.”
Collette smirks, staring at him, “Right.” She wasn’t convinced.
John’s jaw tightens, “I don’t need a psychoanalysis from you, Carter.” He shakes his head, irritated. A Ravenclaw student hushes them from down the table.
“I know.” She says, “You know there’s nothing wrong with being queer. I mean it’s just who you are, isn’t it? Everyone else will come around eventually. Even in the wizarding world.”
On the contrary, it was still rather frowned upon in the wizarding world. It was more understanding than the muggle world (it at least wasn’t illegal in the wizarding world), but it was far from accepted.
“Yeah well, I wasn’t raised in the wizarding world, was I?” John adds, trying to ignore how she was getting under his skin so effortlessly.
“Well, you’re here now, aren’t you?” She looks at him with a sense of judgment.
John stutters on air, irritated that she could read him that easily. Was he really that obvious? “Look if you think being queer is so great then you should try it yourself.”
“Already have.” She says matter-of-factly.
It surprises John, and he isn’t quite sure of how to initially reply, he never expected that from her, although it did make sense considering how close she was with all the men in her life, “What about Lance?”
“What about him?”
“I thought you two were… y’know.”
“Oh…” Collette looks away for a short moment, “No. I mean Lance is great but he isn’t my type. And it’s not just because he’s a boy.”
“So you’re a full-out queer?”
“Shh.” She hushes him, “Yes and no. I’m not sure. But it’s okay if you are, really. I mean maybe the wizarding world still has a long way to go but that doesn’t make it any worse to be who you are.”
On the contrary, it was still rather frowned upon in the wizarding world. It was more understanding than the muggle world (it at least wasn’t illegal in the wizarding world), but it was far from accepted.
“So are you still going to the Yule Ball with him?” John asks, trying not to come off too strong but failing. This was perfect, he and Collette could go as part-queer friends and then he wouldn’t have to meet any romantic expectations for the whole night. He might even get a chance to see Paul there.
She chuckles, shaking her head. “Is this your way of asking me?”
“Well, I’d rather go than not, it sounds… fun.” John shrugs, feeling embarrassed, “But will you? Just as part-queer friends?”
Collette smiles, “Sure. It’ll be fun.”
John beams, relieved to have finally sorted that out. He never would have guessed Collette, but it was starting to make sense. If he had it his way, he’d be going with Paul. But as progressive as the wizarding world was compared to the muggle world, something told John that two boys going together wouldn’t be accepted for a very long time. Plus, there was Jane to make John jealous anyways.
“Collette?” John decides to add, “Maybe don’t tell anyone about… about me. Okay?”
She smiles softly, “Of course, Jonathan.”
“Oh not you, too.”
It was the day of their Defense Against the Dark Arts exam. John wasn’t concerned about passing. He had successfully resisted the Imperius Curse before. He woke up with a clear mind about the final.
What he was stressed about was speaking with Paul again. He hadn’t seen him since the entire debacle with The Grimoire. Paul had avoided him all week, but he’d be forced to interact with John, now.
He gets to class, and all the desks had been pushed to the sides of the room. The light was dim, and the other sixth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins stood in various clumps around the perimeter of the room. It was snowing rather hard outside, and little natural light came into the room.
The vibe was serious. Each student would be resisting an Unforgivable Curse today. That was no laughing matter. They each had a chance in class on Monday to try and fail. But today was the real deal.
John moves to stand next to Collette, scanning the room for any sign of Paul. He couldn’t find him, it was too dark in there anyways. Without everyone sitting in their typical seating-chart it was impossible to gauge who was in attendance.
Whittaker enters the room, stoic. “Good afternoon, students.” He tried combating the tension with a cheerful tone, but everyone was too focused on the task at hand.
Whittaker sighs, his hands on his hips. “I’ll take you each one at a time. We’ll come up to my office and perform the task. Mr. McCartney will also be in the room taking notes.”
Of course, that’s where Paul was. He was the teacher’s aide.
“I know you are all very nervous. But do not worry. You are a brilliant bunch of witches and wizards. I have full faith in all of you. Your final grade is not dependent on only this.” John appreciated Whittaker’s knack for relaxing students. He was a prominent figure in their lives, it was refreshing to have an adult who actually believed in them. “Feel free to work on any other work for finals while you wait for your turn. After your test you are free to go.”
The class looked around at one another. The tension in the room was thick. Many students were secretly relieved that no one else would be watching them other than Paul. But not John. He was completely terrified that Paul would be the only one in the room watching. What was a blessing for everyone else was torture for John.
The student he’s spent all semester obsessing over. All month getting to know and trust. All week trying to talk to him privately, and he would be watching his ability to resist one of the most powerful curses in the world.
And Paul already knew John could resist it since John told him back on the Astronomy tower a month ago. He would have expectations for John that weren’t there for anyone else.
John was suddenly very nervous.
“Bianca Afton, you first.” Whittaker takes the Slytherin girl up to his office and closes the door. The class holds their breath at first, but a few of them disperse, finding quiet corners to chat or work on homework. John and Collette sit on a desk, opening up their History of Magic test guide.
John couldn’t focus, though. He kept glancing at Whittaker's door, trying to hear something. Anything.
Bianca comes out after a few minutes, looking perfectly normal.
“Elliot Ashford.” Whittaker calls out.
Elliot walks across the floor and up the stairs. John stares at him, unable to imagine his once-friend failing. When Elliot comes out, he looks relatively normal as well. John doesn’t know why he was expecting anything different. Whittaker made it clear he would only be commanding the students to do simple things such as walking and jumping.
It was likely due to the fact that John’s experiences with the Imperius Curse were dark and deadly. Aurors using it against him…him using it against deer and stags in the forest.
“Graham Black.” The Slytherin boy glides to the office, looking confident. John was willing to bet he and his friends practiced on one another, since none of them had any issues with morality. They probably used Crucio on one another for fun, too.
Collette goes not long after, the list moving in alphabetical order. One by one the sixth-years go to the office, attempt their resistance, pass or fail, and leave the class. No one discussed it after leaving the office. They all just grabbed their things and left.
Eventually there were only a handful of students left, but they had gone past the ‘L’ names and skipped John. He didn’t know why, but chose not to question it.
Cynthia Goes. And before John knows it it’s just him and Francesca Wight. She goes up the stairs, leaving John completely alone in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, feeling like a complete nervous wreck.
His leg was frantically bouncing, his heart was racing. He hated having to be last, and didn’t understand why. It was just his luck.
Francesca comes out of the room, and John can breathe again.
“John Lennon.”
He stands up, and the walk to Whittaker’s office feels like a million steps. His legs feel heavy and so does his heart, although he can’t quite pinpoint why.
Whether it was the prospect of finally seeing Paul again or the trauma of the Imperius Curse was unclear.
John closes the office door behind him. Whittaker stood in front of an empty chair, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows and wand in hand. Paul was sitting at his desk, a quill in hand.
John’s eyes instantly move to Paul, staring at him like he had never seen the boy before. Paul stares back, quietly blinking.
“Welcome John.” Whittaker says, breaking their eye-contact. John looks to his Professor. “I’m sure you’re probably wondering why you’re the last to go.”
“I am, Professor.” John nods.
“Well, I needed someone to switch places with Paul. Take notes for him while he performs the exam. There was no one else in the class we thought could handle it.”
“We?”
Whittaker nods, “Yes. Mr. McCartney and I agreed that you were the most qualified to take his spot.”
John looks at Paul with that. He shouldn’t be surprised, not really. But after the last two weeks of their strained relationship, he was.
Paul looks down. Still giving John the silent treatment despite everything.
“You’ll go first.” Whittaker says, “Give Mr. McCartney your wand, have a seat and breathe.” John pulls his want out of his pocket, walking to the desk to hand it to Paul.
Their fingers brush for just a moment when Paul takes the wand from John. Their skin is burning hot on one another’s. It sears John, and he pulls away quickly. He doesn’t mean to be so blunt, but touching Paul was so intense for him. He’s afraid it’s rude, but before he can dwell on it, Whittaker speaks up again.
“You’ll get two attempts. I will not abuse my power. Do you have any questions?” He asks as John sits in the chair.
John shakes his head, trying to ignore how his heart rate has risen. The last time this happened was a dark day of his life. He tries reminding himself that he’s safe, and considers going through his grounding list. But before he can, Whittaker is raising his wand.
“Imperio.”
It washes over John: the loss of control, the feeling of submission, the fear. Whittaker’s voice can be heard in his head, but it echoes in his ears, as if he was hearing it in a large, domed room.
“Stand up.”
John stands up, he gives into it, his trauma too deeply rooted for him to be able to focus, and he was so aware of Paul watching him that he was overwhelmed. Paul starts scratching down some notes, and John’s breath picks up.
“Walk forward two steps.”
John walks forward two steps. He can’t seem to get his act together. He tries remembering how to resist, but he can’t.
“Jump three times.”
Jump. Jump. Jump.
He was a total puppet. He was failing. He was failing in front of Paul of all people, someone who he told he’s resisted this curse before.
“Don’t look at him. Don’t think about him.” Whittaker’s voice says to John.
And John’s eyes focus on Whittaker’s, sacred and wide. His thoughts seem to dissipate from Paul entirely.
But then, he remembers Paul is there. Paul. If he could think about Paul, he could think to push back against the curse.
He musters all of his strength to turn and look at Paul, stare at him as best as he can.
“No. Eyes on me.” Whittaker’s otherworldly command rings in his ear. But John resists. He keeps looking at Paul.
“No.” John says in his own thoughts back, “I’m going to look at Paul and you aren’t going to stop me.”
“Yes I am.” The disembodied voice commands. “Turn your back to Paul.” And John feels his muscles start to pull him away from the boy taking notes, who was certainly looking at John now. But John fights it.
“No.” He replies mentally, “I’m going to stay right where I am. You have no power over me.” And he takes a step towards Paul.
“Well done, John. You’ve passed.” The voice says once more and then in an instant, the overwhelming feeling of resistance releases on John’s muscles, and he can breathe deeply again. It wasn’t easy being controlled, it was physically and mentally exhausting.
Whittaker speaks up with his voice, his wand dropped, “Magnificent. I didn’t go easy on you, Lennon. It takes a strong connection to pull yourself out by using another person.”
Paul wouldn’t have known John used him to resist the curse, but now he did. He felt unexpectedly sheepish about it.
John catches his breath, staring at Paul in the process, panting softly. Paul just looks up at him, silent. He then checks his watch and writes down the time.
“Three and half minutes, Professor.” Paul says.
“What? Was I really under for that long?” John asks.
Whittaker nods, “Time moves differently for those under the curse. I’ll need you to keep track of the time as well as write down any observations you see in Paul. You can use his notes for an example. Let’s have you two swap.” He says, readjusting his sleeve on his dominant hand.
Paul gets up, setting his wand on the desk next to John’s. The two wands side-by-side, knocking up against one another.
John moves around to the chair, sitting down. He looks at the journal Paul was keeping the notes in. Paul would write down observations such as Subject writhes for ten seconds, subject starts laughing 0:47 in, subject never goes under. And he gave a check mark next to each name which passed. John knew he shouldn’t snoop, but couldn’t stop himself. Some names had one ‘x’, followed by a check, meaning they succeeded on their second attempt. Cynthia’s was like that. Graham had a check on his first try, as did Collette. But Elliot had two x’s.
John assumes his seat, taking the quill that was placed on the left side of the journal, since Paul was left-handed. John looked up, Paul was already sitting.
“Same rules for you, Paul.” Whittaker runs his hand through his hair. John knew it was also taxing to be the one casting the curse, especially if the victim was fighting against it. To do it on some 30 students was intense. Even for a powerful and mature wizard such as Whittaker. “Two attempts. I won’t abuse my power. Breathe.” He readies his wand, “Watching the time, John?”
“Yes, sir.”
Whittaker breathes deeply, and then “Imperio.”
John watches for observations. Paul was tense, every muscle contracting suddenly. A few seconds go by, and then Paul is standing up. His fingers were cramping in his attempt to resist, John scribbled that down.
Paul was starting to sweat. John could see it. He could see how horribly uncomfortable Paul was. Paul takes a few labored steps towards Whittaker. John could see how he was fighting. A whole minute has passed. Paul spins in place, he hops on one foot. He walks back to his seat. He stands on top of the seat.
He wasn’t resisting it. John felt himself wanting to help Paul. He felt terrible just watching him move without his own agency. It was debilitating for John. Even if Paul wasn’t in active pain, he was still being manipulated against his will. It upsets John. He cared for Paul. As much as he didn’t want to, he did. He couldn’t help it.
Come on, Paul. He thinks to himself.
Whittaker commands Paul to sit back on the chair, and drops his wand, breaking the curse. Paul comes out of it with a gasp, panting as his muscles go limp in his seat.
“Five minutes and forty-four seconds.” John says out loud, writing it down.
“Shit.” Paul says out of breath. He slumps in his chair, decidedly keeping his gaze from John’s.
“Catch your breath.” Whittaker says equally out of breath. There must have been a lot of mental sparring between the two of them. John makes note of that, adding an ‘x’ next to Paul’s name to indicate his failed first attempt.
He watches Paul as he pulls himself together, wiping the sweat from his forehead and pulling his robes off. He rolls his own sleeves up and loosens his tie. John can’t help but notice how good Paul looks, but he pushes the thought out of his head. Now was not the time for that.
“Bollocks.” Paul says after he’s a bit more put together.
“I’m not going easy on you. Come on, make me proud.” Whittaker says, rolling his neck. “Come on, Paul. You got this.”
It’s then that it dawns on John just how important Paul’s relationship was with this man. Paul resented his father. He was crushed by his father’s own expectations of him. Everything Paul did was so his father would be proud of him. Paul's father was also traumatized by the death of Mary, and had taken that stress out on Paul, expecting him to handle it like he wasn’t a thirteen year-old at the time.
And here was this older, wiser and kinder man who had seen this about Paul early on, probably in his first year. He had taken Paul in, given him a position as his teacher’s aide and defended the kid in every situation. Whittaker saw what Paul needed: an older man who was patient and supportive of Paul.
Slughorn also saw that in Paul. As did all the other Professors who saw what type of boy Paul was.
He wasn’t a kiss-ass to get what he wanted. He was a deeply troubled boy who felt he had no support and guidance at home. John was consistently wrong about Paul, and this was no exception.
John looks at Paul who sits up straighter, giving Whittaker a nod to tell him he was ready to try again.
“Imperio.”
This time doesn’t start much differently. Paul is exhausted now, so it’s only going to be harder for him to succeed. He stands up, looking weak and frustrated. John watches intently, wanting Paul to succeed so badly.
Paul really needed a win after so many losses.
He takes a few steps to Whittaker. He raises his left arm, then his right. He then drops to his knees, staring up at the ceiling. He was in a compromising position, and John felt it was unfair for Whittaker to go harder on him in the second round when Paul was far weaker.
“Come on, McCartney!” He says, his tongue acting before his brain. He knew he was supposed to be silent, but he couldn’t help himself. Paul struggles, starting to shake before being forced into the child’s pose. “McCartney! Come on! GET UP!”
John stands up, completely forgetting himself. “Come on! You got me out, I’ll get you out!” He shouts. It’s then that he can see Paul start to push himself up. Every part of his body was quivering as sweat dripped from every pore and John started to question the ethics of this.
“Come on, Paul. Come on Paul!”
Paul stands after much effort, panting. His arms weakly swing at his side. Whittaker drops his wand, panting harshly.
“YES!” John shouts, clapping his hands together.
“Well done.” Whittaker says out of breath.
“Four minutes on the dot.” John checks his watch, writing down the time and adding a check next to Paul’s name. “You did it!” He exclaims.
“Why did you help me?!” Paul looks at John, his hair dripping from sweat and chest heaving.
“What?” John’s face drops. “What d’you-”
“I didn’t need your help.” Paul snarls.
“B-but you helped me.” John’s lips press into a thin line.
“Well I didn’t want you to help me! You always do that! You’re always inserting yourself where you don’t belong. Well read my lips, John Lennon, I want NOTHING to do with you.” Paul bites.
It makes John’s face hot with embarrassment. John couldn’t handle his emotions, he couldn’t regulate them half the time. Not when Paul was involved.
“Paul-” Whittaker says.
“No! You do the curse on me again and make me fight it by myself.” He moves back to the chair.
“Oh give it a rest, will you!?” John retaliates, “You want me to be the villain in your story so bad, but I won’t be! Not when I care about you so much!” John yells back and instantly realizes he’s said too much.
The room goes very still. So John just grabs his wand and storms out. He swallows back the lump in his throat and fights against the urge to blow up again.
He feels tears burn behind his eyes, but he’ll never shed tears over Paul McCartney.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 18
Notes:
Happy Sunday! Truthfully, I also look forward to update day now! Reading all your comments is genuinely my favorite part of my day!
This chapter is messy. It’s supposed to be. I never said this would be an easy story. It’s a slow-burn enemies to lovers and I’m staying true to my word!
Thanks for everything. You all deserve this chapter after what I put you through in the last few lmao
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
John looks at himself in the mirror, fixing the button on the red silk waistcoat he adorned. He was feeling rather overdressed. His hair was combed nicely, and he had even shaved.
He wasn’t sure why he was putting so much effort into his appearance. Probably just because Arthur suggested he did. He had no one he really cared about impressing anymore. But at least he would look and feel nice for Collette.
It was the night of the Yule Ball, and the entire castle buzzed with excitement. Christmas decorations had been perfectly placed throughout the whole castle, and perfect, pure white snow fell serenely outside. The fireplaces roared with festive garlands above them, Christmas trees could be found in every room, and little enchantments danced around the school: fairies, elves, paper cranes. The halls smelled of berries and pine, and there was a warm, cozy feeling in everyone’s hearts. It was a lovely time of year at Hogwarts.
Everyone had finished their exams, and the first through third years who would be going home for the holidays have already left. John felt relatively good about his exams all things considered. He had an usual load this term with his attempts at catching up from his missed fifth-year. He had good marks in nearly every class. His hard work studying with Collette over the last two weeks was certainly helpful. Plus, John had put more effort into his studies this term than ever before.
Sure, that was entirely driven by his desire to prove to McCartney that he was a good student, but whatever it takes, he supposed.
John had completely skipped out on attending the final Slug Club last week. After the humiliating fight he had with Paul in Whittaker’s office after their Defense Against the Dark Arts exam, he was too embarrassed to go. He didn’t belong there anyways, he felt horribly out of place and entirely unwanted.
Arthur wanted him to attend, but John had made up his mind. If it ruined his budding friendship with Slughorn, he didn’t care. John had only gotten into the Slug Club to stick it to Paul. Which he had succeeded at.
But he was done with Paul. There would be no more rivalry, no more mind games, no more midnight heart-to-hearts in the Astronomy tower. Paul made his feelings towards John perfectly clear.
John had screwed up. He had Paul in his hands but let him go, and it was no one’s fault but his own. Maybe he should regret it, even resent himself for it. But John was too tired. He was over this psychological warfare with the boy. He never should have let himself get so emotionally invested in him in the first place.
Regardless, John can still feel his desire for Paul in the back of his mind. He stamps it out as best he can. Paul was a terrible mistake he never intended to make. All he can do is move on now.
He puts his robe on over the waistcoat. He could admire how handsome he looked in such structured and tailored clothes. He and Arthur had gone to Gladrags about a week ago to get their suits for the Yule Ball. It cost a small fortune, but when he reached out to his aunt about it, she was quick to send him some money. Muggle money, of course, but that was easily traded in for some galleons. Aunt Mimi was just delighted to hear that John was going to a swanky event such as a ball at all.
Arthur insisted John got a tailored suit. “This is your only chance to go to a Ball for who knows how long.” He exclaimed, “Plus, you never know who you might meet there.”
John couldn’t argue with him. And he did look rather smart. He felt out of his element, but the prospect of romance was worth it to him. It would be for any seventeen-year-old boy. Besides, John was going to need a distraction after this entire Paul debacle. Preferably from a woman.
“Ready?” Collette asks from behind him.
He sees her in the mirror, she is dressed in a modest silver and satin gown. One with long sleeves which looked like a thousand diamonds climbing up her soft arms. She really did look lovely.
John turns around, smiling “You clean up good.”
She chuckles, “I could say the same about you.”
John holds his arm out for her to take and she laughs, it was so out of character for the both of them. She takes it nobly and they walk to the Great Hall together, noses stuck in the air as they played the part.
There were plenty of other couples making their way to the ball. Everyone was dressed in their absolute finest clothing. Something John always admired about wizarding fashion was the magic their fabric was imbued with. It made formal clothing shimmer and shine in a way that muggles just could not replicate. Colors were more vibrant, silks were shinier, velvets were lusher.
The entire castle around the Great Hall was especially decked out in festive embellishments. Enchanted crystallized icicles hung from the ceilings, sparkly snow glimmered around the air, wreaths of frosty pine and holly berries were above every door. John never cared much for Christmas, but when it was this beautiful how could he not.
Inside the Great Hall was no different. It was the most extravagant he had ever seen the hall. Fountains of crystals and icicles hung from every arch, making the entire hall glow like an enchanted ice palace. A grand, towering Christmas tree was in the back of the hall in front of the stained glass windows. It was as tall as the ceiling and covered in delicate, floating candles and frosted ornaments. Snow fell from the ceiling, and around the entire room were the older students of Hogwarts, all dressed ornately and enjoying the atmosphere.
A live orchestra played waltz music.Tables were around the perimeter of the dance floor where pastries, sparkling drinks and enchanted candies could be found. Couples danced in the center of the room, waltzing effortlessly to the classy music.
It was ornate and wonderful. John had never been part of such a magical event.
And to think a year ago he was in prison.
He and Collete make their way through the hall. They find Arthur and Perdita at a table with Katherine and Peter. John tries some of the expensive food and mingles with his friends, overwhelmed by the grandness of the event.
“McGonagall really outdid herself!” Collette says.
Arthur nods, “She knows how to throw a party!”
“Have you danced yet?” Collette asks their friends.
Perdita nods, she and Arthur were in matching emerald green clothes. Her pretty hair was perfectly done. Peter and Katherine looked less put together, but still nice. It was such a stark difference from their typical muddy-robes and sweaty Quidditch uniforms.
“Come John, let’s dance!” Collette says, pulling John out to the dance floor.
“Oh, I really can’t dance very well!” John resists, but his friend drags him out there at the start of a new waltz anyways. Collette shows John where his hands go, and then with all the fiery conviction she was known for, tells him to follow her lead.
They begin their choppy waltz, not looking half as effortless as some of the other couples, but enjoying it nonetheless. John laughs because of it, feeling the joys of something simply delightful and human. He had never danced before, not once.
He looks around at who else might be dancing, but it’s all a blur. He loses his balance and trips over Collette, the two of them almost knocking to the floor with a raucous laugh. They’re able to get their balance back, but not after some loud chuckling.
Spirits are high, and John’s rather pleased he came. He can finally forget about everything that’s been plaguing him.
They eat and drink and laugh, Arthur having brought some champagne to share. Everyone was finished with their exams, and they all felt especially light and airy. John enjoyed getting to know Perdita better, and found that she had a real wit about her that he liked.
They dance a few more times, John once switching partners with some random bloke on the floor and dancing with a short Ravenclaw with glasses. Their height difference made it terribly difficult to properly execute the steps, and John had no idea what he was doing when it came to leading. But he was having more fun than he ever could have predicted. The current waltz ends and they find their way back to their table.
“I’ve got to go get some air!” John informs his friends, and then heads out to the entry courtyard outside of the Great Hall. The cold air was unforgiving but felt purely refreshing after dancing so much.
There were a few students out here, but not many. John wanders to the far corner of the abbey walls, looking out over the boathouse and ancient lake. He catches his breath, admiring the view in the moonlight.
John thought he was totally alone, so he was surprised to hear a voice come from the left, “Happy Christmas, Lennon.”
He turns to see Professor Whittaker standing there, wrapped up in a cloak and wearing gloves. John jumps, “I didn’t see you there, startled me.”
“My apologies.” Whittaker steps closer to John, “Out here for some air?” He asks with a cough.
John nods, “It’s suffocating in there, but terribly fun.” He smiles politely. He was never good at speaking with adults until very recently.
Whittaker hums, “It’s a wonderful thing, a ball.”
John just smiles in agreement, unsure of how to properly respond. He can see the cozy town of Hogsmeade across the lake, the warm windows illuminating the show around the hovel. It was delightfully cozy.
Whittaker speaks up again, “Well done on your finals.”
“Thank you.” John replies.
“I must say, I’m rather impressed by your work in my class. It takes a great deal of strength to perform at your level. What do you plan to do after Hogwarts?” Whittaker asks.
John shrugs, “Always figured I’d work in the muggle world. I love music, and would love to be a musician.”
“That would be a terrible waste of talent.”
“Well that depends on what talent you’re referring to.” John raises an eyebrow.
Whittaker coughs again, “You could do great things, Mr. Lennon.”
John was sure he was right, but struggled to understand his thought process. He just shrugs, and decides he wants to go inside again. “Well, Happy Christmas, Whittaker.” He turns to leave.
“Be careful, John. Don’t lose sight of what you could really accomplish…”
For some reason, Whittaker’s words send an unwelcome chill down John’s spine. He just nods inquisitively, before turning and heading back inside. He can hear Whittaker coughing loudly behind him.
Back inside, John is instantly hit with the warmth and energy from the ball. He wastes no time jumping back into the festivities, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling he got from his conversation with Whittaker.
They dance to a few more songs, Collette dares John to chug a full bottle of Champagne, and Arthur makes John laugh harder than he ever has before with a bit about Professor Finch’s dancing ability.
And the best part: he hadn’t thought about Paul at all.
That was until the end of the night, when the prefects had a special dance for just them. That group was always finding ways to be more important than the rest of the school. The ‘normal’ students had to sit and watch as each prefect and their date assumed the dance floor for it. Most of them had gone with each other, so there weren’t many more couples than the expected amount. Most of them would end up marrying each other, even.
But there was Paul: wearing an all white waistcoat paired with a pure-white tailcoat. He had a white bow tie on, and his suit was perfectly structured to his body. His hair was slicked in a nice style but with that perfect strand of hair dangling over his forehead again. He looked utterly perfect in every way. Of course all the prefects had their badges on. Paul wouldn’t be caught dead without that pinned to his chest at an event like this.
John tries to ignore the physical response his body has to seeing Paul like this: completely put together and perfect, intended to impress. But it’s futile. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself he was, he wasn’t over Paul yet, and it wasn’t going to get any easier as long as he looked like this. He made it look so elegant, his appearance that of an ethereal prince. It was sickening to John.
Sickening because he’s never wanted anyone more than he wanted Paul. His jaw tightens. He looks at Paul with hunger in his eyes.
He doesn’t even notice Cynthia and Dorian, who looked equally put together and elegant, but no half as gorgeous as the Slytherin prefect he laid eyes on. He didn’t care. All that mattered was Paul.
The music begins, a lusty, heavy tango. Of course this group of students would have found time to rehearse a routine in the midst of finals and end of term. It was almost too serendipitous, too put together.
It was enticing though. They were all rich so of course they all had been put through dance lessons from a young age. Of course they were all perfectly coordinated in their dance.
The music was sensual, that was the only way to describe it. The strings plucked along with a passionate violin solo, guitars playing with prowess, heavy and strong horns weighing down and grounding the song. The lights had even seemed to shift in the hall. It was a full sensory experience to say the least.
Paul and Jane moved past John’s table, and he could feel the wind from their movements pass by him. He felt he could even smell Paul, like a hound dog desperate for his meal.
He never takes his eyes off the boy, he can’t. He’s too handsome, too otherworldly. Paul made the other dancers look like amateurs in John’s eyes. The way he held Jane to his frame, the way he guided her, his distinctly masculine presence that commanded the entire room.
Paul glided around the room, his long, slender hand pressed to Jane’s waist, his shoulders broad and virile. His hair was black and contrasted starkly with this pale skinned and pure white suit. John was entirely entranced, completely sucked into Paul’s performance.
John wondered how anyone could look at anyone but him. Of course John was still under Paul’s spell. He was thirsty for him.
Because Paul was never easy. He was never one to fold for John, to fear John. It made Paul a challenge. When John was winning, he took it for granted. Now that their game had ended, John was acutely aware of how much he desired Paul.
He feels it grow from within him, deep inside. It was intense. It was primal.
John was not ready to let Paul go.
He was ready to fight for him.
The dance ends all too suddenly. John could have watched Paul like that for hours and never get bored. The clapping of the other students brought John back to earth. He throws his hands together unceremoniously, applauding the performance.
The music shifts then, into a more upbeat dance party and less of a formal ball. This excites the students, all of them running to the dance floor in a fit of enthusiasm.
But not John. He stays seated. His eyes scanned for Paul.
It was hot now. He sees Paul take off his tailcoat, leaving him in only the pure white top of his undershirt and waistcoat. He even rolls up his sleeves, exposing his forearms and John thinks he might pass out.
He takes his own tailcoat off, loosening his necktie until it hangs loosely from his collarbones. He watches as Paul starts to exit out of the Grand Hall, probably for some air, and John knows this is his chance.
If John was going to make things right, it was now or never. He’d lose Paul forever if he didn’t seize this moment.
“I’m going to go cool off!” He yells to Collette. She nods and heads onto the dance floor which was quickly turning into an energetic party.
John heads out of the hall, trying to keep a safe distance from Paul. He follows far behind, seeing Paul loop around the castle. They pass groups of students talking in the corridors, a few girls crying despairingly, even jot past the ghosts having a waltz of their own in the transfiguration courtyard.
At first, John was unsure of where Paul was heading. But then it hit him: he was headed to the Astronomy Tower. Of course he was. Where else?
John lingers back so as not to seem suspicious or get caught, but eventually makes his way to the Astronomy wing and up into the tower. He climbs the several flights of stairs up to the top.
When he gets there, the moonlight illuminates the crows nest, snow falling gently and silently from all sides of the tower.
Sure enough: Paul is there, standing in the moonlight with his hands in his pockets, breathing deeply.
John isn’t entirely sure what to say at first. He doesn’t want to startle Paul, especially not after everything that happened between them the other day. But this was it. He needed to get everything off his chest now.
He clears his throat, and it makes Paul turn around, startled. He frowns when he sees it’s John, and says nothing initially.
They just stare at one another, panting and restless. The tension was too thick to handle. John can feel his heartbeat in his throat.
There was a definite chill from the near-Christmas Eve air that blew through the open walls of the Astronomy Tower, but John felt hotter and sweatier than he did down in the Great Hall during the ball. His head spun as he stared at Paul.
“I need to talk to you.” John says, licking his lips.
“About what?” Paul says sharply, “Because a few weeks ago you made it abundantly clear you didn’t want to even be around me.”
John shakes his head, “I was wrong. Please. Let me explain.” He says, out of breath from the dancing and the stairs and the moment. Paul was right here.
“Absolutely not, you’ve lost your chance.” And Paul goes to leave the tower, but John was blocking the exit. He stands his ground, and Paul stops in place, a few steps from John. “What, you’re going to just keep me here?” Paul frowns.
“Why were you so awful to me at the beginning of the term? Hm? Did Dorian put you up to it?” John asks, folding his arms over his chest.
“This has nothing to do with him.”
“Alright, why didn’t you come see me in the hospital?”
“Because you left me there when you saw George and Ringo.”
“I was confused! I was scared and confused!”
“So you took it out on me?” Paul asks with a scoff. “I was sick, John!”
“I know! I waited there with you, I saw your bones, I listened to you throw up! No one else was there for you!”
“But then you left ! You ignored me, you started treating me like some bloody first year. Like I was some disease you were afraid of catching! And I am! And you know it!” Paul barks.
John knew he was referring to his queerness. “Paul please-”
Paul’s jaw tightens, and he balls his fists. “You hurt me , John.” His voice cracks.
It cuts John like a knife, he knew he was imperfect, but nothing made him feel more inadequate than the pain he could hear in Paul’s voice. “I know, and I am so sorry-”
Paul holds up his hand, “I don’t want to hear your half-baked apology.”
“Fine. I won’t give it to you then.” John says sternly, “But I will tell you that I have spent every day of this term thinking about you.”
“ Don’t .”
He persists, “I’ve never met anyone who got under my skin like you. And I’ve never met anyone who pissed me off like you. You’re arrogant, you’re irritating, you’re pompous and you make everything about you.”
Paul rolls his eyes, “Is this supposed to make me feel better?”
“Yes.” John nods with a huff, “Because so am I. I’ve never met anyone who understood what I’ve gone through like you. No one else puts up with me. No one else will go through my shit. But you did. Because we’re not so different, are we? I’ve never met anyone who held a mirror up to my own soul and made me look at myself like you.”
Paul is rendered silent.
John pushes forward, “You are brilliant. No one works as hard as you, no one pushes themselves like you. You are resilient. You are persistent as hell, and that is fucking incredible. I cannot deny that you have weaseled your way into my thoughts and actions like an itch I cannot scratch.”
“John… stop you’ll only make it worse-”
“You said you want nothing to do with me but I don’t think that’s true. Because you saved me from relapsing on the book. You took me to the hospital wing, and you threw yourself to the wolves to protect me. You didn’t have to do any of that.”
“I did it because no matter how hard I try to get over you, I can’t!” Paul laughs in disbelief. It surprises John. “Do you want to know something, John Lennon? I have been watching you since our first year. I’ve been wishing we were friends, wanting to have you as… have you as-”
“Have me as what?” John interrupts him.
“As mine! God, I’ve had a stupid boyish crush on you since we were twelve and you never cared to notice! You didn’t even know who I was! And it hurt!”
That shuts John up. He had no idea.
Paul continues, “You ignored me for years. And when we finally got close you backed out like some coward! Aren’t Gryffindors supposed to be brave? Things got confusing and you ran from me! God, I should have known that was going to happen! I let myself be vulnerable with you. I told you things I’ve never told anyone, and you took that away from me! I wanted you to like me so bad I was willing to do anything to get you! And when nothing worked I turned to anger and hatred and malice. And maybe I’m an asshole for that, but can you blame me? It hurts, John!”
John thought maybe Paul was crying but he wasn’t sure.
Paul continues, decidedly unfinished with ripped John a new one. “And you are equally as arrogant. You’re selfish. You’re brash. You’re a ticking time bomb waiting to explode and you fucking entice me. But I’m tired! I can’t put myself through this with you anymore. I won’t. I have to move on and you won’t let me . You push me away and then crawl back to me just to push me away again. It’s exhausting and it isn’t fair.” Paul explains.
John’s quiet, he’s frustrated because Paul is right.
Paul tacks on the end, “I know you aren’t queer. So please just… fucking get out of my life so I can forget you. I am begging you .”
There’s total silence between the two of them, the tension overwhelming and their hearts heavy.
Paul isn’t sure what else to do, and since John won’t say anything, he just starts towards the door to the stairs again, ready to barrel John down if it means getting through.
And maybe in another universe, John lets him go. John allows Paul to walk past him and down the stairs, and John gets out of Paul’s life for good, for both of their sakes.
Maybe in another universe, John moves on from Paul. He forgets him. He grows up and marries a bird and has babies with her. Maybe in another universe he forgets he ever had queer feelings. He never tells anyone about the crush he had when he was seventeen. In another universe he buries it deep and suffocates these feelings, like they never existed. Maybe in another universe, it’s all so simple.
But not in this one.
John grabs Paul’s bicep when he walks by him. It isn’t hard, or forceful. He just stops him in place.
Paul sighs, “ Please, John .”
Now John can see that Paul was crying, quietly. His cheeks flush, silent tears streaming-down them.
John looks at Paul through his eyelashes, his lips slightly parted and his chest heaving. Paul turns his head to look at John and his hazel eyes glisten perfectly in the moonlight at this angle. They make eye contact, but John looks at Paul’s lips, and Paul looks at John’s.
“You’re right,” John says low and quietly, “Gryffindors are supposed to be brave.”
And without another thought, John presses his lips to Paul’s.
It’s gentle but not too gentle. It’s intentional, and it’s oh so sweet.
The entire world comes crashing around them. And then it goes silent. It’s simultaneously overwhelmingly life changing and so intimately simple. Like this should have been the answer all along.
Paul’s lips are plush and perfect against John’s. They’re soft but not feminine. They have a purchase to them that’s round and enticing, but a structure and movement that is so particularly masculine.
Paul sounds surprised. He gasps gently when their lips meet, the air in his throat being swallowed. He then shudders, his breath shaky and distraught.
Paul smells salty but elegant. The smell of expensive cologne mixed with youthful sweat and vibrancy. John breathes in deeply, Paul would be his favorite candle.
Paul feels soft. His cheeks were round and clean against John’s nose, despite the tear-stained skin rubbing onto John’s own skin.
Paul tastes sweet. He had been sucking on a peppermint during the ball, John could tell, his lips tasting of a nostalgic Christmas that John hasn’t experienced in years.
Paul looks perfect when they pull away. His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, his lips are wet and parted, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. He was the perfect image of a tragic but serene beauty. It twists John’s heart looking at him. If he could have a portrait painted of this moment, he would hang it over his bed so it was the first thing he saw when he woke up, and the last thing he saw when he went to bed.
The kiss was short, but it felt infinitely long. It felt eternally perfect. John found himself asking why he hadn’t done that a long time ago.
They’re centimeters apart, breathing the same air, and waiting for the other to say something.
Two halves of one whole. The waning and waxing of the same moon. The push and pull of the tide.
“I would never forgive myself if I didn’t do that.” John says, barely a whisper. Paul swallows, and looks down. John takes a step away from Paul, unblocking the door. “I won’t keep you here any longer. I’m sorry for everything. Really. I’m so fucking sorry for how I treated you.”
Paul lets out a shaky breath he had been holding for what seemed to be centuries. He’s paralyzed for a moment. And then takes a step to the door.
John looks down at the ground, feeling ashamed. He would never make this right. But at least he could show what Paul meant to him.
But Paul stops, he doesn’t leave immediately.
He turns around agonizingly slow, looking at John with his hand curled at his chest. Paul clears his throat, “All bets are off in the Astronomy tower?” Pauls asks.
John can’t help the chuckle that comes from within, “Always.”
And Paul takes another step to John, taking John’s hand in his and lifting it up to his mouth. He kisses John’s knuckles, which makes John look back up at him.
John suddenly felt horrible for not asking Paul if he could kiss him. Frantically, he starts trying to cover himself. “I’m so sorry I didn’t-”
“Shh…” Paul stops him, knowing exactly what John was worrying about. “I’m going home for the Holidays.” He says, “I have a lot to think about.” He whispers, and then kisses John’s cheek. “But tell me one more secret while we’re here.”
John nods, “All bets are off.
“Are you queer?”
“For you, I would be anything.”
He nods, and then Paul is walking through the door and down the stairs, never even looking back at John.
He leaves him back there. Stunned and speechless, but utterly hooked on Paul forever.
John looks up, a small sprig of mistletoe was growing above his head, right where he and Paul had kissed. He grins. magic was funny like that
It was going to be a terribly long break.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Siri play “One Kiss” by Dua Lipa and Calvin Harris
Chapter 19
Notes:
Okay okay don’t get too excited over the wildly early update. This is a short chapter.
BUT A CHAPTER NONTHELESS!
You guys i am SO EXCITED we are entering the second term of this story because the January-April months of this story is some of my favorite fan fiction I have ever. ever. ever written.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
December 25th, 1957
John,
Happy Christmas, John. I remembered you said you never received mail by owl before. This is our family owl, Clover. She’s brought you a gift, too. I hope you like it. Clover will bring a letter back if you would like to write one. No pressure, though.
Cheers,
Paul
December 26th, 1957
Paul,
Thank you for sending me the letter! Clover is a lovely owl. Barn Owls have always been my favorite. Consider all my dreams come true.
I hope you had a happy Christmas. There are only a few Gryffindors left here, but we got together for house dinner with McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore, who returned from his sabbatical for the Holidays. He’s a strange man, he’s got quite the sense of humor. I’ve just turned in for the day, I suppose it’s Boxing Day now. We went Ice-skating on the lake, and the remaining Hufflepuffs put on a silly play for the school. It’s been a lovely Christmas, albeit lonely. I trust Michael and your father are well.
Best,
John.
(P.S. Thank you for the new Quaffle. That was a very nice gift.)
December 28th, 1957
John,
I’ve never spent Christmas at Hogwarts before. It sounds so different from what I am used to. Dad and Mike are good. Mike’s told us he’s hoping to be Prefect next year. I don’t think he’ll get it until his sixth year, but I’m proud of him for trying. Dad is himself. Always asking if I’m staying on top of my studies. He’s given me two books written by his colleagues to read over the break. Christmas hasn’t been the same since mum died. She used to make this ham for us every year, but none of us can cook, at least we have our house elves. They follow her recipe but it isn’t the same.
Is it the same for you? Holidays are the worst to get through since she left. I know this is your first year without Julia. I hope you’re handling it well.
I’ve heard so much about Dumbledore. My dad knows him. Says he’s one of the brightest wizards he’s ever met. I heard his sabbatical was given so he could study ancient artifacts of the Hogwarts founders. Things like Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem and whatnot. No idea why. He seems like a silly fellow.
How are your O.W.Ls studies? When are you taking them? I’m sure I can be of some assistance when we get back. If you would like. It’s alright if you would prefer not.
Cheers,
Paul.
December 29th, 1957
Paul,
Christmas at Hogwarts is better than Christmas in a Ministry cell. I’ve never actually gone home for Christmas. I used to go to Elliots, but this year that was out of the question. I can’t believe your father has given you homework over the break! You never stop, do you?
I never had Christmas with my mum. At least not since I was a baby. I suppose I do miss her more than usual, but I can’t imagine it’s the same grief you feel. I wasn’t really raised by her, she never made any traditions for me or caused the holidays to feel extra special. It’s a bummer, I suppose. My aunt would always get us crackers for Christmas Eve. They’re just like wizard crackers but without magic. I’ll never forget the first time I pulled a magic cracker and fireworks flew out, it was quite the shock as I’m sure you can imagine.
I must say I’m honored you remembered my Mum’s name. It means a lot. It’s easy to remember Mary’s name, especially this time of year. It sounds like you and your mum were close.
Dumbledore left the day before last. He was cryptic with every answer he gave to our questions. It’s a shame we’ll never be taught by him. McGonnagall says he’s the best transfiguration teacher in the world. Although I think she’s quite good, too. Hopefully he returns to Hogwarts one day.
I haven’t made much of an effort to study for my O.W.Ls yet. I’m meeting with McGonnagall tomorrow to take a practice exam. I’ll be taking my test on the 29th of January. It’s coming up so soon. I wish I had prepared more. I would love some more help from you, if you’ll take me.
I know I wasn’t the kindest to you. I’ve been thinking a lot about everything between us two. It’s impossible not to when I’m one of thirty students in the entire castle right now.
Would you like to try and be friends again?
Fare Thee Well,
John
(P.S. Sorry this letter is so long, you have plenty to read anyways)
December 31st, 1957
John,
My father is taking me to London for the New Year. He’s going to show me around The Ministry properly, and has set up for us to have Dinner with The Minister Herself! This could be huge for my career, I’m looking forward to it.
It will take Clover longer to deliver our letters since I’ll be so much further south. It’s bizarre to think it’s the end of the year! This year went by rather fast.
Let’s meet on the first day back at school after the welcome-back dinner. You know where. I think we have a lot to talk about.
Cheers,
Paul
(P.S. I wouldn’t be writing back to you if I didn’t want to be your friend… now would I?)
January 3rd, 1958
Paul,
I’ve just gotten your letter. I don’t know if this one will reach you before the break ends. It’s great to hear about London. I hope you tell me all about it. The Minister is an interesting lady. She and I know each other well, unfortunately. I think your meeting with her is more serendipitous than mine was.
I’ll see you after the welcome back dinner.
I hope you had an exciting New Years. Hopefully you found someone to kiss. I spent it in Hogsmeade along with some other students. The Three Broomsticks really knows how to throw a party! I saw Professor Wren get absolutely pissed! What a time that was.
Miss You
See you soon,
John
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 20
Notes:
It’s sunday!
I had an absolutely wild week and didn’t have any time to write at all! This last week was genuinely one of the longest of my life. We got the news on Monday that my dear Grandfather would likely pass away in the next few days, and he passed away on Friday. It was a super emotionally exhausting week. But I am really at peace today.
Thank you all for your kindness and gentleness with me and this story. I’ve been publishing it through one of the most challenging seasons of my entire life, but it has given me an element of reprieve. Thank you all for being part of this creative outlet of mine.
And without any further ado….
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Welcome Back, Students! And Happy New Year!” Headmaster Dippet addresses the full Great Hall. It felt nice to have the seats completely full again, everyone home from the holidays. The Great Hall buzzed with energy and joy, everyone feeling suitably rested after their break.
John particularly was happy about the end of the break. Not only was he starting to get bored playing gobstones with two fourth-years all day and ice fishing with Professor Flint, the Charms Professor (which was a very strange experience), but he was looking forward to seeing his friends again. He was excited for Quidditch to start up again, and for the promise of spring to come (although neither would be for another few weeks).
And of course, John wanted to see Paul.
He spent the whole break thinking about Paul. He found himself wandering the halls near the Slytherin Dungeon just to get a feel for the lad. John was deeply crushing on Paul, and the kiss they shared during the Yule Ball was nothing short of exhilarating. It had given him plenty of daydreaming to pass the long, confusing days between Christmas and New Years.
Regardless, he knew he and Paul had a lot to work out and discuss. They didn’t exactly leave on the best terms. But their consistent letters over the break were reassuring to John.
He wasn’t looking forward to taking his O.W.Ls, however. He had tried to convince himself that he didn’t care about them. That whatever outcome would be ok. But now he can’t bear the thought of Paul being disappointed in him if he doesn’t do well.
John looks over his shoulder at the Slytherin table, hoping to see Paul but not having any luck. Butterflies flew in his stomach as he thought about seeing the Slytherin Prefect again.
“What are you looking for?” Arthur whispers from across the table at him.
“I think the question is who is he looking for.” Collette winks from next to John and he nudges her in the side. There are a few snickers among them. John hadn’t filled any of them in on what happened between him and Paul. He was still processing it himself. He wasn’t ready to tell his friends.
Collette was literally the only person in the entire school who knew John had it hot for Paul. Well, other than Paul himself.
The rest of the welcome back feast seemed to last forever, and then of course the prefects would have to escort the students back to their common rooms (as was customary for the first night back from a break).
But to John’s relief and joy, he catches Paul’s eye as he heads out of the Great Hall. Paul was in the crowd of people quite a ways back, but they made eye contact. And oh John forgot how handsome he really was. He looked well rested after the break, which Paul really needed. Paul instantly smiles at John warmly, and his stomach fills with something cozy and comforting.
John tried to hang back, push his way up-stream to where Paul was, but it was futile. Every Hogwarts student was pushing against him in the entry Hall, and he gave up out of frustration.
Paul recognizes it, however. So he just holds his finger to the air and points up a few times. John knew exactly what that meant.
He wasn’t sure what time Paul would be going to the Astronomy Tower, and John didn’t want to show up too early or late. He paces in his room, changing into a different sweater three or four times, obsessing over his hair and even brushes his teeth (just in case!).
He laughs at himself. He’s never put this much thought and effort into anything with a bird before. But he wanted Paul to want him back, and he wasn’t entirely sure how tonight was going to go. He finally settles on his ‘J’ sweater and heads up to the tower just after midnight, wearing his glasses. Paul said he liked his glasses, after all.
The walk to the Astronomy Tower takes ages because of John’s anticipation. He was so nervous to see Paul again, to be alone with him. What would Paul say? Would he instantly forgive John and take him back? Would he want to pursue a romantic relationship? Or would he tell John he didn’t want any of that. What if he just wanted to stay friends, or neither at all?
Needless to say, John was relieved when he finally made it to the top of the tower.
It was a cloudy night, but it wasn’t snowing. The clouds made it extra dark, but trapped the warmth in.
As John rounds the corner to the top, he catches sight of Paul, standing rather than sitting in his usual spot. His hands were shoved in his pockets as he looked at the night sky.
John takes a shaky breath, why was he so nervous? It’s just Paul.
“We have to quit meeting like this.” John says playfully.
Paul turns around, looking at John with a smile. He has that perfect strand of hair in front of his forehead again, his eyes round and bright. John’s never been more attracted to him.
He chuckles at John’s joke, “It’s good to see you.” He says almost wistfully and they each take a few steps to the other person, still separated by a meter or two. John just stares at Paul like an idiot, happy he’s even in his presence.
“How was London?” John asks.
“Fantastic.” Paul smiles. They’re both steps away from one another, afraid to get any closer. They desperately wanted to be close to one another but were terrified to initiate it. Paul continues, “Meeting the Minister was splendid. She’s a brilliant woman. My dad took us to see a muggle play, too! It was rather fun.” Paul nods.
John smiles, “Brilliant.” Is all he can come up with because he can’t stop staring at Paul with the fondness of a fool.
His heart seemed to race in Paul’s presence, his palms felt extra sweaty.
Paul takes a step towards John, which emboldens John to move closer as well. They’re still about a meter apart, but there's a fire between them that’s palpable. Like opposite magnets. John wonders if Paul can feel it, too.
Then, John gets brave and closes the space between the two of them. He takes the final steps necessary to Paul, both of their breathing hitching as they breathe the same air.
“I’d like to kiss you.” John says in an almost-whisper.
John doesn’t know it, but Paul’s stomach flips at that. He nods, “You can.”
He’s so careful as he leans into Paul, tender and gentle as if Paul was a porcelain doll at risk of cracking. He brings his hand up to Paul’s jaw, cupping it as he brings him in for a chaste kiss. It finishes as quickly as it starts, and then John pulls away, dropping his hand. He doesn’t want to push it, he doesn’t want Paul to feel pressured.
“Can I ask you something?” Paul asks.
John nods, “Anything.”
“Why did you avoid me after I was in the hospital?” He asks. John knew this was coming. He knew it would be too easy to just spend the evening snogging. Of course Paul would have questions.
John sighs, “Let’s sit.” They move over to their spot, sitting so they face one another, and John begins. “It’s complicated.”
“All bets are off in the Astronomy Tower.” Paul says. John chuckles, but can’t figure out how to start. So Paul helps him, “Did it have to do with Ringo and George? They’re good guys, my best mates-”
“No, no.” John puts his hand up, clarifying, “It’s not them. I’m sure they’re fantastic.”
“Okay, because I thought it was them. Maybe some jealous trip. I wasn’t sure.” Paul sighs, relieved.
John hums, “Truthfully… I just had a panic. I realized, Paul, that I was getting feelings for you. Real feelings. And I just got so scared. Scared of you not reciprocating, of you hurting me, of the feelings themselves.” John admits.
“You’re afraid of me?” Paul asks, a twinge of hurt in his tone.
“No! God, no.” John shakes his head, his fingers reaching out to draw light lines on the top of Paul’s hand. “Just afraid of how you could hurt me. It’s not you. I have these…. abandonment issues you see-”
“So why didn’t you tell me?” Paul asks, searching for answers.
“I wanted to, really I did. But I didn’t know how to handle these… new feelings and I just… I don’t know. I’m a right idiot.”
Paul sighs, “No you aren’t.” He takes John’s hand in his, “Just naive. I thought we were friends. So it hurt me when you ignored me.”
“I’m sorry, Paul.” John shakes his head, his heart skipping beats from Paul’s touch alone.
Neither of them say anything for a while, they just focus on how the other’s hand feels in theirs. Paul’s the one to eventually speak up, “Feelings?” He asks innocently.
John could melt, “Feelings. I don’t know what else to call them.” He explains.
Paul cracks a smile, looking up at John from their hands, “And here I was thinking you hated me.”
“I’ve never been good at expressing my emotions.” John smiles back, “I’m too brash and impulsive. I’m learning.”
“I understand.” Paul chuckles. He looks away, blushing. “I have them, too.”
“Emotions?”
“No, John. Feelings.”
“Right. Same thing.” They chuckle.
Paul sighs, “But John, I’m scared.”
“Why?”
“Because what if you freak out on me again? How can I know you won’t go all ‘Grimoire’ on me or something? Or you won’t have a ‘panic’ and ignore me again?” Paul asks. John figured they were very valid questions, but he hated that they needed to be asked as all.
It cuts John deeper than it should. He hated that Paul couldn’t be sure he was a safe person. He sighs, “I don’t know. But I can say that I’ll do everything I can to properly tell you how I’m feeling in the future. If I freak out, I’ll let you know.” He pleads.
Paul nods, contemplative. “I’m not ready.” He says, and John’s heart sinks.
“What do you mean?” He asks, his stomach lurching.
“I like you… But I’m still hurt from last month. I’m sorry.” He drops their hands, but doesn’t pull away.
John frowns, “What can I do?” He wants to be angry, but he swallows it back. Why did Paul have to be so stubborn?
Paul thinks for a moment, “Be patient with me. I’ll get there I just… I just need to be sure.”
John’s initial reaction is to be upset. To fight for Paul, to tell him he’s being silly. But he holds it in. He didn’t want to push Paul away anymore. If he was going to truly win the lad over, he would need to be very intentional.
“Alright.” John says, “We won’t force it.” He can hardly believe himself, but he reminds himself that he needs to be patient. To wait for Paul would be worth it. “But can we be friends?” He asks.
Paul looks at him again, smiling crooked. “Yes. And I fully expect to see you at tutoring.”
John shakes his head, “Alright, but only if you’re willing to loosen up sometimes. Give yourself some breaks. Make some mistakes with me.”
Paul raises his eyebrows, “A proposal, I see?”
John shrugs, “I’ll work to be a better student if you work to be a better teen. We can’t have you leaving Hogwarts having only done school work.”
“I suppose you’re right…” Paul holds his finger to his mouth as he thinks, “I’ve an idea for that.” He looks up at John, smiling softly, “Oh, and I’ll plan on seeing you up here at night.”
“All bets are off up here?” John asks.
Paul sighs, shaking his head, “What have we started with that? Yes.”
“Okay. Can I kiss you when we’re up here?” He asks. Paul looks at him softly, a dopey smile stretched across his face.
He nods, and then leans in, giving John a deeper kiss. It’s still close-lipped, but this one is more special. It has more meaning, and goes on for longer.
This would do for now. It was better than nothing.
“Dementors.” Whittaker announces to the class, “We’ll be studying dementors and how to defend yourselves against them for the next few weeks.”
John’s stomach flips, he remembers the dementors all too well.
“Are you alright?” Paul asks him politely under his breath, looking out for his friend.
If you could even call what they are ‘friends’. ‘Friends’ don’t usually give each other goodnight kisses. Their relationship seemed to be a great big question mark these days, but it was headed in the direction John was hoping for, so that was good enough.
John nods, looking at Paul with a smile. “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, just checking.” Paul whispers. That made a warm glow settle in John’s chest. To know Paul was looking out for him was greatly comforting. He can’t ignore the blush he feels when he thinks of Paul. He just hopes Paul doesn’t notice.
“Hopefully, none of you will ever come face-to-face with a dementor.” Whittaker continues on with his lecture, and John can feel eyes on him. “But one of us has.” Whittaker rips the bandaid off for John. John looks up at his professor blankly, unsure of where he was headed with this. “John, if you wouldn’t mind, would you please share with the class what it’s like to face a dementor?”
John initially hesitates, but after a reassuring look from Paul, he feels brave again. So he nods, clearing his throat and standing up. He stands before the class, the other Gryffindors and Slytherins staring at him. He suddenly feels rather embarrassed, and scared to share his story.
He swallows thickly, and his eyes naturally move to Paul’s, who was looking up at him with round eyes. Just the sight of Paul grounds John. He feels like he could do anything with Paul near him.
He takes a breath, “I was monitored by Dementors when I spent a night in Azkaban.” He starts, the words feeling foreign in his mouth. He looks at Paul again, reminding himself to relax, “It’s cold and empty when they’re nearby. You feel great sorrow, and it turns to numbness. As if you’ll never feel anything ever again.” John describes, the whole class can feel the horror. “When you come face-to-face with one, it’s horrible. You can’t think or breathe, they suck out every ounce of humanity you have.”
John realizes he’s said more than Whittaker needed, and his eyes were wide with numbness as he stared at the ground. The rest of the class was deathly silent, unsure of how to properly respond to information like that. Whittaker comes up behind him, placing his hand on John’s shoulder softly. “Thank you, John.” He says calmly.
John nods and sits back in his seat. He takes a deep breath, and Whittaker carries on with the lesson.
“You’re okay.” Paul says to him, “You’re safe.”
Deep down, John knew that. But hearing it said to him was needed. Looking over to Paul and his gentle gaze was comforting. He forces a smile, and starts taking notes.
John ran his fingers through his freshly-washed hair, looking down at his notes as he sat on his bed, his glasses pushed up his nose.
The door to the dormitory opens wide, and John looks up to see Elliot there. Things were still tense between the two of them, but at least they could be in the same room again.
Elliot sits on his bed, facing John. “How was your break?” He asks him.
“It was good. Lonely.” John admits.
Elliot hums, “I bet. Mum wondered where you were.”
John always went to Elliot’s for Christmas. He liked his mum, she was funny and chipper, “Did she?”
“Mhm.” He nods, “Remember when we would stay up all night to see if we could hear Father Christmas?”
John chuckles, “I thought you were crazy for still believing in him at thirteen.”
“But he’s real in the wizarding world, you know!”
“He’s barely the same thing!” John chuckles. The wizard Father Christmas was very different from the muggle Santa Clause. He was more of a goblin who would just leave behind chocolates for kids.
“You were so mad at me for making you stay up all night.” Elliot reminisces.
“Not even throwing a pillow at you got you to leave me alone.” John smiles. The fond memories from their childhood were always pleasant to look back on, even though they were shrouded in a sense of bitterness after everything the two of them have put themselves through.
“Well, mum asking about you got me thinking.”
“Oh did it, now?” John asks, his eyebrows raised.
“Yes.” He takes a deep breath, “It made me realize how much our friendship means to me.” This was not the response John was expecting. He was unsure of what to say. “Just our friendship. I don’t want to throw away our friendship because I can’t handle my emotions.”
John stares blankly at Elliot for a moment. This was big for him.
“I guess I was just jealous.” Elliot adds, “You were always my best friend, and when you stopped being it I felt angry.” John could understand that, “I guess we’ve both changed so much in the last year.” Elliot says more introspectively. “We’re not the same thirteen-year-olds we used to be.”
There was something so bitter-sweet about saying goodbye to your childhood. To have to admit that you’ve grown up, and that you will keep getting further away from your youth with every passing year. It was a bleak sentiment. Everything is simpler with childhood.
But John hasn’t felt like a kid in a very long time. He’s barely the same boy he was a year ago. And for once, he was okay with that.
“We don’t have to, y’know. Throw it away.” John says after a moment of consideration.
Elliot’s features soften, “I’m sorry.”
“S’alright.” John says, “I’m sorry too.”
“It’s never going to be the same as before, is it?” Elliot asks weakly.
John shakes his head, “I don’t think so… but that doesn’t mean it can’t still be good.”
Elliot nods, “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
John sighs, “It’s okay.”
“I hope you don’t think of me any differently for being a bit queer. I know you were raised differently.”
“Just as long as you don’t treat me any differently, either.” John smiles. Half of the Gryffindor Quidditch team was queer at this point. Elliot looks up at him with surprise.
“Really?” He asks, John nods. “McCartney, is it?” He asks.
John nods again, “Afraid so.”
“Your own worst enemy?” Elliot asks with a hint of playfulness in his tone.
John chuckles, “You said so yourself: I needed someone who could stand up to me.”
Elliot grins, “Touché.” He then adds, “I’ve actually asked Lila to be my girlfriend.”
“You git!” John gasps, “I can’t believe you never told me!”
“Well we weren’t exactly on speaking terms, were we?” Elliot sighs.
“When?”
“Just before the break. She’s brilliant, even though she’s a bit mean. But I like that about her.” Elliot says.
“That’s good.” John says, and he means it. “I’m happy for you.”
And for the first time in months, there's some semblance of normalcy between the two of them.
John looked at his watch, it was almost midnight. Almost time to go up to the Astronomy Tower. He puts away his notes, pulling on some shoes.
The best part of his night was going to see Paul. When the two of them could break down all barriers, let down their walls and just be.
“You better be back here by two, young man.” Elliot says in a playful tone, mimicking a protective parent. John just chuckles and heads out.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Let it be known: I truly don’t think a 16 and 17 year-old would have that good of communication, but it’s my fanfic and I get to do what I want and I’ve made you all go through plenty of miscommunication that you earned some healthy communication.
Chapter 21
Notes:
Happy sabbath!
The next two weeks are going to absolutely crazy busy for me! I am still intending to upload on Sunday’s but please be patient with me because I am soooo overwhelmed haha.
Thanks for everything! Love you guys!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
John mindlessly enjoys his breakfast, finishing his readings for Potions. Collette sits across from him, and to his pleasant surprise, Elliot comes to join him on his right.
“Can’t wait for quidditch to get started again.” He says as he sits down. John smiles, relieved to have some normalcy with his friend again.
“Same.” Collette sighs, “January is the longest month of the year.”
John hums in agreement, the winter was unfortunately starting to feel long. There always seemed to be a blizzard outside. He fantasized about spring, and about the second half of the Quidditch season. All games and practices have been paused until February. It was the worst time of the year for the Quidditch players.
“I heard Betty Jordan is dropping the Ravenclaw team.” Elliot says.
“You’re joking.” Collette drops her spoon, “She’s their best player! Why?”
“Her parents want her to focus on passing her N.E.W.Ts.” Elliot explains.
“All this talk of exams… Owls. Newts. Cats. Dogs. It’s absurd.” John shakes his head, the impending doom of his neglected O.W.Ls studies starting to overwhelm him.
Collette sighs, “How much longer before you take yours?” She asks John.
“The 29th.”
“Merlin, it’s coming up, isn’t it?” Elliot shakes his head.
“Unfortunately, yes.” John shrugs, taking a bite of his oatmeal.
Just then, the owl post comes swooping in, dropping various letters and packages on the tables for the students to collect.
To John’s surprise and amusement, there’s a letter for him. He went from never having received a letter by owl to getting more than he can count. He’d recognize the letter anywhere: Paul had nicer envelope paper than most people.
He opens up the letter, trying to suppress the excitement he feels.
Collette and Elliot share a look of amusement, “Love letter, is it?” Collette asks.
John rolls his eyes, “We’re just friends.” He insists. This was true, until Paul was ready to be anything more, John would be willing to wait. Even if they have kissed a few times, they were just friends. And they haven’t kissed again since they got back from break, John didn’t want to risk anything. Besides, there's no reason for these two to know anything more. John could imagine how political it would get if he started dating the captain of their rival team. There was a strict ‘no-dating each other’ rule on the team, but whether or not that rule extended between teams was unclear.
“Ohhh.” Elliot scoffs, “And Dippet is just seventy years old.”
“Shut up.” John glares playfully at Elliot.
He opens the letter, reading it happily.
January 11th, 1958
John,
Meet me on the Quidditch Pitch tonight at nine. Dress warm. We’ll be under the Hufflepuff faculty box. Don’t invite anyone else.
Paul
John grins excitedly at the letter. He didn’t know what any of it meant, but it was exciting. Something new and different from the Astronomy tower. But he was curious about who “we’ll” be. John secretly worried he was being pranked, but he knows Paul’s envelopes, he knows Paul’s handwriting.
He spent the entire break reading and rereading all of Paul’s letters to him. It was the only thing that got him through the excruciatingly long holiday. He’d be able to pick out Paul’s handwriting from a hundred different options.
“Oh a love letter for sure.” Elliot nudges John.
“In your dreams.” John nudged back.
“Ooh, maybe a dirty letter?” Collette winks playfully.
John can feel a light blush twinge his cheeks, “You two are the worst.”
“You love us.” Collette winks. And to John’s dismay, she was correct.
The entire day was so slow. A Saturday with no quidditch, no Hogsmeade, no parties was ridiculous. The term hadn’t even picked up enough yet for there to be homework to catch up or get ahead on.
John was forced to just lounge in the common room, play guitar and stare at the clock. When the Gryffindors had played their fifth game of gobstones, John knew he couldn’t handle a sixth.
Of course, the anticipation of an evening with McCartney only slowed the time more. John dreamed of the days Paul was free and comfortable enough to spend the daytime with John.
Although he wondered if that was ever possible with Paul’s busy schedule. Just because he and Paul got along with one another now doesn’t mean Paul wasn’t as busy as he was last term. He was still the wonder boy of the school, after all.
But for once, Paul’s wonder boy status didn’t irritate John. It didn’t discourage him or turn him away from Paul. If anything, it made him like Paul better. Now that John was no longer blinded by his first impression of Paul, he found his work ethic admirable. He finally understood why everyone else found him charming. Paul was impressively devoted and committed to his involvement at Hogwarts, and John actually liked it now.
That and he liked Paul now. Just Paul, as a person. Perhaps he was just looking at Paul with rose-colored goggles. Everything he did was attractive to John now.
The way Paul would throw his head back in laughter, the way he bit his lips when he wrote notes in Whittaker’s class, the way he obviously polished his prefect pin every day.
Finally, it was nearly nine, and John followed Paul’s directions. He dresses warmly and doesn’t invite anyone to their meeting place. He had absolutely no idea what to expect, but the mystery of it all added to the fun.
He has to sneak around Peeves to get out of the castle. It wasn’t curfew yet, but Peeves had it out for John. He couldn’t trust that poltergeist even if he wanted to. John makes it out of the clock tower and towards the quidditch pitch, the frozen January air was completely unforgiving, but at least there wasn’t wa blizzard like usual.
He sees three sets of footsteps in the fresh powder towards the pitch, and John feels another jolt of anticipation for what was to come. Paul was full of surprises, John learned this the hard way.
His anxiety threatened to tell him that Paul was planning a terrible prank on him with Graham and Dorian. That this entire fantasy will come to a crashing and tragic end before it can’t really start. But John pushes away the concern. He knew Paul’s heart better now. Paul wouldn’t do that.
John makes it to the Hufflepuff faculty booth of the pitch, ducking under the yellow and black fabric into the warmer shelter of the tent.
There’s a small campfire and various mismatched chairs gathered around it. The ground inside was frozen but free of snow, and the air was much warmer than outside.
Sitting around the fire was Paul, and his friends George and Ringo.
“Ah, there he is!” George says.
Paul stands up, smiling wide, “You came!” He walks over to John. John can feel that Paul wants to lean in for a hug, but holds back. He settles for a playful hit on John’s bicep.
“Well you were so mysterious, I had to make sure you weren’t doing something against school rules, Prefect.” John smirks back at Paul, who blushes and looks away. And god, in this soft, warm light Paul was gorgeous. His features were perfectly lit up from the fire and his hair was just slightly messy. John wanted to kiss him again, but didn’t want to screw anything up.
“Oh it’s totally against school rules.” Ringo says.
John looks over to the smallest of the four, wrapped up in a big coat and scarf around his neck. “Ringo, was it?”
“In the flesh.” He gestures for John to join them on one of their mismatched chairs. He and Paul find their seats across the fire from each other.
“So what is this, some kind of secret society?” John asks them.
“Oh yeah, we sacrifice virgins and pray to Satan. George is our victim tonight.” Ringo says, making John and Paul laugh.
“Hey!” George exclaims, pouting.
“That’s what muggles think we do.” John kicks back, enjoying the warmth of the fire.
“Muggle-born, are ya?” Ringo asks.
John nods, “Should’ve seen me aunt’s face when I got my acceptance letter.”
“Rings is half and half.” Paul adds.
“Are ya?” John asks.
Ringo nods, “Mum fell in love with a dock worker in Liverpool, never left.”
“Bugger off! You’re from Liverpool?” John asks, eyes wide.
Ringo nods, “Born and raised.”
“Me as well.” George adds.
“And me.” Paul says with a gentle smile from across the fire.
“What?” John asks with a laugh, “You never told me?”
Paul shrugs, “Never came up. It’s not like we were the best of friends last term.” He chuckles.
“So it is a secret society.” John cocks his head.
“Liverpudlians of Hogwarts.” George huffs.
John felt wonderful to be amidst his people. He often felt terribly homesick for Liverpool, and had never met anyone else at Hogwarts who was from there. Paul being from there was a total surprise, and John almost felt betrayal that Paul never told him, but he supposed he had a point.
Now that John really thinks of it, Ringo’s accent is very reminiscent of home. But Paul and George both spoke with a more refined accent, no doubt from their privileged up-brining. Regardless, all four of them seemed to slip into the spouse accent of their hometown as they spoke together.
“So that’s why you’re all friends?” John insinuates.
“Well Paul and I grew up together.” George adds. John knew this, Paul told him last term when they were friends. “We met Ringo in our second year.”
“These assholes saved me life.” Ringo explains.
“He’s exaggerating.” Paul scoffs.
“And he’s bein’ modest!” Ringo replies. “These two chums pulled me out of the lake. Fell in during the winter and God knows I haven’t the first clue for swimming.”
“He didn’t fall in, he was pushed.” George adds, his face sharp.
“What?” John asks, intrigued and curious. He didn’t know anything about Ringo, never even noticed him before.
He’s not a quidditch player, and he’s a seventh year above John and Paul, so he never took classes with him. But he was fascinating. He was so laid back, coming off as comfortable in any situation. He didn’t seem like the type of bloke to cause issues. Ringo was a little guy, a few inches shorter than the rest of them, and exhibited a calming, innocent presence that was typical for Hufflepuffs. John could see the desire to look out for him, even if he was the oldest of the group.
John remembers way back during his one and only Slug Club meeting when George showed up late and had mentioned something to Paul about ‘Rings’. John still wasn’t sure what that was about, but now he was more curious than ever.
“It was nothing.” Ringo looks down at his feet.
“He always says that.” George rolls his eyes, coming off as protective over Ringo, even if he was two years younger than him. George turns to John, “There were some assholes who decided bullying Ringo would be their sole purpose at this school.”
That sounded familiar to John.
“Who?” John asks.
“They’re all gone now. They were a bunch of sixth and seventh-years picking on Ringo when he was just a kid.” Paul explains. “Graham Black’s older brother was one, Ambrose. And his nasty friend Evander Malfoy. And of course, Dorian’s older brother Julian Pritchard.” Paul scoffs. “It’s wizards like them that make the Slytherin house look bad.”
John had to agree with that. It wasn’t until he got to know Paul that he changed his mind on Slytherins. “Assholes. I can see where Graham learned it all from.”
Paul huffs out a tight breath, almost a laugh. John could imagine the pressure Graham puts on Paul. He wished he was sitting next to Paul rather than across from him. John just wanted to be near Paul.
“These two are being silly. It was nothing.” Ringo shakes his head.
“They hated him because he was a half-blood.” George adds, the tension shifts and the fire crackles between the four of them.
There’s a long pause, all four of them feeling the discomfort. John knew that if they hated half-bloods, they would really hate John…a full-blown muggle-born.
Ringo clears his throat, “They pulled pranks on me all the time, but that one went too far. The lake was frozen over. I’m lucky these two saw it all happen.”
“Christ.” John shakes his head, he had it bad, but his life has never been threatened. “Did they get punished for it?”
Paul nods, “All three got expelled without a chance to come back to Hogwarts. That’s why Dorian and Graham have it out for you. They think it’s unfair that you got to come back when their older brothers didn’t. It’s some sick revenge trip.”
That made a lot of sense, even if it did make John’s stomach twist with unruly discomfort. “Well I never tried to kill anyone.”
“You just used unforgivable curses on animals.” George tacks on the end.
It puts a bad taste in John’s mouth, who was George to make a call like that? He glares at the Ravenclaw in the group. Paul senses the tension.
“John’s situation was different.” Paul explains, “The book is like a dirty drug, it changes John’s mind. The trio who had it out for Ringo were completely of sound mind. They were driven by hate and ignorance. John was controlled against his will.” Paul pulls through for John, and he can breathe again.
George shrugs, “I didn’t mean anything by that.” He looks at John.
“S’alright.” John cocks his head.
“Speaking of drugs.” Ringo says, pulling out a paper bag from his pocket. “Are we gonna sit here and talk all night or are we gonna put this grass to use?”
John’s eyes light up and George whoops. Now he understood the real reason he couldn’t invite anyone else. He and Paul make eye contact from across the fire. Paul’s eyes are playful and gleaming. John chuckles, and Ringo starts rolling a blunt.
“Have you ever smoked before, Mr. Lennon?” Ringo asks, pompously.
John chuckles, “‘Fraid so, Mrrrrr.” He realizes he had no idea what Ringo’s last name is.
“Starkey. But my friends say Starr.” Ringo says, licking the paper of the blunt.
“Mr. Starr.” John finishes his thought.
“It’s Paul’s first time.” George explains.
“You’re joking!” John scoffs at Paul from across the fire.
“Does that come as a surprise to you?” Paul asks, cocking his head. “I am a prefect, y’know.”
“Yeah well, I thought all of you prefects were morally corrupt in secret.” John winks at Paul, even though there was truth to his statement.
Paul rolls his eyes, “Don’t make me regret inviting you.” He raises one of his arched-eyebrows at John, giving him a playful but stern look.
John holds his palms up by his face, conceding the teasing.
The four of them pass around the joint, and it’s strong stuff. John knows this is the real stuff that comes from the wizarding world, not the Muggle’s mutant plant of the same thing. Ringo starts with the blunt, passing it to John and around the circle.
They each take a deep hit, and when it gets around to Paul, he makes eye contact with John the entire time as he sucks in the smoke, his eyes darker. It makes John’s stomach flip, and he feels extra saliva in his mouth.
But right after Paul’s first drag, he coughs profusely. “Rancid.” He says between hacks.
Ringo chuckles, “You didn’t even get any in your lungs!”
“Paulie over here’s never even smoked a ciggy.” George says to John, his hands behind his head, cradling it.
“So we’re corrupting the golden child of Hogwarts?” John asks with a smirk.
“Corrupt me. I’m all yours.” Paul says directly to John, and his words settle low in John’s core.
John stutters on air, willing himself to look away from Paul’s heavy gaze, but failing miserably so.
“What’s caused this change of heart? I thought you followed all the rules?” John asks, genuinely curious.
“Rules are meant to be broken.” Paul shrugs. “Stupid ones at least.”
John chuckles, enjoying this new side of Paul.
“He’s trying to impress you.” George rolls his eyes towards John.
“Bugger off.” Paul sneers at George. John’s amused boy that prospect. If Paul wanted to impress the bad boy, he was doing a good job.
“Go on, try again.” John nods towards the joint. Paul takes another hit, this time trying to get it into his lungs, and after an exaggerated breath in, he blows out the remaining smoke.
“Good boy.” John says in a velvet tone.
He sees how Paul blushes and finally breaks eye contact. John makes note of that for later.
The blunt is passed around again, the four of them making casual small talk, and John can start feeling as every muscle in his body relaxes. He feels the familiar feeling of fuzz behind his eyebrows, and his breathing gets slow and deliberate. He and Paul steal glances at one another, letting their gaze linger for a little too long every time.
After a few hits, the joint is nearly gone and Ringo steps on it. The four of them sit in leisure as they feel the effects of the weed.
George is the first one to start giggling, unclear what about. But then Paul joins him, the two of them making eye contact and starting to laugh just from the sheer presence of the other. It’s amusing and contagious, and it isn’t much longer until all four of them are in the throws of lackadaisical chuckles and snorts.
Ringo makes a comment about the weather, and John can’t recall what made it funny, but all four of them are howling with laughter. Tears prickle at John’s eyes, and his stomach hurts.
“I feel so silly.” George says with his hands pressed to his eyes, slouched in his chair.
“Look.” Ringo says to the four of them, now standing from his chair and running slowly in small circles around their little circle of chairs, “I feel like I’m running so fast.”
This makes Paul weep with laughter, because Ringo most certainly was not running fast. Just the image of his friend running in mindless loops was funny, but the added effects of the weed made everything heightened.
Especially your senses.
John feels the fire get a little hotter, his clothes feel a little tighter, the smoke smelling a little stronger, his saliva tasting a little different. He looked over at Paul, who had calmed down from his fit of laughter, and was now staring up at the rafters of the Quidditch stands with hooded eye-lids.
Paul hiccups, “I’m so high.”
The other three laugh at him, “Nothing like a first high, eh?” George asks.
“I don’t think I actually got high me first time.” George says slowly.
“Paul looks right baked over there.” John nods over at Paul. Ringo chuckles again at the sight of their friend.
Time slows, and after an hour or so the four of them decide it’s time to wander back inside. The peak of the high hadn’t quite worn off yet, but they knew they couldn’t send Paul off on his own to find his common room alone in this state.
They stamp out the fire, collect their things and mosey back to the castle.
Ringo wanders off, and they have to corral him back, the four of them with their arms wrapped around one another’s shoulders in a long, ragged line as they make futile attempts at getting back to the castle.
“Where did you get that stuff?” John asks Ringo. He was walking between Ringo and Paul, and couldn’t focus with Paul’s weight leaning into him like this.
“Huff…and puff.” Ringo snorts.
George bursts into laughter, “Fuckin’ ridiculous.” He sighs.
At that moment, Paul gasps and breaks off from the group, running towards something.
John and George look at one another, “Shit.” John says and they start to chase after Paul. All three of them follow the Slytherin boy to just outside the Clock Tower entrance, where Paul took a hard right along the castle wall.
“Paul!” Ringo whisper-shouts, the three of them trying to see what Paul was after.
Finally, Paul squats to the ground, and by the looks of it was petting something. “What in the-” George says under his breath as they catch up to him.
“Paul?” John asks, “Whatcha got there?”
“This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.” Paul states.
“A…” Ringo chuckles in disbelief, “A cat?”
Paul was eagerly petting a silver tabby cat. The cat was eagerly purring and pushing itself into Paul’s hand.
John and George snicker at the absurdity of it.
“Fantastic.” Ringo kneels down and pets the cat with Paul. “This is a wonderful cat.”
John and George’s laughing only escalates.
“I love this cat.” Paul says sincerely.
George presses his hands to his eyes, and with a huff of laughter states “This is so ridiculous.”
John chuckles in agreement, his mind feeling fuzzy.
They’re finally able to pull Paul away from the cat, and after much laughter, trial and error (and master avoidance of peeves), they have made it to the Slytherin Dungeon.
“Same time next week, gents?” Paul asks with a hum, leaning up against the stone outside of his common room entrance.
Ringo nods, “Us Liverpudlians ought to stick together.” He wraps his arm over George’s shoulders, their height difference making for an awkward angle.
John hums, “Night, Paul.” He says only to Paul, his eyelids heavy and arms tingly.
Paul snorts again, “We have to go to bed.”
“We’re waiting for you.” George nods to the wall where the common room door will appear when the other three leave Paul.
“I could get in so much trouble.” Paul sighs, shaking his head, “If someone finds out… oh shit…they’re all gonna know! Everyone’s gonna know I’m so high!” His eyes go wide, any semblance of laughter gone from him. He’s become paranoid.
John shakes his head, “They won’t know, Paul.” He touches Paul’s shoulder and he’s searing hot. John pulls his hand away quickly and clears his throat, the two of them making eye contact.
They seem to stare into one another’s eyes for what feels like a small eternity. John can see Paul’s entire soul through his eyes, and makes note of his own reflection within Paul’s pupils. Paul blinks, and time slows even more somehow.
Ringo breaks it up, “Alright, off to bed. All of us.” He claps.
John thankfully makes it to his bed, although he doesn’t remember the journey very well, his entire body spinning as he crashes into bed.
He felt wonderfully at home, hanging out with those four boys felt so natural, like he’s been friends with them in countless lifetimes.
John hums as he falls asleep, images of Paul and dancing flames running through his dreary mind.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 22
Notes:
Woof… what a week.
Sorry this is late. My life is hard right now.
Love you guys.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s been a week of sneaking off to the Astronomy Tower with Paul. They meet every night, and it’s just what John looks forward to all day long. The two just talk the entire time, and John can feel how his stomach flutters with every glance at Paul.
He hasn’t been brave enough to kiss him again, though. John was terrified of messing any of this up, he wouldn’t dare risk what he’s worked so hard to build. He ultimately decided that his friendship with Paul was more valuable than his desire for him. And even though Paul told John he could kiss him when they were up here, John wanted to be absolutely sure before he tried.
“So your birthday is in June? That makes you a-”
“Gemini.” Paul finishes John’s sentence.
“Whatever that means.” John chuckles.
“Very Libra response from you.” Paul sighs.
“You know my birthday?” John cocks his head, he doesn't remember mentioning it to Paul.
Paul looks away, feeling suddenly embarrassed, “Well… yeah.” He shrugs.
John smiles, “How?”
“I asked Cynthia. Who else do you think sent you those guitar picks?” Paul asks.
John’s jaw drops, “It was you?!”
Paul nods, the two of them facing each other as they chat.
“Why did you get me a gift?” John asks, “I thought you despised me then.”
Paul shrugs, “I’ve never despised you, John.” He adds, “I’ve actually always admired you, just from afar.”
John felt awful, he barely noticed Paul before this year.
“That was a really nice gift. I use ‘em all the time.” John smiles, his chest filling with something warm and wonderful. “I just don’t understand why you did it.”
“You’re thick, sometimes.” Paul looks at John fondly. “I used to have the biggest crush on you.” John remembers Paul mentioning that to him during their encounter during the Yule ball. “You didn’t even know I existed.”
John sighs, “I’m afraid I didn’t… Can you forgive me?” He had a few vague memories of seeing Paul in the hallways, and of course they would have had first year Transfiguration together. But when John was eleven he was much too caught up with Elliot and the magic of the Wizarding world to know anyone outside of Gryffindor house existed.
Paul shrugs, “I’m thinking about it.” He flirts.
John smiles, he can’t help it around Paul. “Can I make it up to you?” He asks.
“Hmm.” Paul looks up as he thinks, “You might be able to.”
“How?” John asks, feeling the tension build.
“I can think of a way or two…” Paul leans in ever-so-slightly to John’s face. John smirks, looking down at Paul’s lips.
He closes the gap between them, pressing their lips together in a gentle push of a tender kiss. It’s sweet, and short. John pulls away, “Is this okay?”
“God, yes.” Paul sighs and they press their lips together again.
John gets brave and lets himself open his mouth just slightly. Paul allows John to deepen the kiss so their lips lock together. John cups his hand on Paul’s face, pulling the other boy into him. They kiss like that for a moment, but they both want more.
Paul scoots closer to John, their knees touching now, and wraps his arms around John’s neck. John sighs into Paul’s mouth, which makes the younger of the two kiss with more intent. Paul wasn’t experienced, but John didn’t care. He just basked in the feeling of Paul’s soft, plump lips moving against his.
John pulls away, “Wait. Why was there a ‘J’ engraved in the case for the picks? For John?” He’s been wondering this since he got the gift, and while he knew now was probably not the time to be asking this, he needed to know.
“Is that really what you’re thinking about right now?” Paul asks, raising his eyebrow tantalizingly.
John shakes his head, “No.” And he leans in the kiss Paul again, hungrily and with more fervour.
John’s new pace makes Paul chuckle giddily, but he pulls away with a grin “It stands for ‘James’.”
“Who the hell is James?”
“Me.” Paul says with a cute smile.
“Fuck off.” John scoffs, Paul chuckles. “Who’s Paul, then?”
Paul rolls his eyes, “James is my first name. Paul is my second.”
John looks at Paul dumbly, “I had no idea.”
“No one does.” Paul smiles. “Only my family and the government.” He shrugs. “And now you.”
John smiles huge at Paul, and then leans down to kiss him again. There was something about knowing Paul on a deeper level that made this kiss more wonderful.
Names were deeply personal and unique. It’s one thing to call someone by their name, but it’s another thing entirely to know their name. Paul never told anyone his full name, no one who didn’t need to know it. And not only has he now shared this intimate part of himself with John, but he’s given John something that was his: the engraved box that held the picks. A physical manifestation of this part of Paul that he had saved for very few people. It drove John crazy, and he showed that with how he kissed Paul.
Hungry and meaningful, never wanting to stop kissing him.
John tests how Paul will react to a bit of tongue, and swipes his tongue against Paul’s bottom lip. To his delight, Paul lets the kiss deepen into a french kiss, the both of them experimenting with a deeper snog.
Paul drags his tongue against John’s, which makes John’s other hand reach up to hold Paul’s face between his hands. John lifts up onto his knees, so he’s now kissing down into Paul. Paul tilts his head up to let the kiss deepen even more as their mouths start moving at a quicker and greedy pace. Paul’s hands come up to hold John’s wrists, and he draws soft little circles with his thumb on the inside of John’s wrist, where the skin was incredibly soft and sensitive. It’s such a simple act, but it makes John feel dizzy.
He pulls away for a moment, looking down at Paul through his eyelashes and feeling absolutely over the moon. “You good?”
Paul nods with a smile, and they return to their position of kissing. Paul sits up so he’s also kneeling, closing the space between their torsos. Their bodies were pressed to one another now, and the warmth they each felt from the other person was intoxicating.
And oh John could feel that Paul was feeling the effects of their snogging in other places. All of John’s blood was going there, as well, and there was just enough added friction from this new position for the both of them that electric shocks of euphoria are sent through John’s nervous system as he feels Paul.
Paul lets out the softest, most innocent sigh when his bulge presses against John’s, and John could devour Paul right now if he’d let him. Their kissing becomes sloppy, tongue and spit everywhere while their teeth clash. They’re as close as they can be while still being clothed, but to John’s dismay, Paul is pulling away from him in an instant, letting it all crash down.
The Slytherin boy scoots back, catching his breath. “Shit.” His lips were swollen and his cheeks were flush, he was gorgeous in the moonlight.
John sat back down, feeling dizzy. “Am I making it up to you?” John asks.
Paul chuckles, “Oh yeah.” He looks at John with heavy eyes and a glazed look of contentment. “But we should probably go to bed now.”
John sighs, Paul was going to drive him crazy.
He draws in his notebook a silly doodle of a Pygmy puff, not paying any attention to Whittaker’s lecture. Paul kicks his ankle under the table, and John looks up to see why.
“Pay attention.” Paul whispers playfully.
“You’re not the boss of me.” John whispers back.
Whittaker wraps up his lecture and dismisses the class, “Soon we’ll be starting on Patronus Charms!” He says as everyone stands up, collecting their books. “Mr. Lennon, please come speak with me!” He says to John.
John was already headed out of the room, and his shoulders dropped when he heard this. He looked at Paul, who wasn’t far behind him.
The older body sighs and then walks up to Whittaker’s desk while the other students clear out, “Have I done something wrong?”
Whittaker smiles, “Nope.” He flicks his wand, and the chalkboard starts to erase itself. “I just wanted to check in with you, make sure you’re doing alright. You’re taking your O.W.Ls in about two weeks, correct?”
John nods, “The 29th.”
“And how are you studying?”
“Could be better.” John admits. He always felt comfortable around Whittaker. “Been getting distracted at night.” He amuses himself with his innuendo.
“And how are you faring with Mr. McCartney?” Whittaker asks.
John’s suddenly nervous that Whittaker can read minds, but he reminds himself that he and Paul never would have become friends if it weren’t for their professor. “Good, actually.” John prays he isn’t blushing. “We’re getting along better than ever.” It helps that I have my tongue shoved down his mouth every night.
“I’m happy to hear it. The Imperius final concerned me. Can I do anything for either of you?” He asks.
John shakes his head, “Can you take my O.W.Ls for me?” He asks.
Whittaker chuckles, “I’m afraid not. And how are you handling all our talk about Dementors? I hope it’s not too close for you.”
“I’m alright professor, really.” John assures him.
Whittaker smiles, “Fantastic. Well, I’ll let you go then. Wouldn’t want to keep you from your studies.” He dismisses John.
John exits the classroom, not thinking much of their interaction. When he exits the door into the hall, he’s startled to see Paul there waiting for him.
“Hope you’re not in trouble for doodling in class.” Paul says.
John smiles, “Nope! Just in trouble for spending all class period thinking about you.” He replied smoothly. To his delight, Paul’s face turns bright red.
The younger clears his throat, “Alright, well, I’m off to Alchemy. Will I see you tonight?”
John nods, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
As Paul starts to walk away, John quickly scans the hall, making sure the coast is clear. When he’s sure it is, he reaches out for Paul’s wrist and stops him, yanking the Slytherin around.
Paul turns to look at John, the air between them suspending. Paul’s lips are loose and jaw slack, his eyes meeting John’s. It’s Paul who chooses to lean in and give John a quick kiss, their lips locking briefly. John doesn’t want to pull away, and as he feel’s Paul’s resistance, he holds him in place, elongating the kiss for a moment.
But eventually Paul pulls away, their lips separating with a smack. Paul grins and giggles like a fool, and then turns around with a wink.
John watches him the whole time he walks down the hall.
That evening, John could barely wait to go up to the Astronomy Tower and see Paul again. He seemed to look at the clock every ten minutes, and the time passed in slow motion. He rapidly bounced his leg as he tried to do his Charms homework, but nothing alleviated his anticipation.
If John wasn’t already falling for Paul, he was now.
Finally, when it was midnight, John quickly got ready and practically ran to the Astronomy Tower. He felt like a giddy kid, just the prospect of being around Paul was delightful to John.
He makes it to the tower, and it’s a terribly dark and chilly night. It was snowing, and Paul sat in his usual spot, his knit blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
John moves next to Paul, sitting down so their bodies are touching. “Hi.” He says softly.
Paul turns his head, looking at John with a gentle smile, “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Very popular place at this time of night.” John jokes.
“Oh, is it?”
John nods, “Yup, heard it’s a hot make-out spot.”
Paul grins, “And who did you hear that from?” He asks.
Their faces are just centimeters apart, John can feel Paul’s breath on his. “Think I’m a liar?” He asks, his tone low and suggestive.
The two of them hold their breath, suspending the moment for a beat. And just when John thinks Paul is going to lean in and close the gap, Paul pulls away, turning his head out to the sky. It makes John’s stomach flutter. He loved a chase.
“Did you hear about Dumbledore?” Paul asks.
John sighs, clueless as to why Paul would be bringing up an old professor when they could be spending their time doing much more fun things. “No, should I have?” He replies.
Paul shrugs, “He’s coming back soon.”
“Back to Hogwarts?” John asks.
Paul nods, “Yup. The Minister told me dad.”
“Maybe he’s just done with his sabbatical?” John suggests.
“No,” Paul shakes his head, “He was supposed to be on leave until ‘61. He’s coming back early because he thinks there’s something here.”
“What?” John asks, his stomach dropping. “It’s not the-”
“The book?” Paul finishes his sentence, “No, I don’t think so. I think he’s looking for something else. But I do think The Grimoire has to do with it.”
John’s shoulders droop. He would never escape this book, not ever. “Speaking of…” He sighs, not wanting to go into this territory but not having any other choice, “When you followed me into the Room of Requirement, what did you do with the book?”
“Right.” Paul sighs, “I forgot about that.” He turns to look at John, “I’m sorry about that.”
“S’alright.” John’s eyes meet his, “It’s probably for the best, really. I think you protected me and the school. I just wished I could have seen you afterwards.” He refers to the wickedly powerfully Stupefying spell Paul cast on him.
Paul shakes his head, “I felt awful. I went and spoke with Dippet about it.”
“I know.”
“Well, he said I did the right thing and that he’d take care of the book. When I knocked you out, I only worried about getting you to safety. You hit your head when you fell, and I was really scared. I just left the book there. I told Headmaster Dippet where it was, though. I hope he went and found it.” Paul explains, an echo of guilt in his tone.
John nudges Paul, making the younger boy look at him again. “You did a good thing. Thank you.” Paul instantly softens at that.
The two of them sit in comfortable quiet for a while, John tugs on Paul’s blanket to share, the both of them wrapped up under it and sharing their body warmth.
Paul eventually speaks up again, “I owe you another apology.”
“Oh?”
He sighs, “All bets are off in the Astronomy Tower?” John nods and Paul elaborates, “I never should have called you those horrible things. A criminal… a dark wizard. I just wanted to offer you an explanation for why I did.”
“You don’t have to Paul, really.” John tries stopping him, but Paul won’t let him.
“I don’t believe those things. Not really. My dad assured me you were cleared of any charges, and I know how hard it can be to resist things like dark magic.” Paul continues, “But the real reason I did all that was because… well I was put up to it.”
“Paul, you don’t have to convince me-”
“Dorian told me he’d make sure I was Headboy next year if I did that for him.” Paul admits. It sounded like it came with a wash of relief for Paul after he said it. John is stunned for a moment, not expecting that, but not surprised. “I know you probably don’t believe me.”
“I do.”
“Really?” Paul asked.
John nods, if it weren’t for him and Arthur witnessing the stand-off between Paul and Dorian after the Slug Club two months ago, he might not have. But ever since then, John has understood that Paul’s position in all of this was much more nuanced than he expected.
John chooses to explain that, “Well… I have to tell you something too. After I went to the Slug Club in November, Arthur and I ended up in the clock tower with you guys. We hid and sorta eavesdropped on part of your conversation. I saw you defend me, watched you and George storm out. And ever since then I’ve known they had put you up to something.”
Paul sighs, quiet initially, “Thank you for telling me. And for believing me. I’m sorry. I really am. I was weak.” Paul carries on.
He adds, “I just know how badly my dad wants me to be Headboy. I know how much it would mean to him and Michael. I know how it would get me more opportunities. I want it. I need it. And that seemed like a pretty easy way to get it.” Paul was clearly embarrassed by his own actions, “And it was easy… at first. But it was dishonest. And then I got to know you, and I remembered why I liked you in the first place. You’re funny and charismatic, and you shine in every room you walk into. You made it horribly hard to dislike you.” Paul chuckles. It makes John’s stomach flip with warmth and comfort. Paul adds, “I probably sound like a selfish git… and I am. But maybe you can understand.”
“Of course I understand.” John replies, how could he not when Paul just said that about him. That was probably the nicest thing ever said to and about John. “I mean… It’s not like I was kind to you in return.”
“But I kind of deserved it.”
“Maybe.” John shrugs, “But all that matters is now. Here. We’re here now, aren’t we?” God, he wanted to kiss Paul.
Paul blushes and nods. “For the record, if you actually want to romance me, then you’re going to have to try harder.” He has a playful glint in his tone.
John cocks his head, “Tell me more.”
“Well, I’m no tart. I won’t swoon from just kissing. I expect to be courted. To be looked after.” He states, sounding like a proper prefect.
John smirks, even now Paul was painfully irritating, in a charming, irresistible way. “Paul, may I take you on a date?”
Paul turns to John, fighting a smile. He nods.
“Great, meet me in the Central Hall on Saturday at five.” He says.
“Alright.” Paul says, trying to mask his excitement but failing. It was cute, it made John feel good. “But I have a curfew y’know. Prefect duties and such.”
“Right.” John rolls his eyes, waiting for the perfect moment to lean in and kiss this impossible boy.
Paul speaks up before the tension can grow anymore, ruining the moment. “You’ve got to come to tutoring tomorrow.”
“I know. I’ve been terrible.”
“You aren’t going to pass your O.W.Ls.” Paul says nonchalantly.
John scoffs, “Thanks for the encouragement, McCartney.”
Paul looks up at him with something mixed with amusement and fondness, “I’m just trying to look out for you.” He explains.
“I’m afraid of tutoring with you.” John says.
“What?” Paul looks hurt, “Why?” He sits up.
“Because you’re very distracting.” John admits, it was true. He sees how Paul looks away, his cheeks dusted with a soft flush. He leans into Paul as he says it.
Paul clears his throat, “Well, we will stay very focused while we study.”
“Well, you’ll have to just prove me wrong, then.” Is the last thing John says in his husky voice before the two of them finally lean in and kiss.
It’s still like fireworks when they kiss. As much as John kisses Paul, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get sick of it. The more he kisses the lad, the more he wants to. Paul’s intoxicating, and John can certainly agree that he is a much better addiction than anything else John has been drawn to.
Their lips lazily move against one another, soft and calculated. They add tongue much sooner this time, and it isn’t long before they’re all hands and arms tangled up in one another.
John was hard from just being around Paul, now. And Paul was starting to know what things turned John on. His hands tugging at John’s messy hair, biting roughly on John’s bottom lip, sighing sweetly into John’s mouth.
He was a terrible tease, but yet again, just when John thought maybe they might go further, Paul stops it before it can really go anywhere. He leaves John feeling sweaty and unsatisfied.
Paul gives him a playful and smug look, winking.
John groaned quietly, frustrated that he’d be left tonight with just his hand again.
But he was ultimately overjoyed that he finally had Paul right where he wanted him.
Paul was worth the wait.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 23
Notes:
Have two chapters in one day… as a treat
(I just feel bad the last chapter was filler that you all had to wait for. So here’s some actual plot as penance)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“So, it’s two drops of Belladonna?” John asks, his brain starting to hurt.
Paul nods, “Yes, but if you put three in, what happens?” He asks, scribbling something on the chalkboard he was using.
John drops his head into his notebook, they had been at it for almost three hours now. He groans, “The elixir will turn…. Red?”
“False, Magenta.”
“Same difference!” John sighs. He keeps his head down, feeling exhausted, “Don’t you have Prefect duties to attend to?” He asks.
“I got the night off.” Paul says brightly. John groans, he knew tutoring was important, but this was torture.
They were in the common area outside of the Charms classroom and the sun was long gone. There was a group of Hufflepuff third years on the other side of the room studying for their basic Arithmancy class.
Paul had brought the works for their tutoring session: every notebook he had, every practice test, enchanted quills that kept John from cheating and extra chalk. He took this very seriously.
It suited him well, actually.
Maybe John could have found it amusing, but he was too frustrated to care. They were really starting to cram now, his O.W.Ls were in just a week.
“It’s no use, I’m going to fail and be a caretaker.” John groans.
Paul chuckles, sitting in the chair next to John, resting his head on his hand as he looks at John’s face which was still smushed into his notes. John slowly rotates his head, looking up at Paul who had a smile plastered on his face.
“You’re enjoying seeing me suffer, aren’t you?” John asks, “You sadist.”
Paul throws his head back in a laugh, “No. But I will say it is amusing seeing you so flustered.”
“Could see me flustered in much more fun ways.” John lifts his head up, sighing. Paul hums.
“Alright, we take one more practice exam for Potions, I’ll help you on this one, and if you do alright on it, we can go up to the Astronomy Tower early.” He suggests.
John’s face lights up, now that was an idea he could get behind. “Just one more practice exam?”
“Mhm. For tonight. But we’re back at it again tomorrow.”
John frowns, “Fine. And if I fail it?”
“Then no Astronomy Tower for you.” Paul replies smugly.
John groans, adjusting his glasses, “My brain is fried.”
Paul leans over and gives John a chaste kiss to his temple, “Does that help?” He asks.
Unfortunately, yes. John blushes, “Alright, let’s see the test.”
Paul excitedly pulls out the parchment with the practice exam he prepared for John, looking purely delighted by the situation. Of course it’s cute. Paul loved academia, he loved being the smartest person in a room, and he had a knack for teaching.
“You should be a teacher.” John suggests.
“What?”
“Well… I know you don’t really want to go to the Ministry… so you should be a Professor. You’re wicked good at it.” John explains.
Paul shrugs, “I don’t know… the pay for instructors isn’t as good.”
John rolls his eyes, “When are you going to stop doing that?” He asks.
Paul looks at him, his eyebrows furrowed together, “Stop doing what?”
“Over-analyzing everything!”
“I am a professional over-thinker, thank you very much.” Paul raises an eyebrow and sets the parchment down, “Get to it, I want to get up to that tower.”
“Do you, now?” John cocks his head.
Paul scoffs, “Don’t screw your chance.” He hands John his quill.
John waited impatiently in the Central Hall for Paul. He paced back and forth, feeling terribly nervous for their date. It’s not like John hasn’t been on dates before, but this one felt much more serious.
Dates were supposed to be fun and easy, and typically they were. However, going out with Paul felt so monumental. The build-up to this evening was nothing short of exciting and simultaneously so stressful.
John was wearing his favorite sweater, and he had his cozy tweed jacket on. He runs his fingers through his sandy-auburn hair, trying to calm his breathing.
He chuckles as he remembered that he was sitting right where he did while waiting to meet Paul at the beginning of fall term to work on their Defense Against the Dark Arts homework together. Back then they despised each other. So much has changed now. John feels like he’s lived a lifetime since then. He and Paul have been through so much.
Finally, Paul arrives, looking equally as cozy in his clothes. He was wearing that same green sweater he had on when they did their assignment together all those months ago. John informed him to dress warm. But Paul’s coat was much nicer than John’s, which was expected. To John’s surprise and amusement, Paul had ditched his prefect pin for the evening.
“Hello.” Paul says warmly, a Slytherin scarf wrapped around his neck.
“Hi.” John replies, feeling rather sheepish, adjusting his glasses (which he seemed to only ever wear when he was around Paul, now).
“You look nice-”
“-I like your jacket-” They speak in synchronization.
Paul chuckles, blushing, “It’s rather snowy today.” The conversation felt awkward, like a conversation does when you’re trying to be on your best behavior. This was far different from their usual witty banter and dirty innuendos. They were actually trying to impress the other person, which made everything they said feel forced and unnatural. Like a proper first date.
John nods, feeling embarrassed for no apparent reason, “Good thing we’re dressed for it.” He beckons with his head and they head out of the castle.
It wasn’t quite dark yet, they could both feel how the days were slowly but surely elongating again from the dark snowy days of mid-December. The sun had set, but the world was still bathed in cool blue light, lamps just being lit and the stars starting to just peak out in the apex of the sky.
Small talk wasn’t something John and Paul were used to. The two of them were usually speaking about their trauma or some crazy secrets. As they make polite conversation on their way towards Hogsmeade, John realizes he doesn’t know so much about Paul still.
“What’s your favorite color?” John asks.
Paul smiles, “Blue.”
“Really?” John raises his eyebrows, surprised by Paul’s choice.
“Mhm. All shades. Deep, royal blue, soft sky-blue, periwinkle.”
“Why?”
“It’s…cheerful. And it’s so versatile. There are so many shades of blue. And I think everyone looks good in blue.” Paul explains, his hands shoved in his pockets.
“Noted.” John says with a gentle smile.
“And yours?”
“Green.” John replies, looking at Paul. “I love green things.”
They make it to Hogsmeade, and immediately go into Honeydukes. John and Paul look around, and by now they’ve slipped back to their usual witty repartee, cracking silly and often inappropriate jokes about the names of some of the merchandise. Paul purchases some seafoam candy for his brother, who had just celebrated his birthday. John stocks up on every-flavored beans, and gets a few things Collette asked him to pick up.
They browse Zonko’s, and John is informed of the very intense prank-war going on within Slytherin house this year. It’s given Paul a lot of trouble as a Prefect. He and the other prefects were exhausted trying to stop a rowdy group of third years from destroying their peers.
Paul wanted to look in Sprintwitches, and got caught up trying to pick a new pair of leather gloves for the rest of the Quidditch season. He couldn’t decide between an expensive, designer pair that would match his broom, or a cheaper but more practical pair. John was starkly reminded that he and Paul came from very different up-bringings, and John has only ever gotten the cheapest pair of school-issued gloves.
“You’re mental, the cheaper pair has more flexibility!” John tries to help Paul rationalize his decision.
“Flexibility doesn’t matter for seekers as much as it does for chasers. I need my fingers to stay warm. Can’t catch that tiny snitch if my hands are frozen solid.” Paul explains. His hand down by his side.
John thought he should make some flirty comment about how he can keep Paul’s hand warm, but it felt stupid. He didn’t want Paul to think he was trying too hard, even though he really did like Paul. He settles on saying “Slytherin doesn’t have a match until the end of the winter.”
Paul frowns, “But the black pair look so good!”
John laughs, “You’re impossible.” He reaches out and grabs the expensive pair, “You want these ones.”
Paul ultimately decides on the expensive black pair, but not before another ten minutes of debating.
The two eventually go to The Three Broomsticks, needing to warm up. Inside, John buys them each a hot butterbeer, and Paul gets them a table in a secluded, back-corner of the pub. They drape their snowy coats on the backs of their chairs and sit across from one another, sharing silly quips.
“It’s busy tonight.” Paul looks around.
John nods, that was the whole reason he wanted to bring Paul on this night. “You’re in for a treat.”
“Am I?” Paul asks, sipping his drink. When he sets his cup down, he’s left with a white, foamy moustache on his upper lip that makes John grin in fondness. “What? Have I got something in my teeth?” He bares his teeth at John, playing dumb.
“Nope, that’s not it.” John shakes his head.
“It’s my hair, isn’t it? You think it’s rubbish.” Paul grabs his head.
John sighs, “Not quite.”
“Oh blast. You’ll have to show me then.” Paul says with a playful glint in his eyes.
John looks at their surroundings for a moment, and when he’s certain there's no one they know who could see them, he leans forward, placing his hand on Paul’s jaw tenderly.
“You’ve got something right here.” He swipes part of the foam off with his thumb.
“Right where?” Paul asks.
John smiles, “Right here.” And he leans in to kiss Paul gingerly, taking his top lip in his mouth and licking the foam clean.
When he pulls away, Paul looks suitably pampered and impishly soft. It makes John’s heart do a funny swell, and they find themselves staring at one another for just a beat too long. They look away each with a chuckle and clearing of their throat.
“George and Ringo liked you.” Paul says, holding his mug in both hands.
“I’m relieved. They’re cool.” John says.
“As are you.” Paul looks up at John.
John smiles, “No one caught you high?”
Paul rolls his eyes, “Shh.”
John chuckles, “Did you have strange dreams?”
“Of a grindylow, yeah.” Paul nods, “They can do brilliant things with their mouth.”
John’s face drops, “You’re joking.”
Paul bursts out laughing, “Of course I am.”
“Thank goodness.” John sighs, shaking his head. The two of them ordered food, and while it wasn’t the nicest sit-down dinner Paul deserved on a first date, the two of them had quality company and conversation.
Just as they finish their meal, more and more people start filing into the pub. Tables and chairs are pushed out of the center of the room, and Paul starts to notice something going on.
A group of eclectically ornate wizards come in, all holding cases for musical instruments, setting them up. Paul looks around, initially confused, but as the puzzle pieces fall into place, he looks back at John with a bright glint in his eyes.
“Dancing?” Paul asks, and then the music starts before John can’t answer in any way other than a big grin. The band starts playing a jaunty, Celtic jig, and the patrons in The Three Broomsticks jump up and start dancing along. Paul beams, overjoyed by the atmosphere and the surprise.
A singer in the band with a thick, Irish accent and a deep-bass toad in his hand starts singing along to the penny whistle, fiddle, drum and guitar that played throughout the room.
“Do they do this every night?” Paul asks.
John shakes his head, “Only once a month. Elliot and I found out accidentally in our fourth year. We got swarmed up in a huge dance party and had no idea what we were doing.”
“Well, what are we doing sitting here?!” Paul asks and scoots his chair out, standing up and holding his hand out for John to take.
“You know I’m rubbish at dancing, right?” John asks.
“Well then why did you bring me here?” He grabs John’s hand and pulls him out of his seat. Paul was much stronger than he looked.
He drags John out to the main part of the room where everyone was dancing. The energy and spirits were incredibly high, and there were a handful of other upper-classmen Hogwarts students there, as well.
The dancing was all traditional. Folk and social dances that everyone knew, and if someone didn’t know it, it didn’t take long for them to catch on. John and Paul dance with each other at first, but are quickly pulled away in the group.
The witches and wizards happily cheer out, clapping with the music and spinning around in two circles which weave in and out of one another. Warm yellow light bathed the entire pub, and many people sat on the perimeter of the dancing, enjoying it and cheering along.
They hop and jump along with one another, weaving in and out of the circles with their arms. Eventually they each end up with a girl, polkaing across the floor. Another song starts and the group shifts into two lines facing one another, and people run through the tunnel of people.
John had no idea what he was doing, but it didn’t matter. He probably looked like a fool, but the atmosphere was joyous and that gave him confidence. He and Paul would pass by one another every now and then, sometimes switching off girls. When the next dance was separated by boys and girls, they finally did a whole dance side-by-side, laughing loudly as they do-si-do around each dancer, trying to stick close to one another.
They must have danced five dances in a row, a fit of mayhem and controlled chaos. But after the sixth dance, they end up being dance partners together for the seventh.
“I know this one!” Paul shouts over the loud music and cheers, “Follow me!” He grabs John, the two of them face to face and terribly sweaty.
John was a terrible follower, just as he was at the Yule ball, but Paul swung him around well. They rockstepped, they swing around, they make it up as they go and it’s so sloppy but it’s so fun.
Paul has John throwing his head back in jolly laughter, the two of them forgetting about everyone else in the world for a moment. Paul spins John like a girl, and he’s certain they look stupid, but John doesn’t care.
His heart races, and every time he looks at Paul, he’s filled with an overwhelming sense of comfort. Paul glowed in that room, his cheeks flush and forehead sparkling with sweat. Both of them regretted wearing thick sweaters now. But it didn’t matter because they were simply having so much fun.
John’s dizzy from all the spinning when the current song stops and they end chest-to-chest with one another, staring at the other with contempt and joy, their faces just moments apart as they breathed the same air, breathing heavily on the other’s face, their torsos flat against each other.
“I’m knackered.” John chuckles, pulling away from Paul quickly when they realized how close they were to each other in public. Anyone could see them. Just because wizards were more open to queers, they still weren’t exactly celebrated.
Paul nods, leading John back to their table. They can’t seem to stop laughing, and the jaunty trad music starts up again. They order another round of butter beers, catching their breath.
“For not knowing anything about dancing, you did well.” Paul says as his breathing gets under control.
John raises his eyebrows playfully, “And for being raised with dance classes, you’re a shite lead.” He teases.
“Hey!” Paul scoffs and tosses a crumpled up napkin at John. John dodges it with a laugh, and takes a large sip of his drink.
He sighs, “I’m teasing you.”
“I know, you git.” Paul shakes his head.
There’s a loud cheer from the group of dancers, and it startles John and Paul. They look to see what all the commotion is about, but they’re blocked from it.
Paul smiles warmly, “Thank you.” He says to John.
“For what, exactly?” John asks.
“For this. I didn’t know I needed it.”
John grins, “Well, I wanted to make sure you lived a little before leaving Hogwarts. You’re always working.”
Paul shrugs, “How am I doing? Living for once?”
“There’s always room for improvement.” John winks at Paul. Paul rolls his eyes, taking another drink of his butterbeer.
They danced to one more song, and then decided they’ve had their fill for the evening. The two of them collect their things, cozying back up for the wintry weather outside and pushing their way through the crowd to the exit.
The stark difference in temperature from the pub to the January air was unforgiving, but it felt wonderful on their hot and sweaty bodies. The two boys take their time meandering through Hogsmeade. Many shops had closed by now, but they window shop and Paul’s able to grab some potion ingredients he needed for Alchemy class next week. It was just before eight o’clock when they decided to head back to the castle.
The wind really started to pick up, and the snow was falling heavily. It was hard to move through the fresh powder, so they’re forced to take their time.
Paul had his hands in his pockets again, his nose tucked into his scarf. The two of them didn’t speak much, the weather made it hard to. But John felt this desire to still be connected to Paul in some way.
So he takes a risk and drops his hand from his pocket, letting his hand by his side. To John’s joy and pure delight, Paul picks up on the hint, and laces his fingers in John’s.
John could squeal with joy like a bird, but he’s somehow able to keep it in. Paul’s hand feels so right in his, like it’s always belonged there. He feels butterflies fill his stomach, and it’s so secluded out in the snowstorm that there was no one who could see them.
They don’t say anything, they don’t need to. The two of them are perfectly content to just hold hands as they approach Hogwarts again. The best part was the fact they never got cold while their hands were exposed to the wind. Their warmth was shared, and they could keep their hands together for the whole walk home.
John silently chuckles to himself. Maybe he should have made that hand-holding comment back at Sprintwitches.
To John’s dismay, they drop hands as soon as they get back, snow kicking off of their boots and melting into their jackets.
“I’m back on duty tonight starting at nine.” Paul says.
John frowns, “Night shift?”
Paul nods, “It’s the only time I have to do it this month, at least.” They start walking through the castle.
“So no Astronomy Tower tonight?” John asks.
“No, unfortunately not.” He nudges John with his elbow playfully. John sighs, taking off his foggy glasses to wipe them dry. “Thank you for tonight.” Paul says.
John smiles, “Thank you.”
“So… Do we get to go on a second date?” Paul asks.
“I’d like nothing more.” John says. “I’ll see you in class on Monday?” He asks.
Paul nods softly. “Goodnight, Johnny.”
“Goodnight, Paul.” John says and Paul walks away back towards the Slytherin common room. Paul looks over his shoulder and smiles fondly at John one more time.
John would have a hard time sleeping tonight, and when he finally does drift off, he dreams of Paul.
The next morning at breakfast, there's an overwhelming amount of buzz throughout the Great Hall. John comes to breakfast a bit late, and the energy is tense when he finds his friends at the Gryffindor table.
“What’s going on?” John asks, sitting next to Collette.
Arthur slides his newspaper over to John, “You’re going to want to read this.”
The headline was in big, black letters and read Murder in Hogsmeade: Dark Wizards on the Rise?
“What the hell?” John asks, his eyes going wide.
“Weren’t you just there last night?” Elliot asks. John had given him the debrief after he and Paul’s date when he got home.
John nods, “What happened?”
Collette speaks up, “Last night, around nine thirty, two cloaked men went into Hogsmeade. They went into The Three Broomsticks and killed a wizard.” She explains.
John’s stomach drops and he instantly looks at the Slytherin table for some sign of Paul. “Paul and I were at The Three Broomsticks last night, we left around eight.”
“What?” Arthur asks, his face widening. “John, you could have been killed!”
“Well, I didn’t know that when we were there, did I?” He turns back to his friends. “Who died?”
“His name was Barnaby Wilde.” Collette says, looking around at the table with trepidation before elaborating, “He was a muggle-born.”
John’s blood turns to ice, “What happened to the murderers after? Were they caught?”
Arthur shakes his head, “They apparated right after. I guess there was a showdown at the pub, stopped some dancing.”
“Holy shit.” John shakes his head.
“They said they were looking for someone but wouldn’t say who. Wilde stood up to them and they used the killing curse on him. There were dozens of witnesses.” Elliot says.
“Including two students.” Arthur adds.
“Who?” John asks, terrified of the situation and thankful for he and Paul’s luck. He was also suddenly very afraid some students saw him and Paul alone together, dancing very closely together.
“The article doesn’t say.” Arthur replies.
John sighs, shaking his head. “That’s terrible.”
“Everyone’s scared for their lives.” Collette explains, “But Hogwarts is one of the safest places in the world. We’ll be alright here.” It sounded like she was convincing herself as much as anyone else.
“Yeah, unless there’s someone within the castle working with the dark wizards.” Elliot suggests, all four of them feeling terribly bleak.
John needed to speak with Paul. He couldn’t shake the feeling he had something to do with this, somehow. That was just John’s luck.
He can’t seem to stomach any breakfast. He wouldn’t force it.
Something grim was afoot.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 24
Notes:
Happy surprise chapter!
I LOVE this chapter. I was giggling as I did my final edit of it!
the final scene in this chapter was one of the first ones i thought of before I even started writing this! Many chapters were crafted for that scene.
Thank you Anthony bridgerton for the inspiration for one of the lines in this lmao
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
In Defense Against the Dark Arts, John noticed he and Paul’s chairs had gotten just ever-so-closer together, so their shoulders would brush up against one another as they sat. John found himself intentionally finding moments to lean over to Paul and ask him a question, or to nudge against him just so they could touch.
But today, John and Paul were both visibly tense.
What had happened in Hogsmeade just after they left the other night had really stuck with them, and they were understandably shaken up. They haven’t really gotten a chance to discuss it yet, either.
John opens his notebook to the first page, something he hasn’t done in a while. He’s entertained to see he and Paul’s tally mark game from last term still in there. He smiles, nudging Paul to look at it. Paul hums, running his finger over the tallies.
John: VI, Paul: II
“There’s no way that’s right.” Paul whispers to John.
“I was a little biased in my score keeping those days.” John mutters back.
“Well, I’ll have to have the comeback of the century.” Paul looks at John mischievously, and John can feel his stomach do that little flip it always does around Paul.
Then, Whittaker stands at the front of the class, ready to finally start. The tension was high, everyone on edge from the murder. Whittaker was prepared to talk about it, no doubt.
“It’s been a very exciting weekend, hasn’t it been?” He asks. The class is silent, unsure of how to respond. “It’s my duty to teach you all how to protect yourselves, and typically, this class doesn’t feel quite so applicable. However, it’s clear that there is no better time for a Defense Against the Dark Arts class than now.”
He moves around the class, addressing the students. John and Paul’s shoulders are pressed to the other’s.
“What questions do we have today?” Whittaker asks.
The class is mostly silent, everyone afraid of saying the wrong thing. But after an elongated moment of silence, Graham Black raises his hand, “How do we defend ourselves from the killing curse?”
The room is dead silent, a pin could be heard dropping.
Whittaker clears his throat, “Never put yourself in positions or situations where it could be used on you.”
“So, it’s really impossible?” Graham asks.
“Yes. No one has ever been known to survive the killing curse.” Whittaker confirms. “Not even the best, most-advanced wizards in history.”
“So we just submit to it then, we just let ourselves die?” Another student asks.
Whittaker circles back to the front of the room, his hands held behind his back, “You fight until it’s conjured.”
“What are some good spells to fight for our lives with?” Cynthia asks. The class was scared.
“Well, you all tell me.” Whittaker says.
No one raises their hand at first, but then Paul does, “ Expelliarmus. ”
The chalk writes it on the board, “Indeed, Mr. McCartney.” Whittaker confirms, “ Expelliarmus is a very powerful spell, and it would be wise to disarm your opponent before they can cast it.”
“ Stupefy .” John suggests, the chalk writes it.
“ Protego .” Cynthia calls out.
“ Bombarda .” Collette adds.
“Fierce, but yes, Miss Carter.” Whittaker says. This opened the door for a few Slytherins to answer with more intense or even border-line dark spells. The chalk-board was now filled with a list of spells—both offensive and defensive—that students could use in combat. Of course, all these sixth-years knew these spells already. But it was a reassuring and needed review.
“Could someone ever block the killing curse?” Elliot asks from somewhere behind John and Paul.
Whittaker shrugs, “It’s possible, but it’s very rare.”
“How can it happen?” Another student asks.
“ Priori Incantatem .” Whittaker explains. He holds for dramatic effect. “If two wands are twins—meaning they share the same core from the same magical beast—they can connect in an epic show of prowess and strength.”
“Has that ever happened before?” John asks.
Whittaker shakes his head, “If it has, it hasn’t been recorded. It’s incredibly rare for wands to be twins. The core must be given from the exact same beast. It’s rare a singular Phoenix would be willing to give two feathers, or a Veela giving two strands of her hair. And I highly doubt it would be achieved by a young man or woman such as yourselves.” Whittaker explains. He can sense the need to lighten the mood. “Ah, let’s take a trip back to our first year, shall we? Everyone, share with your partner your wand’s magical profile. Perhaps we will find some similarities.”
The room starts to buzz with quiet conversation.
John turns to Paul, “Holly wood, thestral tail-hair core, 13 inches.” He had always been fond of his wand . He knew it was rare, and the warm, fuzzy memory of getting it, back when he was eleven, was one of his fondest. A muggle-born boy who had just been introduced to the world of magic, his toothy grin wide as he stood in Ollivander’s shop. John never understood why Ollivander gave him a tragic look after his wand chose him, but he does now. Thestral tail cores were some of the rarest, and they always meant the witch or wizard would have to face death in their time. John now knows why he was chosen by such a wand.
Paul smiles, “You’re joking.”
“No.”
Paul lifts up his own wand, “Elm wood, thestral tail-hair core, 11 ½ inches.”
The two stare at one another fondly. Neither had any idea their wands shared a core. Whether they were given by the same thestral was unclear quite unlikely, really.
“They say only those who would face and handle death could wield such a wand.” John says.
“Our mothers.” Paul suggests. It makes perfect sense.
Whittaker overheard their conversation, and chooses to leave out that wands that were brothers or twins were usually a sign that the wielders were soulmates of sorts (romantic or not). He decides that John and Paul’s relationship was convoluted enough, they would be fine not knowing that for now.
“I guess I’m just curious as to who they were looking for.” George says, fidgeting with his quill.
Paul sighs, “We’re never going to get this practice exam done, are we?”
John leans back in his chair, balancing it on the rear two legs, “Screw who they were looking for, there hasn’t been a dark wizard sighting in years.”
“Not since Grindelwald in America.” George nods.
The three of them were in the common area across from the Charms classroom again. It was their study place of choice; the vibe was cozy and people usually left them alone. They could talk at full-voice, too. Which was something not permitted in the library.
It was dark outside, and there were no other students in the area.
“John has merely days until he has to take his O.W.Ls.” Paul sounds like an exacerbated dad trying to corral his kids.
John bites his fingernail, deep in thought. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was involved. He couldn’t know how, but his gut reaction was negative. He was always getting caught up in something he didn’t want any involvement in.
The Grimoire had great power, and as far as John knew, there weren’t many other books like it. It’s possible the dark wizards wanted the book and John was their way of finding it. Or perhaps they were looking for someone they could use as a pawn in their game. Of course, John would be a viable candidate for that.
George’s eyebrows touched, which wasn’t hard for him to achieve. He drops his quill, “I don’t feel like studying anymore.”
Paul whimpers, “You two are failing me.” He groans, partially in jest.
“Everyone’s been on edge about it.” George says to Paul. “Pattie’s sick over it. She’s terrified they’re gonna break into Hogwarts.”
“But Hogwarts is safe.” John says, “They’d only be able to do that if there was someone from inside helping them.” He explains.
The air shifts, the three of them fully aware that could be possible. John’s stomach sinks when he realizes most people will think he’s the inside agent. Especially those snots Dorian and Graham.
John groans, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands, “I’ll admit I’m nervous, too. Paul and I were almost witnesses to the entire thing.”
“You two were out together?” George asks.
Paul clears his throat, “It was nothing. Just drinks.” He looks down at his notes, his leg bouncing rapidly under the table.
John takes pointed note at Paul’s response. It didn’t seem like ‘nothing’ at the moment. It was everything to John. Paul picks up his exam, “Here, let’s go back to question seven and discuss why the answer is 1567 instead of 1566… it’s quite simple really, it was a leap year-”
“You three need to learn to have fun.” Ringo says, approaching their table.
They all look up at him, “How did you get out of detention?” George asks.
Ringo smiles, “I’ve been practicing my sleeping charms.”
“Richard Starkey!” Paul gasps, genuinely appalled. “You did not .”
“Of course I didn’t.” Ringo says to Paul but then turns to John and George and winks cheekily. He takes his seat at their table, sitting comfortably and wide.
George snickers, and John finds himself smiling, too. He’d need to try that next time.
“So, boys.” Ringo claps his hands together, “Are you three going to keep studying on a Friday night or are you going to come get pissed with me in the boathouse.” He pulls out a clear bottle from his bag, only showing the neck of it, leaving whatever liquid inside a mystery.
“You’re wicked. Why haven’t we been friends before?” John asks, collecting his pages and putting a cap on his ink bottle.
“What?” Paul asks, “John, you really aren’t ready for Wednesday. We need to study more!”
“Cool it, McCartney, it’s just a bit of pumpkin juice.” Ringo butts in. He then turns to George and adds, “Spiked with some vodka.”
“Oh, you’re bad.” George snorts.
Paul frowns, “John…”
John’s conflicted, because Paul is using his puppy-dog eyes on him, and he has that pouty look that gets him whatever he wants. And deep down, John knows that he should stay and study, but he’s confident he would at least get an Acceptable mark on most of his subjects. But Paul wouldn’t settle unless John got an Exceeds Expectations , or even better: an Outstanding .
But Ringo was so tempting.
“One more quick quiz, then we go. Yeah?” John suggests to Paul.
Paul sighs, and then nods.
John throws back the last bit of the bottle of pumpkin juice, all four of them sprawled out across the boathouse in various states of sobriety. John was leaned up against the window, Paul was just inches away from him. He knew Paul was hesitant to close the gap between them because George and Ringo were present. If it had been just the two of them, John was sure they’d be snogging by now.
“Alright, Truth or Dare.” Paul says, it had gotten around to being his turn again.
“Truth.” George says, sitting atop a flipped-over boat. It was cold in the boathouse this time of year and so late at night.
Paul sighs, “The first time I had ever actually drank was at the Gryffindor party last term.” He says to John, snorting afterwards.
John gasps, “No way! You took the alcohol so well, though?”
“To your face I did.” Paul laughs, “But when we walked away, I was gagging.”
“He threw up in the Transfiguration courtyard right after!” George howls.
Paul’s face goes bright red, and he covers it with his palms. He always looked so cute when he did that, and it made John’s heart flutter.
“Well, you fooled me!”
“Thank Merlin I did!” Paul groans, “The whole reason we snuck into that party was because I wanted to show off to you.”
“I’m flattered.” John nudges Paul’s side with his elbow, getting a grimace out of the younger boy. The two of them have a prolonged beat of eye-contact afterwards, feeling mutually drunk and infatuated.
“Your turn, Johnny.” Paul says with a hiccup, and John wants to lean over and kiss that boy.
John nods, “Truth or dare?” He says right to Paul.
“Truth!” Ringo yells before anyone else can.
John looks at Ringo, sitting with a ciggy hanging limply out of his mouth. “What would you like to know, Mr. Starr?”
“I wanna know about that book. What was all the fuss about that?” He asks.
“Rings-” Paul sits up a little more, feeling protective of John.
“It’s alright, Paul.” John stops him. He looks at the Hufflepuff of the group, “I found a dark spell book last year and I got a little carried away with it. I never used a harmful spell on another person… or at least I didn’t ever mean to. Cynthia and Dorian got involved and got me taken away.”
Ringo hums, “Well that doesn’t seem like such a big deal, does it?”
“No, you wouldn’t think so.” John shakes his head. “But it was. And the book is still here, in the castle.”
“What?” Ringo asks, eyes wide. “Shouldn’t things like that be taken far, far away?”
“Yes, and no.” Paul adds, “Sometimes dark things are actually safer inside of Hogwarts where a real dark wizard doesn’t have access to them.”
“Unless the dark wizard was working from within the castle…” John runs his long fingers through his hair.
There’s a long moment of silent tension. The book was still a serious issue that John wanted to just sweep under the rug, but he knew he couldn’t. If he had things his way, he’d get to be a normal student. His biggest problems would be Quidditch matches and kissing Paul, but instead he’s plagued by the evil of the book.
“So, where’s the book now?” George asks.
John shrugs, “Don’t know. Supposedly the headmaster said he’d deal with it.”
“That is what he said.” Paul interjects, “We just don’t know if he actually did or not.”
Ringo drops his cigarette and stomps it out with his boot, “So you think the dark wizards in Hogsmeade were looking for the book?”
John nods, “Or looking for someone who knew where the book was.” The other three look right at John. “I think they were looking for me.”
“But how could they have known you were in Hogsmeade? Wouldn’t they have tried the castle first?” George asks.
“Unless they had someone from within keeping tabs on me.” John says, realizing it himself.
“But who could be crazy enough to do that?” Ringo asks.
A horrible pit settles in John’s stomach, and he realizes he’s looking at Paul before he can stop.
Paul’s face drops, his jaw tensing, “John?” He says softly.
“I think I’ve got to go to bed.” John says, standing up. He brushes off his rear and starts heading out of the boathouse, feeling a dreadful wave of anxiety wash over his nervous system.
It wouldn’t be Paul. It couldn’t be Paul.
Unless it could be? Paul had it out for John all last term. He broke down John’s walls and learned all his secrets. He’s close to the headmaster and the network of prefects. His father works for the bloody Ministry and was John’s goddamn judge during his entire case. Maybe Paul was out to get John. Maybe he was working for the enemy this entire time.
And John was stupid enough to fall for it.
He feels himself spiralling into a panic, his fears overwhelming him. He had shown Paul his heart and soul, and now it was starting to feel all too convenient.
Paul was the only person who knew John would be in Hogsmeade that day. Paul’s smart enough to know that Dark Wizards could never get inside of Hogwarts, so they would need to get to John when he was off school grounds.
Paul could have lied about talking to the headmaster about The Grimoire at all. He could be working to get John to snap again, to give the book to someone truly dark and powerful. He could have been the entire reason the book was let back into Hogwarts to begin with.
Slytherins were notorious for meeting any means necessary to make their ends. Regardless of what those means were, no matter how immoral they might be. Paul wanted to be headboy so he would bully John to get it from Dorian. He told John himself. How was this any different? Paul wanted power and status in the wizarding world, he would blackmail John to get it from anyone—even dark wizards.
John felt like he was going to throw-up. He was a bloody fool for not realizing it sooner. He cursed himself for letting this get so out of hand.
“John!” He hears Paul yell for him, and he stops in his tracks just outside of the One-eyed Witch Passage. John felt stone-cold sober, now. He turns around in a cold sweat, looking at Paul with terror in his eyes.
Paul catches up to John, looking genuinely concerned. “John, what’s the matter?” He asks, reaching out to touch John’s bicep. But John flinches away. He wasn’t being analytical, he was on the verge of one of his outbursts.
“Please… tell me the truth.” His voice cracks.
“About what?” Paul asks, “You’re scaring me, John.”
John lets out a shaky breath, “Is it you?”
“Is what me? John, should we go somewhere else? Maybe the Astronomy Tower-”
“No!” John shouts, it was late, and the caretaker or Peeves would be paying them a visit any minute now. “Just… fucking tell me.”
“Tell you what ?” Paul pleads, equally as distressed as John.
“Are you a spy? Have you been working against me this entire time?” John asks, his breath labored and chest heaving.
Paul laughs in disbelief, “What are you talking about?”
“Those wizards were after me.” John states, “And we all agree they only could get me if they had help from the inside . Are you—James Paul McCartney—their help?” John’s whole body was shaking now.
Paul’s jaw drops, his eyes wide. “Wow.” He looks away, “Why would I…” He runs his hand through his hair and looks back at John, “Do you hear yourself right now?”
“You’re not saying no?”
“I’m not saying ‘no’ because that’s fucking ridiculous claim!” Paul laughs, “Of-fucking-course I’m not working against you!”
“You were the only person who knew I was going to be in Hogsmeade that night.” John says.
“There were other students there! Half-the-village was there! The wizards were an hour later than us, anyone could have told them.” Paul explains. “Why in Merlin’s name would I ever put you in danger like that?” Paul asks.
John shakes his head, “I’m just… I’m just so fucking lost and confused. I feel like there’s no one I can trust.”
Paul reaches out for John again, desperate to help him feel safe, but John instinctively flinches back again, squeezing his eyes shut.
Paul sighs, “Listen to me.” He doesn’t reach back out for John.
John opens his eyes, looking at Paul.
“You consume all my thoughts…and inspire all dreams.”
John says nothing, stuttering on air.
Paul takes a deep, analytical breath. “You are smart and clever. You are incredible, and I am so blown away by you every day.” Paul starts saying. “And I swear on my Mother’s life, I am not spying on you.” He looks at John dead in his eyes.
John knew this was true. He knew Paul wouldn’t swear on his own Mother’s life unless he meant it. He knew that because he was the same way.
“Remember when we talked in the Astronomy Tower?” Paul asks.
John nods shakily. “Which time?”
“When I told you that you were flawed… but you weren’t broken. This is the darker part of you thinking. Not the smart, brave John that I know you are.”
Paul was right. John was letting his own insecurities blind his thoughts and actions.
“I know it’s scary. I know it’s confusing. But I am here for you. Because I fucking care about you. Alright?” Paul says, still not reaching out for John. He was waiting for John to make the move, like a stray dog. Paul knew he couldn’t force it.
“You care about me?” John asks.
Paul laughs with exacerbation, “Yes, you dim fool! I like you, John. Really like you .” Paul says. “Hell, I’m mental about you! Why would I betray you? You are the only person in this bloody school—fuck the entire world—who I can be myself with. Who I can really open up to. Who I can really trust. Shit, you know my first name!” He says with disbelief.
John softens.
Paul cared about him.
John lets out a breath he must have been holding in for ages, and he collapses into Paul when it happens.
Paul holds onto him, supporting him up and holding him in place. John starts to weep into Paul's chest, and Paul gently strokes John’s hair as he weeps.
“I’m just so scared.” John says between sobs.
“I know. I know.” Paul says tenderly. “But I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.” He says and kisses John’s temple.
John lifts up his lead, teary-eyed and puffy-faced. He looks Paul in the eye and then at Paul’s lips, and without wasting any more time, the two of them crash their lips together in a tender kiss of trust.
It goes on for a bit longer than it should in such an open space, but as far as they know, no one else is around.
Eventually, Paul pulls away. He cups John’s swollen face between his hands, looking between his brown eyes.
“Stay with me tonight?” John asks.
“What?” Paul cocks his head.
“In the Gryffindor common room. Stay with me.” John suggests again. “I need you.”
Paul thinks about it for a moment, and then with a nod, let’s John lead the way.
It’s relatively easy to sneak into any common room. What’s hard is fooling the nosy portraits in the common rooms who watched the students and knew all of them by name.
Luckily, Paul wasn’t on duty tonight, an he could spend the night with John. Regardless, John knew Cynthia and some other Gryffindor Prefect were patrolling Gryffindor tower, so they were still extremely careful about getting caught. The sneaking into the Gryffindor room was met with great snickers from the two boys, both trying not to think about how utterly absurd and excitingly risky this was.
But after a shaky disillusionment charm and some well-practiced stealth, the two of them were able to get into John’s dorm.
They knew how terribly risky this was. It was a scandal waiting to happen. But thankfully, Elliot and John’s other roommates were already asleep by the time he and Paul got in, the curtains on their beds drawn shut. They would just have to be very, very quiet.
Paul casts a strong Imperturbable charm, keeping him and John silent as they crawled into his dorm room.
Paul knew how badly John needed this. He knew John was a ticking time bomb, that his trauma was so deeply rooted that it meant John often felt unstable. Even if it was self-inflicted.
Especially if it was self-inflicted.
But it didn’t bother Paul. He knew that John was just needing to be loved properly. He needed someone who loved him patiently and steadfastly. Who was willing to love him through the instability and outbursts and trauma.
Not that Paul loved John.
But he was greatly fond of him. And he could love John.
They were twin flames in some way. Two boys destined to find one another through their trauma and their ambitions.
And so, the curtains around John’s bed are pulled closed. Paul’s shoes are kicked off next to John’s, John throws Paul an extra pair of pajamas, and the two of them are crawling into one incredibly small bed together.
John was just thankful they had a silencing charm on them, because the two of them were snorting like boys over the situation.
They lay on their sides, facing one another. They each have their hands clasped up by their faces, staring at one another stupidly as they whispered away.
“A bit different from your silk-pajamas?” John asks quietly. He knew no one could hear him, but the scandal of him sneaking a Slytherin (boy!) into his bed was too much for him to handle. He felt like a blushing, blubbering mess.
“A bit.” Paul grins, “But this is much cozier.”
“Glad to hear it.” John says in a hushed voice.
Paul hums, “Although I’ll say… the Gryffindor beds are certainly smaller than the Slytherin.” The two of them were practically laying on top of each other, their legs completely tangled up.
“No!” John whisper-shouts.
Paul nods with a delighted look on his face, “Two people can fit in a Slytherin bed with much more comfort.”
John scoffs and rolls his eyes. Of course this was another thing Slytherins had on Gryffindors. That was hardly fair.
But of course, John couldn’t care about that right now. Not when Paul was just centimeters from his face, in his bed, wearing his pajamas, with his long legs wrapped around John’s.
His heart must have been racing fast enough for Paul to hear, because after at least a full hour of whispering and chattering, Paul reaches out and presses the palm of his hand on John’s chest.
John holds his breath. He isn’t sure what Paul is doing, and he suddenly feels very self-conscious.
But after a few moments of Paul’s touch, John can feel his heart rate slow, and his whole body seems to relax in a gentler state of comfort.
“What charm was that?” John asks, certain Paul used a bit of advanced magic on him.
Paul smiles, leaning in closer to John so their noses touch. He rubs their noses together a few times, “No charm. Just me.” He says.
John feels himself going completely soft. He’s mystified by Paul. He had such a talent for relaxing John, and the older boy wonders for a moment why he ever thought Paul would betray him.
John picks up his own hand and places it on top of Paul’s, holding it against his chest. He even laces their fingers together.
Paul strokes John’s pinky with his thumb, drawing lazy shapes in his little finger.
The two of them finish their incessant chatting, and instead just stare at one another, quiet and gentle as their hands are clasped together. John slings his other arm over Paul’s waist, wanting to be as close as possible to the boy. They tighten their legs together until they’re pretzeled into one clump, not knowing whose legs are who’s.
Any other time John was alone with another student in his own bed like this, they would surely be snogging… or doing much more.
But as crazy as John was for Paul, there was none of that.
Just the pure intimacy of being alone together was enough.
They stared into one another’s eyes, melting into the other as they each felt sleep tug on his minds. John felt more relaxed than he ever has before, and he could feel himself falling into the deepest, most restful sleep of his life. In spite of the all-too-small bed.
Especially because of the all-too-small bed.
John’s never slept better.
Paul was gone before John woke up. Probably for the best, so no one else in the dorm or Gryffindor house saw him. But John found himself wishing he could experience what it’s like to wake up with Paul by his side. What Paul looks like with messy hair and bad breath and sleep still in his eyes.
He hoped he would get to experience it, at least once.
John was especially happy when he noticed Paul kept his extra pajamas. John wouldn’t be needing them back any time soon. He liked the image of Paul wearing them, and the idea of Paul parading around the Slytherin common room in John’s pajamas gave him more satisfaction than anything else in the world.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 25
Notes:
It’s Sunday!
I’ve lived so much life in the last seven days…it’s overwhelming
Enjoy this chapter!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Whittaker stands before the entire class, coughing a few times before beginning his lesson. His cough has worsened as of recent, and John and Paul share a concerned look for their Professor.
“On your feet, today!” He says after clearing his throat, “We’re casting spells today.”
These were the best days, and the Gryffindor and Slytherin sixth years are quick to jump on their feet, eager to learn some new magic.
They had been studying Dementors for a few lessons now, and John knew exactly what today was. Finally, they would be learning how to cast the Patronus Charm . He helps as students push the desks and chairs out of the center of the room, creating a large, open space to practice the spell.
John and Paul lean up against a desk, watching as Whittaker walks to the center of the room.
“Everyone close their eyes.” He addresses the class. “Go on, Mr. Black. Close your eyes.” John shuts his eyes, folding his arms across his chest. He and Paul’s shoulders brushed up against one another’s. Whittaker continues, “Christmas. Birthdays. First kisses. Winning the house cup. Getting a good mark on your O.W.Ls.” He says in a billowing voice, John could feel his chest fill with excitement. This was highly advanced magic. “These are all examples of happiness. Of joy. Of moments you would think about while fighting against the darkness.”
Whittaker adds, “When fighting something as dark and as evil as a Dementor, you need to channel any memory or feeling of joy and light you have. With your eyes still closed, I want you all to think about the happiest moment of your life.”
John squeezes his eyes tight, thinking hard about what his moment might be. Whittaker gives a few more suggestions as everyone thinks.
Perhaps John getting his Hogwarts letter. That was a moment that filled him with great joy. He couldn’t even believe it when it happened. The prospect of a life of magic and wonder was too good to be true. He felt as the memory warmed him from the inside.
Or maybe John getting on the Quidditch team the first time. He had worked so hard with Elliot, it was so encouraging and validating to be seen of value by other students he looked up to. He cracks a smile.
John thinks about his mom. Her sweet voice and how she would sing him to sleep when he was just little. Julia had red hair and an infectious laugh and she loved John. The memory of her arms around him made John smile wider.
But the memory that really fills John with the most joy, an overwhelming sense of light and purity, was a very recent memory.
Just the other night, when Paul and he lay in his bed, facing one another and giggling as they whispered secrets and dirty jokes to one another. The look of Paul snuggled up in John’s pajamas, his hand on John’s beating heart. The memory of falling asleep to the steady tempo of Paul’s breath, their legs tangled together in a messy fit of cuddling, and the warmth John felt from Paul’s frame as the night turned into a chilly, blue morning.
That memory was strong enough that it made John’s breath hitch, his heart seemed to glow from the feeling. He cracks his eyes open, looking over at Paul who also had a warm, pleasant smile on his face, but still had tightly closed eyes.
John wondered what Paul was thinking about, and he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that Paul also was remembering a moment with John.
“Do you all have it?” Whittaker asks reverently, the room seemed to radiate with a vibe of comfort and joy. It was pleasant. “Lovely.” Whittaker says, “Open your eyes and repeat after me. Expecto Patronum .” The class copies the incantation. Whittaker has them all say again and then shows the wand movement. Everyone practiced the wand movement a few times, the sound of giggling could be heard throughout the room as everyone reflected on their happiest memories.
“Fantastic, do I have a volunteer?” He asks.
Cynthia raises her hand.
Whittaker instructs her to come to the center of the room. She practices the incantation and wand movement alone, and then Whittaker has her close her eyes and think of her memory.
The entire class can see how Cynthia’s face softens as she thinks of her memory. John can’t help but notice just how beautiful Cyn really was. She was his first love, she would always have a special place in his heart.
After a moment, Cynthia tries the spell, and a lovely, soft blue light emits from her wand. The whisky blue air then develops into a shape, round and soft, and eventually a small, playful hare is hopping around the room. The entire room cheered and gasped as they watched Cynthia’s Patronus bounding around them, bathing her face in the same, dreamy blue light. Cynthia beams as she looks at the spell, and everyone is eager to have their turn.
It took a few class periods before everyone was able to properly perform the spell. Some students got it quicker than others. It was advanced magic, and it took some time to achieve. Some students simply didn’t have enough happy memories, others were sloppy with their wand work, but by the end of the month, everyone had at least conjured something. Whether it was an actual animal or not was varied, only the strongest of students had succeeded with an apparition.
Graham Black has a Falcon, Elliot has a Jack Russell terrier, Collette’s is a Robin bird. It was exciting to see what everyone’s soul manifested as, and every day the room was filled with dancing spirits and wisps of protection as everyone looked up at their Patronuses with bright-eyes.
But of course, John was unable to cast his own charm.
He wasn’t alone in that struggle. Not even Paul had gotten the hang of it. It seemed to be more difficult than anticipated for even the best of wizards to cast the powerful form of sentient magic.
John tries to suppress any feeling of inadequacy or frustration over the spell, but to avail. It was bugging him more than he wished to admit.
Regardless, he kept up his practiced of it. Despite it all.
“Good morning O.W.Ls student!” Paul says with great jubilance at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. John had come to breakfast early, his testing began at 8am and he wanted a good meal. He wasn’t expecting Paul to come and surprise him, but he was pleased his friend did. He always felt better around Paul.
John sighs, his nose still poked in his Potions textbook. This was it. It was finally test day.
John had mixed feelings, on one end he was incredibly thankful to finally be taking this bloody exam. He was ready to be done studying for it and stressing over it. He wanted to reclaim some semblance of normalcy in his schedule and his life. If he did well enough, he could drop a few classes before the term was up, and have some extra free time. That is if McGonagall would let him, which was unlikely, no matter how well he performed.
But he was equally stressed. He’s studied hard, much harder with Paul’s help, and really he had very high chances of succeeding. But the pressure he’s put on himself was immense. It didn’t help that he still hasn’t cast a successful patronus charm yet, and that was irritating him in all facets of his education. And John really wanted to do a good job for Paul. He knew how much it meant to Paul for John to do well.
Plus… he guessed it was an important thing to do well.
“How do you feel?” Paul asks.
“Stressed.” John admits. Paul sits next to him, leaning his cheek on his hand.
“What about? You’re going to do amazing.” Paul encourages him.
“That’s not what you said last night.” John raises an eyebrow.
Paul chuckles, “It’s my job to keep you focused.” He says, “I’m thrilled to see you studying still. You’ve done well.”
There wasn’t another soul in the Great Hall, and the solitary room made for a comfortable environment. It was intimate just the two of them, and John’s tummy filled with butterflies. It always did around Paul.
Paul reaches his hand out, touching John’s back and drawing little shapes into it with his fingernails.
John shudders at the feeling, “What are you up to today?”
“Class.” Paul says, “I’ve got a project due for Ancient Runes. Then I’m on duty this afternoon.”
“What about tonight?” John asks.
Paul smiles, “Hmm… I might be free.”
John smirks, “I could use a break after my exams.”
“A break, or a reward?” Paul asks, cocking his head.
They always played this game, and John would literally never get sick of it. He loved these days of playful flirting and stolen looks.
“I’ll let you decide.” John says, turning back to his book. He feels as Paul's hand inches up his back to his neck and then into the nape of his neck where his hair curled. Paul scratched John’s scalp there, and the older boy melted into his touch.
“You’ve been working so hard, you’re very tense.” Paul mutters, “What time are your exams done?”
“Nine.” John groans, “It’s going to be a terribly long day.”
“They’ll give you breaks.” Paul reassures. “You can do it. When you’re done, I’ll be waiting for you and we can do something fun.”
John lights up at that, looking back at Paul who was still playing with John’s hair lazily. The promise of seeing Paul after his exams would get him through them with no problems. Paul was a great motivator. “Like what?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Paul teases. He leans in and then kisses a quick peck to John’s temple. “Would you like me to invite George and Ringo?” He asks.
John shrugs, “I can think of some things we can do without them.”
Paul smiles, “I’m inviting them.”
John rolls his eyes, “You’re impossible.” Their faces were just inches apart.
“You like it.” Paul says at almost a whisper, and then he leans in to press a soft kiss to John’s mouth. John leans into it, wanting to kiss him longer and deeper. But when John makes a move to deepen the kiss, Paul is pulling away. “ What charm does the Libaracorpus neutralise?”
John sighs, frustrated, “ Levicorpus .”
“Well done.” And Paul gives John a quick kiss as his reward. “Define a Switching Spell.”
“I didn’t know I was here to start my exam.” John raises an eyebrow.
“Come onnnnn.” Paul eggs him on.
He sighs, “In Transfiguration, it simultaneously swaps the locations of two objects.” John says.
“Good boy.” Paul kisses him again and John’s face turns bright red. He didn’t know he liked being praised like that. “Now show it.” Paul grabs an apple and a pear from the fruit bowl in front of them and places them in front of John.
John picks up his wand, and does the hand movement that he’s practiced with Paul. The fruits switch places seamlessly.
“You’re going to do amazing.” And Paul leans in a third and final time to lay a deep kiss on John’s mouth. He lets this kiss linger, and he grabs John’s hair as he presses his pouty lips into the older boy’s.
John giggles into the kiss, full of utter bliss that he gets this treatment from Paul. They pull away and John looks at him through his eyelashes.
“You’ve gotten ambitious. Kissing me in the Great Hall when anyone could walk in.” John says their faces are still just inches apart.
“I’ve always been ambitious, I’m a Slytherin.” Paul raises an eyebrow.
“I thought kissing was only saved for the Astronomy Tower?” John asks.
Paul chuckles, “Do you not want me to kiss you anymore?”
“No!” John says and pushes his face into Paul’s, wanting to steal another kiss for that.
But Paul pulls his head backwards, not giving John what he wanted. John whines and Paul chuckles. He tries again, but Paul scoots further away on the bench, creating more distance between the two of them. John throws his head back and groans and Paul just giggles like a fool.
“You can kiss me again after your exams. Finish eating, you’re going to be brilliant.” Paul says and stands up. John looks up at him with wide eyes, and Paul can’t stop himself from reaching out and cupping John’s face. “You’re very handsome, Mr. Lennon.”
John scoffs, blushing, “You are a distraction. Begone so I can finish reading before my exam.” John shakes his head.
Paul smiles and walks away, winking at John.
John drops his head into his book, covering his bright red face. He was in trouble with this boy.
His brain was sludge. It was finally almost nine o’clock, and he was finishing up his exams on the History of Magic. It’s truly sinful for them to leave that section for the very end.
John thinks he has done a good job. There were only a few questions in each subject he was stumped on. He found that Divination was a particularly hard section, but that was expected. He flew through Charms, Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts, but those were John’s good classes. Potions and Herbology were alright, Paul spent extra time helping John on those lessons. He struggled in Astronomy and Ancient Runes. Arithmancy was a complete waste of time. He’s sure that will tank his grade.
He finishes his final additions to his History paper, feeling pretty good about it. He was mentally and emotionally exhausted, and of course he had class tomorrow. He dips his cheat-proof quill back into the pot of cheat-proof ink for the final time, and reads over his concluding paragraph referring to the Goblin Riots of the eighteenth century.
It was over, he was finally finished.
“Professor McGonagall?” He asks. They had taken his Exams in the Transfiguration classroom all day. Any Transfiguration classes were given a catch-up day. John figured the entire school owed him for that. McGonagall was in charge of testing John privately. She was being set up to become the head of Gryffindor house, and this was a test for her, as well.
“Are you finished, Mr. Lennon?” She stands from her desk, no doubt feeling the exhaustion herself. She had to keep a close eye on John the entire day to ensure he wasn’t cheating.
John nods, “I believe so.” He got three breaks throughout the day. One at 11, one at 3 and one at 6. But it wasn’t nearly enough. He was truly fatigued.
“Leave your exam on your desk, you may come collect your things and you’ll be free to go.” She stands. John feels much lighter as he walks to her desk.
He remembers that Paul would be waiting for him, and feels a distinct sense of excitement, nearly skipping to McGonagall's desk. She hands him his bag of things.
“How do you feel you did?” She asks.
John sighs, “I think alright. I feel good about my Transfiguration answers.” He adds.
McGonagall smiles, “I’m glad to hear it. We’ll send your exams in for grading. They should be back much sooner than typical since you’re the only student to be graded. Probably within the week.” She suppresses a yawn.
“Thank you, Professor.” He nods, taking his things. He turns to go, excited to see Paul.
He gets about five steps from McGonagall's desk, and she speaks up again, “Mr. Lennon.” She calls out to him. John stops and turns around, afraid he forgot something.
“Yes?”
She clears her throat, as if she was debating on whether or not to say anymore. “I encourage you to be careful with who you trust.” She says calmly, her hands held together.
John cocks his head, “What do you mean?”
“These are trying times, Mr. Lennon.” It felt weird being addressed so formally by her when they were once in Gryffindor house together. “There are many untrustworthy faces around. I just hope you take caution.” She finishes, nodding. “Good evening, I’ll see you in class next week.”
John nods, unsure of the necessity for the warning. Of course, the Dark Wizards in Hogsmeade have caused quite the stir, and John has known that he couldn’t trust some of his peers for quite some time. But what was it that made Professor McGonagall feel the need to send caution? John tried shaking it off, but that was big coming from her. She never got involved in such things. She was demure, classy and stayed out of any trouble or discourse. McGonagall would only stick her hand in if she really felt it was necessary.
So, who was it that John couldn’t trust?
The walk to the door was long, but he finally opened it to the transfiguration courtyard.
“There’s the bastard!” Ringo yells from the tree, hopping down from its branch in the middle of the courtyard. John knew that Paul would invite the other two, and while he enjoyed hanging out with Ringo and George (more than anyone else, these days), he could really use some alone time with Paul.
Paul, who was leaned up against the base of the tree with his arms crossed over his chest, looked picturesque. John thinks this is the best reward for surviving his exams possible.
George drops out of the tree behind Ringo, slipping on the snow and losing his balance so he falls square on his rear. It makes the others laugh, and George grabs a handful of snow and throws it at Ringo and Paul.
“How did it go?” Paul asks when John catches up to them.
John nods, licking his lips from the temperature change, “I think it went well. I did terribly at Arithmancy, honestly. And Runes. Sorry George.”
“That’s alright.” George says, picking himself off from the snow-covered ground.
“Charms?” Paul asks, interrogating John.
“Good.”
“Dark Arts?”
“Fantastic.”
“Herbology?”
“Undecided.”
John knew how much Paul vicariously lived through John’s success and failures here. He had single-handedly tutored John through his studying, and when academics were so important to Paul, he felt they should be equally important to everyone else.
“Enough chat about the exam. The poor kid is probably exhausted.” Ringo bats Paul away.
He holds his hand out to John, his fingers covered in rings. John takes it to shake, and Ringo slips John a little baggy of something.
“Grass?” John asks.
Ringo smirks, leaning closer to John’s ear and whispering, “Something better.”
“Come on, let’s get John some food.” Paul says, beckoning the group towards the Great Hall.
“Yes, I’m starving.” John agrees, and lets the three of them lead the way.
He looks at the baggy when he’s behind, holding it up to his glasses to see what was inside. It wasn’t weed, instead there were a series of little paper squares, each one textured strangely. John had never seen anything like it before, and didn’t know how to feel about being in possession of it. It felt far more serious than a little bit of cannabis.
He wonders where Ringo got it, and why he decided to give it to John. Did he expect John to take it? Did the other two know about it?
“John, are you coming?” Paul waits for John.
He nods, pocketing the drug and running to catch up.
“You’re home late.” Arthur says from the couch in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. It startles John.
“Shit.” He grabs his chest, the four of them had maybe snagged a few celebratory drinks from the wine cellar. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?” John asks.
“I’m covering prefect duties for Cynthia tonight.” Arthur explains.
“What’s she up to?” John asks.
Arthur shrugs, “Something with Dorian and Black.” John didn’t like the sound of that. “I owed her anyways. It’s been a quiet night… although you’re home far after curfew.” Arthur didn’t seem angry or upset, it would be rare for him to be at John.
John looks at the clock on the wall, it was past midnight.
“Don’t worry, I won’t report you.” Arthur says.
“I was out with Paul and George.” He says, wiping his eyes. It was a long day for John. “We got into the cellar and ate some of that pound cake they saved for birthdays.” He leaves out the full bottle of wine he downed. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get up for class in the morning.
“Just Paul and George?” Arthur asks.
“And Ringo… Starr. Ringo Starr.”
John can see how Arthur’s jaw tenses. He and Ringo were in the same year. They were in many classes together. The bag of the mystery drug in John’s pocket suddenly felt very, very heavy.
Arthur shrugs, “Alright. Just be smart. Don’t want you getting in with the wrong crowd.”
John thought that was an interesting observation, “Paul and George are in the Slug Club… they’re honor roll students, they come from pure-blood families and are in prestigious houses…” John wasn’t sure why he felt the need to defend his friends, “Why would I need to worry about them being the ‘wrong crowd’?” John asks, hoping he isn’t coming off as a brat.
“It’s not those two I’m worried about.” Arthur says, picking his book back up. “It’s nothing, John. I’m just looking out for you. Everyone is on edge these days.”
“I’ve heard.” John says. First McGonagall, and now Arthur. Two very moral and trustworthy sources saying something to John within the first night. It makes his stomach flip. He heads to his dormitory, “My O.W.Ls went well, thanks for asking.” And he turns down the hall to the spiral staircase.
Notes:
Tumblr: @buttahpie
Chapter 26
Notes:
Hey guys
Sorry I went MIA for a minute there. Don’t worry I’m still alive. No Ao3 author’s curse for me. Just overwhelmed and busy, you guys get the jist. I hope can forgive me. It’s just been a lot for me recently. I went back into therapy and started back on some medications and have just been going through it.
On the bright side: my graduation application was approved and I will be getting my bachelor’s degree in just a few weeks! Additionally, I got cast in a dream role for a musical and I’m super excited about that.
This is a thicc chapter. It really starts to set up the overarching plot that ties in the end of the story! Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The snow had just stopped falling, and little patches of sun had started to glimmer on the fresh snow in the Transfiguration courtyard.
John had his Gryffindor scarf on, a leather cap, and some old, fingerless gloves. He sits in the gothic window of the courtyard, legs crossed and a Divination book open in his lap. It wasn’t the most ideal studying area, but the icy, fresh air was pleasant to John.
But, the real reason he was out here had nothing to do with studying or the weather. John knew Paul would be passing through here on his way to lunch from Advanced Arithmancy, and they would just happen to run into one another.
Class must have just gotten out, but John had a free period for homework. It was freeing to finally be done with his O.W.Ls. Students from all houses and years started to make their way through the courtyard.
“Boo!” John’s favorite voice yells at him from within the corridor.
John looks at Paul, obviously unphased from his little scare. He raises an eyebrow, “Very scary.” He smirks at Paul sarcastically.
Paul sighs and with a boyish grin he rolls against the arched frame of the open window, across from John. “Sluffing from class again, Lennon?” Paul wore a green tweed dress-coat, his prefect pin secured to the lapel of the smart coat. This was obviously another tailored piece from Paul’s wardrobe.
John holds up his divination book for Paul to see, “Professor Flint actually released me from class to study, I thought you’d be proud of me.” John cocks his head, unable to stop smiling around this impossible boy.
“Oh!” Paul raises his eyebrows, “Is that so?” He smirks, “Proud of you? There are lots of things I am about you, Lennon, but I’m not sure proud is on the list.”
John loved this, because to any passerby this would seem like a typical conversation between the two rivals of the school. But to John and Paul, this was part of the game known as them.
“Are you?” John asks, trying not to blush like some bird, “And what might those things be?”
Paul looks around, smiling impishly while he checks that the coast is clear. He takes a large step to John. He now towered over the Gryffindor boy as he’s close enough to say quietly, “Well…” He takes another step to John, leaning down, “I’m pretty mad about you.” He says gravelly, and John can feel his face heat up.
“Is that so?” John’s able to say without falling apart, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He can feel Paul’s breath on his cold, flushed face.
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Which one?” John devilishly adds.
Paul’s face goes pale, aurally impressed and surprised by John’s foreword reply. Paul then glances at John’s lips, licking his own, “What are your plans for lunch?”
“I’ve been outside for quite some time, I really should warm up.” John mutters.
Paul grins, and grabs John’s Divination book out of his hands, slamming it closed.
“Some tutor you are.” John scoffs playfully.
“There are some better things we can practice right now.”
Paul pushes John into an empty greenhouse. Everyone was at lunch, and this greenhouse wasn’t usually used in the winter as it was saved for incubating dormant plants over the cold months.
There were plenty of extra tables and chairs stored here, as well. It would be the perfect place for a quick snog.
When the two of them are sure the coast is clear, they waste no time slamming hungrily into one another. They’re both sloppy and uncoordinated, but it doesn’t matter when they’re both so desperate for the other.
John’s lips were just slightly chapped from being outside for so long, and Paul's soft, plush lips felt like honey against this. Paul darts his tongue out, having gotten far more confident in their make-outs as of recent. He swipes his tongue along John’s lips, asking for entrance into the hot hollow of the older boy’s mouth.
He’s happy to let Paul in, and opens his lips as his hands come up along Paul's sides. Their tongues fight against one another in a blissful combat of desire, and as their hot breath is exchanged at their mouths, John is grabbing at Paul’s tweed jacket to get it off.
It was warm in the greenhouse after all, and they both were eager for less layers. Paul assists John in getting the coat off, letting it drop to the floor with a quiet ping of the metal prefect pin hitting the stone floor.
John’s scarf is the next thing off, then his horrible gloves, and Paul yanks off his silly leather hat. This was all so exhilarating, because as much as these two have made out, they’ve never undressed the other before. And of course, these were all outer-clothes, but it was enough to add a level of excitement for the both of them.
Paul runs his hands through John’s hair, grabbing and yanking at the brown hair that wanted to curl around his head. John sighs at the sensation, and his hands wander down to Paul’s hips. John pulls Paul’s hips to his own with great force, and the result causes both of them to gasp.
John pushes Paul backwards towards an empty table, all that was on it were a few unused plant-pots at one end. He uses all his strength to hoist Paul up from the waist onto the table so he was sitting at the edge, and John wastes no time positioning himself right in between Paul’s legs. His big hands wander down to Paul’s rear, and grabs at the plush flesh there, earning a moan from Paul’s mouth.
Paul tilts his head back, allowing John to kiss, lick and suck along the pale skin of his neck. John enjoyed doing this, Paul would always play with his hair and sigh softly in John’s ear as he kissed every part of the lad’s neck he could.
His lips wander down to Paul’s shirt collar, a white one that was tucked under the standard green and silver Slytherin sweater vest. John pulls the collar down, kissing close to Paul’s clavicle and no-doubt making the fresh cotton wrinkly. Paul’s hands wander down John’s back, scratching addictive lines into his flesh there.
John had started to sweat, and he pulled away from the younger boy, looking at him through his thick eyelashes. Paul’s eyelids were heavy and his lips were apart in a slack shape as he caught his breath. The two of them just stared at one another for a moment, chests heaving.
Paul was gorgeous like this: his cheeks flush, his combed-back hair loosening enough for that one tantalizing strand to fall in front of his forehead, his legs spread-apart and thighs pancaked against the hard table, leaning back on his hands.
He was a nymph, and John was under his spell.
“I’m never getting rid of you.” John says with a hungry sigh, and then they’re back at it, their lips lazily moving against one another.
It felt so right to have Paul’s lips against his own. The velvet feeling of the delicate skin there moving in a sloppy dance of spit and tongue. Their heads locked in and out of positions, mirroring one another with great practice and devout consistency. It stoked the fire in their bodies, and John finds himself thinking this was better than any drug—literal or not—in the entire world.
Paul is pawing at John’s sweater, and John helps him pull it off, needing the cooler temperature to hit him. Instantly, the cool air makes goosebumps rise on his pale skin.
One of them throws the sweater off to the side somewhere, and then Paul pauses yet again to just look.
He’s never seen this much of John before. None of their make-outs lead to shirts coming off, Paul would always stop them before that point. But here John stood, just slightly glistening with a light sheen of sweat, his shoulders and back covered in freckles, his torso thin and youthful.
He’s never been very fit. Not like some of the guys on the Quidditch team. But John was lean, he had been starved last year in prison, and hadn’t really gained back some of his weight. Plus, with the age of seventeen came the loss of anymore baby fat, making John look like a fully realized young-man.
But what John was the most insecure about was the very large scar on his side from when the Auror cast Confringo on John when they seized him. The scar took up a good half of John’s left side, and despite healing was still fresh and torn. It would never look completely normal again. He never let anyone see it. Paul was the first person who wasn’t a doctor or nurse.
John suddenly felt very shy, and he’s almost tempted to pull back. What if this isn’t what Paul wanted?
John fully believes Paul deserves someone as beautiful as himself. And that simply wasn’t John. Not with this.
But Paul had such a gift for recognizing these thoughts in John, because he reaches out and with a feather-light touch, he draws a long line from John’s clavicle down his chest, down his stomach, to his abdomen, around his belly-button and down to his happy-trail, letting the pads of his fingers pause right on the waistband of John’s trousers.
John’s stomach flinches at the light touch, but he doesn’t draw back. If anything, he just sinks into Paul’s touch, every stroke feeling like a wonderful gift from the boy. Paul’s eyes followed his hand, watching as he felt John’s core with such an intimate touch it bordered reverent.
John’s starkly aware of how hard he was now, and with Paul’s hand just inches away from his very obvious bulge, John feels dizzy.
“Paul.” He says almost at a whisper.
They make eye-contact again, staring deeply into the other’s soul. Paul bites his lip, and John thinks maybe this might go further.
But Paul stands up, their chests flush to the other and navels pressed in a blissful friction of callow delight.
Paul then wraps his still very clothed arms around John’s waist, pulling him in and kissing John gently. It’s sweet, like honey falling from a spoon. Their lips languidly move together in their waltz while Paul drags his fingernails against John’s back.
The younger boy pulls away again, and then he’s looking at John’s shoulders, staring at the scattered pattern of freckles. He leans his pouty lips against John’s shoulder, and starts kissing each individual freckle with a chaste innocence of body worship.
John’s hands reach around Paul’s hips, holding him there and watching as Paul kisses every freckle, mole and imperfection. After the left shoulder has been properly kissed, Paul moves over the right and repeats.
His eyelashes are thick and dark, pressing against his cheeks with every kiss, and John can’t help but stare at Paul’s diligence, feeling powerfully rich that he is on the receiving end of such attention. He can’t even believe it, he’s never felt so looked after before.
The attention to each freckle and beauty-mark was distracting to the tight tent in his trousers, and it didn't take long for John to be completely enthralled in just the game Paul was playing. Watching him was irresistible, and John wishes he could watch Paul for hours.
Then, Paul moves down to look at the nasty scar on John’s side. It was deep, discolored and a painful reminder for the Gryffindor of the mistakes he’s made in his past.
But Paul wastes no time carefully drawing it out with his finger, and then pressing his lips to it, gently pressing a featherlight kiss to it.
“I never knew you had this.” Paul whispers against it.
“I’ve never told anyone.” John says gently in reply. While he had told Paul he’d been hit with Confringo on their very first night in the Astronomy Tower together, way back in October, he never mentioned the scar.
“The Auror’s?”
John nods.
“Those bastards.” Paul kisses it again.
After John was suitably kissed, Paul lifts back up, looking at John with humility.
“Have you warmed up yet?” Paul asks innocently.
John wanted to laugh at Paul. Of course he was warm, and in more ways than one. He had never felt so melted from the inside out. He felt as though he could face any coldness with great strength because he’s experienced the warmth that is Paul McCartney.
He grabs Paul’s face, making him look up at John. And then, John presses a deep, meaningful kiss right into Paul’s lips. It was steady, sure and very diligent. There isn’t lust or desire behind it, only gratitude. Paul melts into the contact, sighing lightly at it.
They pull away, centimeters from the other, gazing into the other’s eyes.
“Plenty warm.” John replies, and he finds himself wishing he was cold all the time if it meant Paul would melt him like that.
“Come with me tonight. I have to speak with the Gamekeeper.” Paul says to John, the two of them are still not pulled apart from one another. “He likes when I bring friends, and I think you two will get along. You have something very similar in common.”
John nods. He’d follow Paul to the end of the Earth.
That night they made their way out to the Gamekeeper's hut. It wasn’t a far walk from the castle, but it was considered off-grounds as it bordered the Forbidden Forest.
It wasn’t snowing yet, but there was a flurry in the air. This would have to be a quick trip.
Both of them were bundled up, the January temperatures were freezing. As the boys trotted down the snowy hill to the hut, they rub shoulders together. John reaches out and takes Paul’s hand, their fingers lacing together as they steady their weight against the other.
It’s too cold for conversation, but the company found in the other’s hand was more than enough for the journey.
They get to the Gamekeeper's hut, a large, stone building covered in ice and snow. John has never been here before, although he’s walked by it many many times.
Paul drops John’s hand, and knocks on the large door. The proportions of this hut were all wrong, as if it were built for a giant man.
The door opens, and standing in the frame was the largest man John had ever seen. He was well over eight feet tall, feeling as though he was 3 meters tall. He was wide and large, with a big bushy beard and long, curly hair. But Ogg, the head Gamekeeper John was expecting, was a normal man. Tall and stocky, but not giant like the man who stood before them.
“Mr. Paul!” He opens the door wider, letting the two boys into the warm hut. John couldn’t peel his eyes off of the giant man that was their host. He was overwhelming in his size and stature.
He closes the door behind them, the icy wind howling outside. John and Paul start unraveling their many layers so they could talk.
“Nasty January out there.” His voice was booming and he had a thick, deep Scottish accent. “Haven’t had weather like this in years. The castle will be snowed in at this rate.”
Paul’s nose was runny and red, “That’s what I’m here to talk to you about.”
“Oh, well have a seat, I’ll put on the kettle. Ogg should be back soon, he was just checking on the Hippogriffs in the forest. He’s afraid they ‘aven’t enough shelter.” Every vowel this giant man said was shortened and choppy.
“This is John, he’s my friend.” Paul finally introduces the two of them, “This is Rubeus Hagrid, he’s Ogg’s assistant.”
Hagrid holds his massive hand out for John to shake. The Gryffindor boy takes it, and his hands which were typically large (larger than Paul’s) were completely enveloped in the hand of Hagrids. John still shakes it firmly, determined to make a good impression.
“I’ve seen you play Quidditch. Yer one hell of a chaser!” Hagrid says as they shake hands.
John smiles, “I didn’t know Ogg had an assistant.” They drop hands.
Hagrid laughs, his chuckle booming. “More like Ogg’s my assistant. The old bugger is fit to retire any time now. He’s been training me up for some time now, but really, I do all the work.”
Ogg was strange. He had a deep scar across his face and no hair. The scar cut across his left eye, blinding him. He was gruff, and students stayed clear of him. He was completely unlike Hagrid, who was warm and inviting despite his stature.
John and Paul sit at the table, their feet not reaching the floor as all the furniture was built for Hagrid. In their small talk, John learns that Hagrid was once a student here at Hogwarts—one who was expelled much like John—which John understands what Paul was referring to when he said they had something in common. Headmaster Dippet arranged for Hagrid to stay at Hogwarts under the direction of Ogg, learning to be the Gamekeeper. Hagrid was rough around the edges, and his unusual size led to keeping him mostly out of the way of other students. But Hagrid was very kind, he had a soft heart and a tender spirit. This was apparent when he handed John and Paul each their own heaping cup of Hot Chocolate, and when it was too hot, Hagrid made sure to blow the steam off the surface of each cup for the boys.
“I heard about your expulsion.” Hagrid says as he sips his own mug of coco. “I was happy to hear they let you back. I was not so lucky.”
“Well, you came back in your own way, didn’t you?” John asks, his tongue slightly burnt from the hot drink.
Hagrid nods, “Well, I was framed you see. Got in a big mess about me pet Acromantula. It was a big misunderstandin’.” Hagrid’s soft spot for animals was also greatly apparent.
“Headmaster Dippet looked out for both of us.” John replies.
“He’s always standing up for the outcasts. You see, we’re different from everyone else, John. I’m part-giant, and you’re… well-” Hagrid realizes what he’s about to say could be very offensive.
“I’m muggle-born.” John finishes the sentence for him.
Hagrid sighs and nods, “There’s nothing wrong with that. I have no issues.” He reassures, “But it means that we get targeted. Our differences, that is. People who think they’re better’un us—for whatever reason—will use our differences against us to get what they want.”
“That sounds familiar.” John agrees. “Except, I’m afraid I was in the wrong last year. I never should have tried those spells, much less on a living, breathing thing.”
“Maybe, but you never meant to cause any suffering. Us adults know the danger of those books. Honest.” Hagrid adds.
John sighs, he was right. But everyone’s been trying to tell John that for a year now. Maybe one day he’d be able to finally believe it.
“John’s a brilliant wizard. He’s smart and powerful, and he works very hard.” Paul adds to the conversation.
The Gryffindor looks over at Paul with a gentle smile. He still wasn’t used to Paul standing up for him. It means so much coming from him, it always would.
“I don’t doubt it.” Hagrid replies. “Dippet will always stand up for the underdog, but for all the faculty to agree on readmission shows the true character of the witch or wizard at hand. I have no doubt Mr. John is a good man.”
“Alright, enough you two.” John sets down his mug. “You’ll both melt right before my eyes if you keep this up.”
They all chuckle, and Paul decides it’s time to bring up what he came here for. “Hagrid, I’ve got a question about the weather.”
“I’ve never been much of a meteorologist, Mr. Paul. But I can try.”
“Well, I asked Professor Scrugg about it, and He sent me to you.” Paul explains, “The blizzards have been relentless, and I was wondering if they were being conjured. I don’t think the weather patterns are correct, and when I study the history of weather in February, this year is unprecedented.”
Paul was quite literally always doing extra work. John was equal parts amused and exacerbated by Paul's relentless fascination with knowledge. It was admirable.
Hagrid chuckles, “It would take a great deal of power to conjure up such a strong storm for so long. I can’t think of any Wizard other than maybe Dippet… or Dumbledore.”
“But I can’t imagine those two would do it.”
Hagrid shakes his head, “No. No they wouldn’t.” Hagrid now sits, deep in thought. He seemed concerned, as if this was something they all should have been worrying about long ago. John and Paul look at one another, feeding off of the concern.
Paul speaks up again, “Surely you’ve heard of the attack in Hogsmeade.”
Hagrid sighs deeply, “I did. Nasty thing.”
“Could there have been a dark wizard causing it?” John asks.
“There hasn’t been a dark wizard for ages.” Hagrid shakes his head. “Not since… well not since-”
“Grindelwald?” John asks.
Hagrid shakes his head, the energy shifts and the air gets heavy. “No. No, there was another one.” John can feel the light get dimmer. There’s a loud howl of the wind outside, and the fire crackles.
“You don’t have to-” Paul starts, but Hagrid raises his giant hand to silence him.
“I was in Hogwarts with him.” Hagrid says. “He was a Slytherin.” John looks at Paul who instantly tenses. “He was two years younger than me. He was strange, and hungry for power.” He starts explaining this wizard, his eyes going glossy as he looks away from the boys, recounting his memory as a student. “He hated muggle-borns and half-breeds. Wanted them all dead.” That sounded familiar to Paul. That’s exactly what Graham and Dorian were after. “He’s who framed me. Framed me for killin’ that girl… framed me for opening the chamber-”
“Hagrid.” Paul says quietly, pulling Hagrid out of his trance. The giant man looked at the boys with his round eyes which were shiny with tears.
“Sorry boys.” He clears his throat, “It’s all too dark.”
“What was his name?” John asks.
Paul swallows. Neither said anything initially. But then Paul speaks up through gritted teeth, “Tom Riddle.”
At that moment, there’s a loud thud from outside, startling all three of them out of their skin. They all turn to the door, awaiting for Ogg to open it. But there’s no movement, building the tension exponentially.
John’s heart rate was high, his chest felt tight. He and Paul look at one another, their mouths suddenly filled with cotton.
The same loud crash can be heard again, as if something was getting hit with a large club outside. After it’s heard for the second time, all three men stand up, quickly pulling on their winter clothes and grabbing their wands to investigate.
“Ogg should be back by now. Should’ve been back a half-hour ago.” Hagrid says, lighting a lantern. “You boys should go back to the castle.”
“We won’t.” Paul says, “We’ve got to help you find Ogg.”
Hagrid looks at the two of them, nodding. “Stay close, if anything gets out of hand, you get right back to the castle, you hear?”
John and Paul nod. John adjusts his fingerless gloves on his hands, and with wands at the ready, Hagrid opens the heavy door into the blizzard.
Notes:
Tumblr: @buttahpie
Chapter 27
Notes:
Surprise!
I still feel bad about the other week and had the evening off, so here you are!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The visibility outside was very low, alarmingly so.
John holds his forearm up to his eyes to try and shield some of the snow that was beating down on their faces. He focuses on Hagrid’s lantern light, and he tries to physically stay close to Paul as they traverse the blizzard.
They don’t find the source of the noise, but they can hear it inside the tree line of the forest. Whatever was making it must have come close to Hagrid’s hut to get their attention, and was now luring them out to the forest.
“We should tell someone at the castle!” Paul yells over the howling wind. “This could be a trap!” He had a valid point.
“I don’t have a wand! I need you two to protect me while we look for Ogg!” Hagrid yells back, also with a valid point. There was strength in numbers. John and Paul were both brilliant wizards. They needed to find Ogg.
John and Paul each cast Lumos, they would take any extra light they could get in these conditions. The air was unforgiving, and as they ventured further from the castle and the hut, the darker and colder it got.
The thud noise was drawing them in, and John tried to suppress any unease he felt about it. He’s faced much darker and scarier things than a simple sound.
But it wasn’t the sound that was scary, it was what was making it. Trolls carried clubs, but they weren’t smart enough to lure prey away. And trolls had to be hibernating through this storm.
John adjusts his scarf over his nose, feeling it run from the below freezing temperatures. They breach the tree line of the Forbidden Forest. This was a section of the woods that John wasn’t familiar with. It wasn’t an area he ever practiced spells in.
Inside the trees, there’s some give to the temperature. They shield the boys from the wind, and while it’s much darker and still rather cold, it’s more manageable.
The trees were caked with thick, frosty snow. The powder among the trees was up to the shins of John and Paul, and they trudged through the long shadows of the trees. The thudding is getting quieter and farther away, and John can’t shake the feeling that they have walked right into a trap. He and Paul share a few looks of uncertainty.
“The Hippogriffs aren’t far from here.” Hagrid says, “I’m worried we haven't found Ogg yet.” He shakes his head. “Stay close.”
They push through the forest where the snow drifts only get deeper. John felt the draw to stay close to Paul, it was looking worse and worse for Ogg the longer it took to find him.
Eventually, the thudding noise can no longer be heard, and they’re deep enough in the forest that John isn’t sure he could make his way back to the castle on his own. His feet are starting to feel like ice.
Paul leans close to John, saying quiet enough for Hagrid not to hear, “This wasn’t part of my plan. I’m sorry.”
John shrugs, “It’s nothing. We have to find Ogg.” He nods. Paul sighs, and they press onward.
It isn’t much longer before Hagrid is shouting and running in the direction of a large mound of snow. John and Paul follow behind, using whatever energy they can muster to run through deep snow that was now to their shins.
Hagrid falls down to his knees in the snow, howling out in concern. John prepares himself for the absolute worst. The two boys catch up to Hagrid who was hunched over the frozen body of Ogg. Hagrid was crying, Ogg was like a father to him.
Paul instantly joins Hagrid’s side, feeling for a pulse in Ogg’s neck. John felt uncomfortable, whether or not Ogg was alive was unclear, and John never handled these situations well, especially not after his mum passed.
He decides he’ll keep watch; Ogg wouldn’t have dropped dead for no reason. Not even in a storm like this. There must have been something—or someone—else involved. Whatever was making that racket with the club must have done something.
Paul starts casting healing charms, trying with any power to protect what life Ogg still had. John catches a glimpse at the old man, his skin frozen over. He was out here for a long time, and by the looks of the tracks, it didn’t seem like he ever made it to the Hippogriffs to begin with.
“I shoulda come out here with him!” Hagrid says between sobs, and John feels the need to hush him. He senses that they aren’t alone, and needed to be stealthier if all four of them were going to make it back to the castle.
John hears a rustle in the trees nearby, and he snaps his head to see what it might be. He sees nothing, but readies his wand. Paul was still working on Ogg, nothing he was trying seemed to be working.
He hears another cracking of a branch from the other side of the clearing they were in. John was high alert, and he whips around to catch their agitator. But to no avail, there was still nothing there.
He starts running through all the spells he knows in his head. He plans ahead. John hasn’t been in any real combat since the Auror days, and something deep in his gut told him their foes were no Aurors.
For the third and final time, John heard the thudding again from across the clearing. And this time, emerging from the tree line are two cloaked men.
They wore long, black robes that completely shrouded their figures. But it was clear they were grown men, both with a wand at the ready. Their faces were completely obstructed by masks of skulls. It was a grim image, and unlike anything John had ever seen before.
In an instant, he’s certain these are the dark wizards from Hogsmeade. And John was exactly who they were after.
He raises his wand, “Paul!” He calls out behind him.
Paul looks up from Ogg, looking over at the wizards. They were standing in the way back to the castle. Paul swears under his breath, “Hagrid, we need to get Ogg to the Hospital Wing!” He yells at the giant.
Hagrid nods, picking up Ogg and slinging him over his shoulders.
Paul stands, covered in snow. He walks over to John, trepidatiously watching the two shrouded figures. The feeling of dread that settles in the two student’s stomachs is undeniable. This was no Defense Against the Dark Arts class, this was the real deal.
John and Paul stand side by side, wands equipped. Hagrid was behind them, holding Ogg.
“What is it you want?” Paul yells.
They say nothing, just moving in their direction.
“Don’t come any closer!” John says, lifting his wand.
The two dark wizards say nothing again, their movement unfaltering as they inch closer and closer to the two students.
John and Paul stand their ground, unsure of what would happen. John digs deep for the courage that Gryffindors are so well known for, and Paul focuses on his own belligerent determination that gave him the audacity half of the time.
They’re meters away now, and John looks at Paul for a moment. Their eyes meet, full of uncertainty. But John knows he can do anything with Paul by his side. With confidence, they’re able to hold their ground. Whittaker always said they would make a strong pair.
One wizard finally raises his voice, “The giant can go. Give us what you want and we can all walk away from this.” His voice was deep, and he had a thick, Eastern European accent.
Hagrid shifts in the snow, “I won’t leave you boys, I won’t.”
“Hagrid,” Paul says quietly, “You need to get back to the castle and get help. Tell Dippet and no one else.” He says.
“What?!” Hagrid asks in disbelief. “I won’t!”
“You must!” Paul insists.
“What is it you want?” John asks once again.
There’s a chuckle from one of them, “We think you know exactly what it is, Lennon.” John’s heart sinks when they say his name. Of course they knew who he was.
“Hagrid, go now.” Paul says, and Hagrid’s nods, trudging through the snow back towards the castle. He veers from the direction of the wizards, making a large arch around them while keeping a keen eye on them. Hagrid looks back at John and Paul one final time before entering back into the forest. Hopefully he wouldn’t take too long. John and Paul would hold them off as long as they could.
“We don’t have it.” John says, knowing they were referring to the Grimoire.
“Maybe, but you know where it is.” The other one says.
John sighs, “We don’t .” He insists. He really wasn’t sure where it was, other than it being in the castle.
“Don’t make this difficult.” The larger one with the accent says.
Paul grips his wand, feeling suddenly very concerned. He doesn’t show it, though. He takes a step closer to John, feeling safer in his presence.
“Why should we tell you where it is?” Paul asks, his lips cracked from the cold.
“If you two want to keep your lives, you‘ll cooperate.” The smaller one says, and then pulls out a club rather than a wand. That was what was making all the racket, and they had walked right into their trap. He hits the club against his gloved hand.
Then, in an instant, they’re all firing different spells. John and Paul both have to quickly block spells from the dark wizards, but they barely succeed in it. The club must have had shards of a wand inside of it, because it was still able to cast magic. However, the magic was erratic and unpredictable.
The two boys retaliate, each casting a spell in response. John with Expelliarmus and Paul with Stupefy . At least they weren’t out-numbered… for now.
The battle is on, and for every quick move John can come up with, the dark wizard comes up with one twice as fast. In no time, they’re sparring. Paul has taken on the club wizard and John is fighting the large, eastern one.
They’re all slowed down by the snow, which is both a blessing and a curse because it means they can use it to their advantage, keeping the distance between them. But equally it was concerning, because John and Paul were practically frozen to their place in the clearing with no shelter.
John shields himself with Protego , and he’s able to retaliate with Stupefy , but the large wizard blocks it. He was more experienced than John, and no doubt older. But he didn’t have the same reckless abandon that John was known for. John stays vigilant, fighting hard and unable to focus on what Paul was doing.
But he could see Paul in his peripheral vision, and he could feel him close. Paul was a very skilled dueler, and John had no doubt he was able to hold his own.
The two made for a force to be reckoned with.
After minutes of sparring, John hits the enemy with Petrificus Totalus , a spell he’s only recently mastered in tutoring with Paul. It freezes the enemy in place, and John uses the opportunity to assist Paul.
“ Levioso! ” John casts on the smaller dark wizard, raising him in the air. Paul then casts Incarcerous, binding the fool in rope.
At that moment, the bigger one unfreezes, but now John and Paul could handle him together. Paul casts Stupefy non-verbally, and perfectly stuns the man.
But something overcomes John. He feels the dangerous fire that was always smoldering within him threatening to burst into flames. He wanted to make this man suffer, to hurt him.
The effects of the Grimoire were still found deep in John’s nervous system. It would
be so easy to cast Crucio, or maybe something even worse. John raises his wand, and Paul’s incredible gift at reading John triggers.
“John!” Paul calls out, “Don’t be stupid!” He yells.
John looks at Paul, and is reminded of what’s at stake. He nods, coming back to his senses and instead casts Expelliarmus , disarming him. The tied up one was still conscious and started cursing. He reaches out for his club.
In an instant before John and Paul’s eyes, they are both disapparating out of thin air, disappearing entirely back to wherever they came from.
The two boys held their breath, prepared for their return. However, after a moment of catching their breath and listening, nothing happens.
John sighs, falling into the snow.
“Are you alright?!” Paul asks with concern, dropping into the snow with John.
“Shit…” John grabs his thigh, “I think I got hit.”
“What?” Paul’s voice fills with panic. He starts feeling John, looking for any wounds. “Fuck, let’s get back.” He says when he sees there’s a few deep cuts in the muscle of John’s thigh. Paul pulls off his scarf, wrapping it around the top of John’s thigh and tying it tightly, creating a makeshift tourniquet.
“I’m okay.” John says, seeing he’s stained the white snow around them red. He was bleeding a lot.
“No you aren’t, come on.” Paul wraps John’s arm around his shoulder and helps him stand up. John’s breathing was labored, and he stumbled through the snow, his weight leaning heavily on Paul.
“They’re looking for the book.” John says. His voice was strained as they pushed through the snow.
“I know.” Paul says.
“Where is it?” John asks.
“I don’t know.” Paul shakes his head, “We have to talk to Dippet.”
“Yeah.” John says shakily, “Fuck, I didn’t even know I was hit.”
“The adrenaline helped.” Paul says, “Does it hurt bad?” He asks.
John nods against Paul’s shoulder, “It’s deep.”
“I know. Come on, we’ll take good care of you.” He says, trying to be optimistic for John.
But in reality, Paul was panicking. He wasn’t good at being strong for other people, especially not people he cared about like John. He was scared to death of what was going to happen to John. He had already lost a lot of blood, and the guilt that settled on Paul's psyche was getting too much to handle.
It was his fault this all happened. It was his fault they came out here, his fault they even visited Hagrid. If he had just stayed in the castle tonight with John, none of this would have happened. He felt sick, he was going to get in big trouble for his belligerence. And of course, now John was hurt.
“Paul.” John says through labored breaths.
“Yes?” Paul looks at John, who looked dizzy and in shock.
“Your Stupefy cast was perfect.” John says with a lazy smile.
Paul scoffs, “Shut up, you.” He leans down to kiss John, happy they were both alive. John kisses back weakly, and Paul can feel how chapped both of their lips were. “Come on, we’re almost there.”
“Shit, my glasses are broken.” John says, and sure enough, one of the lenses was cracked. That was an easy fix Paul could handle tomorrow, but for now he was just worried about getting John to safety.
Just as they got out of the Forest, three figures ran towards them across the field from the castle. Headmaster Dippet, Professor Whittaker and Professor Slughorn. Hagrid had gotten help, but he obviously told more people than needed to know.
“Are you hurt?!” Dippet asks, the ancient man moving with great swiftness.
“John is, yes. Cut on his left leg. It’s bad.” Paul says.
Whittaker comes to Paul’s aid, lifting John’s other side. “How many were there?” Whittaker asks.
“Just two.” Paul says, “They fled the battle. They’re looking for the Grimoire.”
Dippet and Slughorn share a look, “You’re lucky to be alive.” Dippet says. “This is great recklessness from two students.”
“Please, we had to help Hagrid. Is Ogg alright?” Paul asks as they head back to the castle. John groaned with each step.
“He’s got hypothermia, it’s too soon to tell.” Slughorn says.
“Please, don’t punish Hagrid for this.” John says.
Dippet sighs, “He should not have asked for the aid of two students.”
“We insisted.” Paul adds. “Please, Hagrid is blameless here.”
Slughorn was always quick to defend his own students, “Perhaps we can discuss this further in the morning. You boys are in shock.”
“We’re fine.” Paul shakes his head, “Whittaker prepared us well.”
Whittaker smirks, “Well, John is in shock. He’s shaking.”
“It’s freezing out here!” Paul says.
“Mr. McCartney, we can assist Mr. Lennon to the Hospital wing on our own. You should return to your common room and assure your students everything is alright.” Dippet says.
Paul presses his lips into a thin line, “I’m not leaving him!”
Whittaker sighs, “Headmaster, it might be wise to keep them together… for questioning.”
Dippet nods, “For your recklessness, I have to take away twenty-five points from each of your houses.” He says, Paul’s shoulders drop, John was just focused on not passing out. “But for your bravery and portrayal of great Defense Against the Dark Arts, I award you each twenty points.”
Paul smiles, nothing like a little instant gratification for his deeds.
“Now, come.” Dippet says, “We are almost back.”
Madam Merriweather made quick work of John’s wound, and before the night was even up, his leg was already healing. But it wasn’t without many potions and spells which made him feel rather loopy. It was just after 10pm, and he was starting to feel terribly sleepy from his day of exciting combat.
But every Professor decided it was their business that John got hurt at the hand of a Dark Wizard, and they all decided to crowd inside of the Hospital wing at the same time.
“Students will find this very distressing.” Professor McGonagall says to the group that surrounded John in his bed. In the circle was Headmaster Dippet, Professor Whittaker, Professor Slughorn, Professor Flint, Professor McGonagall and of course Paul and Madam Merriweather.
Merriweather had taken Paul’s vitals and given him an elixir to help with his own ailments (primarily exhaustion and cold exposure).
“So we won’t tell students.” Whittaker says plainly.
“They’re going to find out.” Paul says, “If they haven’t already. Word travels quickly through this school.” He had a very valid point.
“Parents will be angry to hear there were two incidents close to school grounds within a few weeks.” Professor Flint shakes his head.
“The Howlers will start pouring in in the morning.” Slughorn sighs.
“So, we release a statement.” Paul suggests.
“Mr. McCartney, I don’t think it’s your place to-” McGonagall replies.
“He’s right.” Whittaker interrupts her, she looks mildly offended, “We tell them the truth, and we assure them that the necessary precautions are being taken to prevent any further incidents.”
Paul nods, gesturing plainly to Whittaker, “Thank you, Professor.”
“You two must tell us exactly what you saw.” Headmaster Dippet nods.
“Two Dark Wizards.” Paul says, and Whittaker pulls out a quill and parchment, enchanting it to write what Paul says, “One was larger than the other, and he had a thick Eastern-European accent. The other was smaller, but more experienced in combat. He didn’t have a typical wand, but rather a large, troll-like club that he used to conjure.”
“Fascinating.” Professor Slughorn hums, “Did the other one have a wand?”
“Yes.” Paul confirms.
John speaks up, drowsy and out-of-sorts, “They wore thick, black robes. Each had their faces covered with a mask that resembled a skull.” He explains with a hiccup.
“Correct.” Paul nods, “We never saw their faces.”
“Do those descriptions match that of the Hogsmeade incident?” McGonagall asks.
Slughorn nods, “But there was no mention of an accent or a club in Hogsmeade.”
“Is it possible they were a different pair?” Flint asks.
“I highly doubt there would be four wizards after Mr. Lennon. It’s highly unlikely they would all fail.” Whittaker scoffs.
“Strange to admit their failure.” McGonagall raises an eyebrow.
“I’m a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Minerva. It’s my job to recognize the patterns of the Dark Arts .” Whittaker responds defensively.
“Who said anything about them being after John?” Paul asks, his eyebrows knitted together.
Whittaker clears his throat, “Well, what were they after then?”
“Yes, Mr. McCartney, what did they say they were after?” Headmaster Dippet asks.
Paul folds his arms across his chest, looking at John and wishing the two of them had a moment alone to discuss this proper. “They’re looking for The Grimoire.”
There’s a series of scattered sighs and groans among the Professors. John shudders, fading in and out of sleep. Paul’s heart aches as he sees John like this: his head wrapped in a warm towel, his leg completely bandaged up, his glasses cracked on the nightstand. He understands for a moment how John must have felt when Paul was in the Hospital.
“I knew this was going to happen.” Slughorn shakes his head. “We should have done away with that book all those years ago!”
“Horace, I think it would be best if perhaps he discussed the book elsewhere.” Flint tries adding.
“You don’t have to hide it from me!” Paul says, “I may be a student but I’m no fool. I know that book is what inspired Tom Riddle-”
“Don’t say his name.” Slughorn interrupts Paul.
“We never knew Riddle had access to the book when he was here.” Dippet argues, “The only evidence we have is the handwriting in the book matching that of his diary.”
“That’s fairly damning evidence!” Paul argues.
“Mr. McCartney, you’ve had an exciting night, I think it’s best if we all get some rest.” Professor Slughorn tries deescalating, but Paul won’t have it.
“No! I know that Riddle needs that book to finish what he started all those years ago. And I know that's why Dumbledore is gone. He’s out searching for Riddle!” Paul holds his ground. “That’s why they want John. The book chose him. It didn’t choose Tom Riddle. It would never choose someone who wanted the book. Even if the Dark Wizards get a hold of the book, they’ll have no use of it unless they have John controlling it! It answers to John! I've seen it myself.”
“That is quite enough, Mr. McCartney!” Headmaster Dippet puts an end to Paul’s talk.
Paul stands down, feeling like he’s overstepped.
“That’s enough, all of you.” Madam Merriweather steps in, “I have students who need to sleep. This meeting must go elsewhere.” She butts through the group, pushing them away from John who was sleeping soundly now, despite the racket above him.
“We will meet about this tomorrow in my office at lunch.” Dippet says to Paul. “Minerva and Horace, please join us.” And he turns away, disbanding the group.
McGonagall gives Paul an apologetic look. Her youth and character makes her feel for Paul. She knows his heart is good. Slughorn sighs, giving Paul a pat on the shoulder as he walks away. Flint breaks off with a huff, and now only Whittaker and Paul stood above John sleeping away in his bed.
“You two have a strong bond.” Whittaker says.
Paul can feel how Whittaker’s words are full of something deeper. He wasn’t really saying what he meant, and it made Paul’s stomach feel ill.
“It must have been whatever charm was on that rope.” Paul replies.
Whittaker chuckles, “I always knew you two were destined for greatness together.” He starts to cough loudly, clearing his throat before speaking anymore, he drops his voice to a whisper, “Don’t limit yourself.” And then Whittaker turns to leave, looking back at Paul once more as he coughs out of the Hospital wing.
Paul hates the sense of regret and betrayal he feels when Whittaker looks at him. This man who had done so much for him, who had been a surrogate father in many ways, was disappointed Paul left and right. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had something deeper to do with all of this. That he was the true Dark Wizard to look out for.
He pushes away the thought. It’s not Whittaker, it couldn’t be. He was a good man, he has sacrificed so much for Paul. He wouldn’t betray him. If Paul says it to himself over and over again, he’d eventually believe it.
“You too, Mr. McCartney.” Merriweather says from behind him, “Bed for you.”
“I’d like to stay here. With John. If it’s alright.” Paul asks.
Merriweather sighs, “You two.” She shakes her head, “At least take the extra bed next to him, no reason to deprive yourself of some good rest.”
Paul nods, but before going right to bed, he sits at the stool next to John. He grabs John’s hand, holding it tightly and lifting it up to his lips. He presses a chaste kiss to John’s knuckle, looking at him as he rests.
“I promise I won’t let them take you John. I swear I’ll protect you.” He whispers, meaning every word he says.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 28
Notes:
Oh I’m COOKIN’
For many of my readers it’s Sunday, for many it’s still Saturday. Regardless, expect another chapter to go up in the next 24 hours
Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
John wakes up starkly, his body sweating profusely and his chest heaving. He sits up in the bed, gasping for air.
He wasn’t sure where he was, or what was going on. He was deeply discombobulated, and his leg ached with a deep, foreign pain.
“John, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Paul’s voice can be heard from the bed next to him. He glances over to see Paul who was getting out of the hospital bed, and everything starts coming back to John. The forest, the blizzard, the Dark Wizards. Paul sits on the edge of John’s bed, feeling his forehead with the back of his hand, “You’re burning up.”
“Are you hurt?” John instantly asks Paul.
Paul smiles and shakes his head, “I’m alright.”
“Then what are you doing here?” John asks, confused about why Paul would be in the hospital wing to begin with.
“I stayed here with you. I didn’t want you to be alone.” He mutters, it was still very early. The sun had just barely begun to rise.
John sighs affectionately, “You bastard.”
Paul huffs out an amused exhale, and leans down to press a sweet kiss to John’s cheek, “How do you feel?”
“My leg hurts.” John reaches down to touch his thigh.
“You got a nasty cut. Merriweather thinks it was Lacero. Can you remember any of it?” Paul asks quietly.
John nods, “You didn’t have to stay.”
“No.” Paul agrees, “But I wanted to.”
John can’t ignore the warm glow in his chest at that. He looks up at Paul in this soft light, and feels overwhelmed by something he’s never felt before. Paul had stayed here with him, he cared about him, he took care of John in a way that no one had before, and John was weak over it.
He had been so afraid of getting attached to Paul last term, and now here he was, feeling like Paul was his air supply. He couldn’t live without him. Not after all this.
“Oh!” Paul says, reaching out for John’s glasses on the table. “I know you’re blind as a bat without these.”
He hands them to John, who chuckles, “I can see just fine.”
Paul gives John a knowing look, raising his eyebrow. “Can’t see with that crack, though.”
“Damn.” John says, blinking through the broken glass. “Just my luck, eh?”
Paul chuckles and pulls out his wand.
“Woah, woah!” John says, “Put that thing away. You’re a fiend with that.”
Paul rolls his eyes, “Stay still.” John reluctantly does, “Oculus Reparo.” Paul swishes his wand, and John’s glasses are as good as new.
John smiles softly, “Thanks.” He pulls his glasses off, examining the fresh glass. “That’s the best spell you wizards ever came up with. Would have gotten me out of a lot of trouble back when I was kid.”
The Slytherin boy sighs, “You’re welcome.”
Paul stays by John’s side, Merriweather wasn’t awake yet. The two talk softly about how the night went, what it all meant, and why they were even involved.
When Merriweather comes to check on John, and morning breaks, Paul has to go to class, leaving John behind for the day. John was bed bound for the day, and until his wound finished healing, he’d have to miss out on classes.
And of course, Quidditch was starting again in just a few days. Although with the never-ending blizzard, John wasn’t sure how much playing they’d actually get to do any time soon.
John hoped he’d be healed up as soon as possible. Wounds like these were Merriweather’s speciality, and he was already feeling more like himself by the time lunch came around.
Along with Lunch, came three familiar and very happy faces. Arthur, Elliot and Professor McGonagall all came to visit John. While none of them were Paul, John was still pleased to have some company.
“To what do I owe the honor?” John asks, setting aside his food.
“We’ve brought good news.” Elliot says.
“And we came to make sure you weren’t dead or anything.” Arthur ruffles up John’s hair as he says this, his presence as warm and welcoming as ever. “Gave us quite the scare, Jonathan.”
John sighs, accepting defeat with this name game. “Does everyone know what happened?”
Professor McGonagall speaks up, “Word is getting out, yes. But it would seem everyone sees you as quite the hero, Mr. Lennon.” She explains.
“Is that the good news?” John asks. He supposed he could get behind a little hero-worship after being so outcasted last term.
“Nope!” Elliot says with excitement, “Show him, show him!”
McGonagall smiles and hands John over a letter with a big red wax seal on it from the ministry. It was his O.W.Ls results. By the looks of his friends, he hopes they were good.
John wastes no time ripping open the letter and pulling out the report card, his heart racing with anticipation. He never would have expected to care so much about his test results, but he was so excited.
He looks over the parchment, and instantly knows he has to tell Paul.
“Charms: Exceeds Expectations. Herbology: only an Acceptable.” John reads off his scores.
“That’s still good!” Paul says, pacing around his hospital bed. John knows this must be how Paul’s father acts.
“Runes: Acceptable.”
“Alright.”
“Arithmancy: Acceptable. Divination: Exceeds Expectations. Potions: Exceeds Expectations. History of Magic: Exceeds Expectations. Astronomy: Exceeds Expectations. Care of Magical Creatures: Exceeds Expectations.” John rattles them off, and then he gets very excited for his final two scores, “Transfiguration: Outstanding. And Defense Against the Dark Arts: Outstanding.”
Paul shouts, “You did it! Wow John!” He jumps up, cheering and clapping his hands in pure delight over John’s scores. “You did so well!” Paul was practically bouncing off the walls, and Merriweather had to yell at him to quiet down.
John smiles brightly, his grin stretching across his entire face. Doing well on his O.W.Ls felt good, but knowing he made Paul proud was a better achievement in every way. Paul sits on John’s bed with him.
“This means you can join Advanced Transfiguration with me! And maybe even Professor Flint will let you into Advanced Charms!” Paul says brightly. “We can study for the N.E.W.Ts together! We still have a full year before we take them, maybe we can get into the Ministry together!” Paul starts planning out their future excitedly.
And while it does soften John, he can’t ignore the twinge of regret deep in his stomach as he listens to Paul plan out their study regime. “Paul…” He says, hoping he doesn’t totally burst the lad’s bubble.
“What?” Paul asks, his round eyes blinking at John slowly.
John sighs, “You know I wasn’t planning on coming back for our seventh year…”
Paul’s face drops, and John’s afraid he’s completely ruined the mood. “Right.” Paul says, clearing his throat and trying not to show that he was upset, although it was clear he was.
“I’m sorry… I don’t have the trace anymore. You can graduate Hogwarts with O.W.Ls scores that are this good… It was never my intention to overstay my welcome.” John explains, feeling like he had to do damage control now.
“It’s fine John. I understand.” Paul stands up from the bed, and John feels his heart sink. He didn’t want to upset Paul.
There’s an elongated moment of uncomfortable silence between the two of them. Paul sits on the stool next to the bed, reading over the report card again.
John clears his throat, “You’re upset.”
“No, I’m not.” Paul says shortly.
John sighs, “Paul, it’s not that I don’t want to stay, it’s just that… well I’ve never really fit in here y’know. And I’ve always just planned on working in the Muggle World.”
“Well if you want to stay, why don’t you?” Paul asks. “Unless you don’t actually want to stay.”
John shrugs, “I’m muggle-born. I’ve loved Hogwarts, but I don’t really have to stay anymore.”
“But why wouldn’t you?” Paul asks, trying to hide the hurt in his tone.
“I just never planned to.”
“Even now? Even when everything is so good?” Paul asks, not looking at John as he says it. Of course John didn’t want to leave Paul of all people, but just because he wouldn’t be at Hogwarts anymore doesn’t mean that he and Paul couldn’t still be friends.
If friends were even what they are.
John isn’t sure how to reply. He’s gone and ruined a good moment, and he silently curses himself for letting it happen, regretting ruining the mood. It’s tense between the two of them, and they aren’t sure how to move on from their uncomfortable conversation.
Luckily, Headmaster Dippet, Professor Whittaker and Professor Slughorn had just entered the Hospital wing, saving John from any more discomfort.
“Good evening, boys.” Dippet says, approaching John’s bed. “How are you feeling, Mr. Lennon?” He asks.
John nods, other than feeling like a right ass for bursting Paul’s bubble so badly, he felt alright, “Madam Merriweather thinks I should be good to go tomorrow.”
“Fantastic.” Dippet smiles, his old man's face full of warmth and experience. “Mr. McCartney, how are you?”
Paul shrugs, “I’m alright, Headmaster.”
That was convincing. John felt terrible.
Headmaster Dippet can see right through Paul’s lies, but chooses not to inquire. “I’ve received word from the Minister of Magic. She’s put out a warrant for arrest for those wizards and has her best Aurors searching for them.” He explains. Paul nods, still dejected. Headmaster Dippet turns to John “I wanted to personally inform you John, that the Ministry has decided to send a few Aurors to the castle to patrol the grounds for the next few weeks. It is simply a precautionary measure to ease the minds of upset parents.”
John nods, appreciating the communication. He wasn’t sure how he would respond to seeing Aurors again. But he was thankful to at least have a heads up.
Slughorn speaks up next, “We also wanted to let you two know that we’ve secured The Grimoire.” He sighs. John still flinches, not fully recovered from it. “It is in safe hands.”
“Who’s hands?” Paul asks immediately, making a special effort not to look at Whittaker when he asks it.
Slughorn and Dippet share a look, “For the safety of students, we cannot tell you.” Slughorn says. “But I can assure you that it will cause no more issues.”
Paul frowns, he found that hard to believe. He would only feel safe from the book if it was in the possession of Dippet, Dumbledore or The Minister. The prospect of anyone else having it felt far too unpredictable to Paul. He dreaded it being in the wrong hands.
“None of you have it, do you?” Paul asks. He didn’t really care if Dippet or Slughorn had the book, but he had an awful feeling surrounding Whittaker having possession.
Whittaker cocks his head, “Why do you ask?”
Paul sighs, this was not the reply he wanted. He didn’t want to think that Whittaker could be bad, not when he’s done so much for Paul. But that was becoming harder and harder to believe. “No reason.” He shakes it off. Paul wanted to be wrong so badly.
“There’s one other thing we’d like to talk to you boys about.” Slughorn says with an exacerbated sigh. Neither John nor Paul liked their professor’s tone.
“What is it?” John asks.
Headmaster Dippet steps in, “We think it would be best if neither of you speak of what happened in the Forbidden Forest to anyone.” John nodded, that seemed understandable.
“We don’t want rumors to rise, and with Ogg still recovering, it’s best we honor his privacy.” Whittaker elaborates.
“Yes. Ogg will retire this term, and Hagrid will take over as full time Gamekeeper and Groundmaster.” Dippet adds.
“We can do that.” Paul nods. “Not a word.” Paul wouldn’t want anything to taint his reputation to begin with. Although John was sure he’s been getting a bit of the Hero treatment, too. And Paul loved nothing more than a little praise.
“Yes… and-” Whittaker begins again, “We think it would be wise for you two to stay away from one another for some time.”
“What?” John asks, his face dropping. “Why?” The idea of being separated from Paul was not a pleasant one, especially if it wasn’t on John’s terms. He looks over at Paul, who looked equally confused.
“You two have been at the core of two recent attacks. Obviously you are both a target—for whatever reason. It would be ideal to prevent future incidents by keeping you both separate until the enemy is caught.” Dippet explains. “And it would be prudent to avoid suspicions and rumors among your peers of your whereabouts. The less you’re seen together, the better.”
“I don’t think that at all.” John shakes his head, “What does our friendship have to do with any of this?”
“Mr. Lennon, this all began when you and Paul became friends-” Whittaker replies.
John interrupts him, “So you don’t want Paul and I to be friends? It was your whole plan to make us friends to begin with!” John’s heart bends and his neck gets hot. He hated this entire plan.
“That’s not it all.” Whittaker tries deescalating, “The assignment to understand your partner's psyche went much further with you two. Obviously you are seen as a target when you’re together.”
“That’s not what you told me last night.” Paul says. The air is sucked out of the conversation at that. The others in attendance were unaware that Paul and Whittaker spoke privately last night.
Whittaker looks a bit taken aback, he puts on his best father-figure voice, “I know you’re upset-”
“You said we make a strong pair. So what’s the truth?” Paul argues. John’s never seen Paul speak to a teacher with such fervour before.
“Both.” Whittaker says, “You make a strong pair, and that’s why it would be pertinent to separate you for some time.”
Paul sighs, shaking his head. “For how long?”
John almost can’t believe that Paul was giving in. That he wouldn’t fight for them harder. But of course he wouldn’t. Paul was a rule follower at the end of the day. He always would be. He would always do exactly what his superiors expected of him. It was ingrained into him.
“Two weeks, at least.” Dippet says.
“Two weeks!?” John scoffs. “You want us to be completely apart?”
Dippet nods, “As long as there are no more attacks or sightings. Then things can go back to normal.”
John groans, “Me and Paul being friends isn’t causing the rise of a Dark Lord.” He says sin disbelief, as if it was the simplest truth in the world.
“But we don’t know that.” Whittaker shakes his head.
“What about your class?” Paul asks.
“I’ve already arranged for John and Miss Powell to switch places until the two weeks are up.” Whittaker says. “John will be paired with Graham Black for the remainder of the month.”
Unbelievable. John looks at Paul and he thinks he might be sick.
“You two don’t have to be completely separate. Of course you are still peers. You’ll run into one another in the halls and common areas. But until we better understand what’s actually going on with the Dark Wizards, this is our safest option.” Headmaster Dippet reassures.
“It’s remarkable to see how far you two have come.” Slughorn says with a chuckle, John and Paul’s eyes still locked on one another’s. “I have never seen such camaraderie between a Gryffindor and Slytherin before. Two weeks will not break your friendship.”
John felt totally dejected. He already caused a spat between him and Paul about his status at this school tonight, and now he’ll have to lose Paul for two weeks.
Two weeks where there will be Aurors patrolling the grounds and running rampant, leaving John on edge all the time. Of course this was just his luck. Being paired with Graham Black was just the cherry on top.
He felt horribly lost and confused. Like he and Paul were being punished for some reason. Maybe they were. John didn’t know what these Professors were really capable of. Perhaps they saw through the two boys and knew they were together in some strange, vaguely co-dependent way. Maybe they didn’t want them together. Maybe it went deeper than just wizarding concerns. Maybe there was prejudice seeping through.
“You’re both on your respective Quidditch teams. Practices start up just next week again. That should be a good distraction. It will go by quickly.” Headmaster Dippet says after an uncomfortable silence. “But it would be best to start now. Enough rumors about what happened in the woods have already begun.”
Paul nods, standing. Of course he would be obedient. John hated this, Paul was everything to him these days. “I guess I’ll see you around.” Paul says to John. It felt horrible, like an unfair goodbye that neither of them wanted.
Like a break up.
John really thought Paul would have fought for them. But he was walking out of the Hospital wing with Slughorn and Dippet, looking sadly over his shoulder at John who lay in his bed, his leg still in recovery.
There was an undeniable lump in John’s throat, he hated seeing Paul walk away again.
Every time he seemed to have Paul for himself, he lost him. Paul kept slipping between John’s fingers, and it made him feel helpless. He didn’t understand this at all. Maybe it was better that he didn’t.
John hadn’t even noticed Whittaker lingering behind. “It’s for everyone’s safety, John.”
The Gryffindor boy looks up at his professor, feeling a twinge of betrayal. He just shakes his head, “I’d like to rest now, thank you.”
Whittaker coughs, and with a nod leaves him alone.
John tries to suppress the ache he feels in his chest but he can’t. He feels like he’s being isolated intentionally. Just this morning he had really started to understand what Paul really meant to him, and now Paul was gone. It was completely unfair. He rolls onto his good side, hiding his face from anyone who might see the tears in his eyes.
Paul drags his feet back to his common room, feeling utterly frustrated. He enters inside, and there seemed to be the entire Slytherin house waiting for him. Dozens of heads turn to look at him when he enters the large banquet hall, feeling tired and overwhelmed.
With all eyes on Paul, he feels painfully singled out. He looks around uncomfortably, waiting to catch the eye of someone who didn’t stare at him like he had two heads.
“Is it true?” He hears the all-too-familiar voice of Graham Black call out. Graham walks to the center of the room, his arms folded over his chest.
“What are you talking about?” Paul asks.
“Big bad Paul McCartney survived an actual Dark Wizard? Two of them?! I don’t believe it.” Graham chuckles, the entire house stares at them.
Paul knew Graham didn’t like him deep down. He knew that Graham saw him as snobbish, as too good for everyone else. Graham didn’t like that Paul got all the special treatment from everyone for doing all the same things he did.
He thinks about what the Headmaster and Whittaker told him back in the hospital wing. Not to talk about it. But Paul knew the longer he put it off, the more suspicion it would cause. He didn’t want to come off as dishonest.
Paul shrugs, “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Seems like a pretty big deal.” Margot says, her rotten tone filling the hall.
“I heard Ogg died, got caught in the crossfire.” A mousey second year with pure white hair says.
“Ogg is alright. He’s got hypothermia but he wasn’t involved in any fighting.” Paul clears up, trying not to let everyone’s opinions and prying eyes get under his skin. He just wished he could go back to John who understood him.
“How did you walk out unscathed?” Graham asks.
Paul looks at his nagging peer, licking his lips, “Practicing dueling comes in handy. You should try it sometime, Black.” He says and there's a series of “ooo’s” throughout the room. Paul starts heading towards his dormitory, he has lots of homework to get finished.
But Graham is blocking his way, and he grabs Paul’s bicep as he starts to walk by, stopping him in his place. “You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with that Lennon.” He says loud enough for the other students to hear, but then he drops his voice to a whisper, muttering in John’s ear “I thought we told you not to associate with mudbloods.”
Paul’s blood heats up, and in a split second he’s drawing his shoulder back and punching Graham square in the face.
It’s a hard punch, and while it does a good number on the boy’s face, it hurts Paul knuckles like hell.
Everyone roars out in either excitement or total shock. That was very out of character for Paul. He’s obviously let John rub off on him.
Graham grabs his nose, which had started to bleed from impact. Paul couldn’t ignore the overwhelming rush of adrenaline he got from doing that. It felt good. He shakes his hand out, able to ignore the pain in his bones from punching so hard.
“Why you little-” Graham says through gritted teeth. He tries lurching himself at Paul, but he wasn’t expecting the punch and was feeling totally discombobulated, so he misses and Paul can dodge with ease.
Quickly, Margot is running to the fight. As Headgirl, she knew she had to put an end to it. “Enough, you two!” She yells shrilly. She grabs Graham, pulling him back, and two seventh-year Slytherins come to help break it up. Paul’s being restrained back now, his chest heaving and blood coursing through his veins.
“You betray your house. Your status!” Graham says between heaving breaths.
Paul scoffs, “You’ve got a lot of nerve, Black. Just call me a Blood Traitor while you’re at it.”
“Knock it off!” One of the seventh-years says. “Calm down, both of you.”
“Paul, don’t make a huge mistake.” Margot says in his ears, “I know how much you want Headboy.”
This subdues him. She was absolutely right. For so many students to see Paul lash out against another student was a bad look for him. He sighs, nodding. He pulls away from the seventh-year, straightening his tie and running his hand through his hair.
“Watch your mouth, Black.” Paul says one final time and finally leaves the scene, finally heading back to his dormitory.
It was going to be a long two weeks.
Notes:
Tumblr: @buttahpie
Also— I miss you guys and your comments/asks/interactions! I didn’t know taking a break would make you all SHUN ME.
Kidding. Obviously. Do what you want.
But also maybe talk to me again i miss you all
Chapter 29
Notes:
I call this chapter “Cozy Hogwarts Filler” AKA my attempt at making you all feel like you’re reading one of the OG books and you’re fifteen again.
Although… I’m very happy I’ll never be fifteen again…
Anyways. Enjoy. Love u
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
John walks through the corridors of the Defense Against the Dark Arts wing, his books held to his side. He felt like there were extra eyes on him today, and there probably were. Now that he had gone toe-to-toe with a real Dark Wizard and lived to tell the tale, everyone seemed fascinated by John.
But he tries keeping his head down. John didn’t need the extra attention, he didn’t really want it.
He rounded the corner to the entrance of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and to his surprise and despair, an Auror was positioned at the door.
All Aurors had a similar air to them. They were self-righteous, inconspicuously dressed, and one could see the years of experience they have worn on their faces. Whether it was from deep agelines or mysterious scars, Aurors had a typically badass presence about them.
At least that’s what John used to think about them. Until he learned how corrupt they really are. The system was broken, and Aurors who are meant to protect the people from harm were often the ones causing harm.
Well, if they were dealing with half-bloods or muggle-borns, that is. John hated how the Aurors made him feel when he was dealing with them. Like he was a terrible criminal, or a led-astray minority. And even if there was truth to that, the Auror system lacked empathy and compassion.
Sure, one could argue their training was just that good. But John will never understand why he was treated with so much vitriol and hatred by the Aurors when he was just a boy.
The scar on his side seemed to burn as he walked by the officer. He didn’t recognize this one, there were hundreds of them, after all. But just knowing what he was capable of made John feel queasy.
He just needed to get into class.
Besides, he missed Paul, and this would be the first time he’d seen him since they were separated in the Hospital. That gave John equal feelings of excitement and dread.
Excitement because Paul was quickly developing into his favorite person in the entire world.
Dread because he was going to have to ignore him the entire period.
Not to mention the factor of Graham Black being John’s new class partner.
John ignores the Auror as he walks through the door, although he was certain the Auror would know who John was. Between last year's mess and now this year’s antics, there was no way John’s face wasn’t a familiar one in the system.
He gets inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and his eye immediately goes to his regular table, anxious to get a glimpse of Paul.
Sure enough, the Slytherin prefect was seated in his regular spot, chatting quietly with Cynthia. He looked as handsome as ever, and John’s heart does a little flutter when he sees the boy.
It’s only been three days, but three horribly long days when John was used to seeing Paul every day.
John wants to walk up to Paul and talk to him, tell him about his weekend and how his leg was doing, but he knew he couldn’t. He knew there were eyes on him from all around.
So instead, John just finds his new seat, feeling dejected.
Graham was already seated, his long, black, curly hair pulled out of his face and tucked behind his ears as he reviewed his notes from last class. The last possible thing John Lennon wanted to do was sit next to someone who was known for hating John for two weeks. But he had no other choice.
He takes his seat, decidedly quiet. He didn’t have to talk to Graham, he just needed to lay low.
Graham looks at John from the corner of his eye, his lips pursed and pale skin stark against his jet-black hair. John felt uncomfortable, he kept his gaze fixed on Paul. That was a pro from this entire ordeal: he was three rows behind Paul now, and could spend entire class periods gazing at the back of his head.
Not that gazing at the back of someone’s head was particularly exciting, but if it was Paul’s head it couldn’t be so bad.
“Smells.” Graham says.
“Pardon?” John asks, unsure if he heard the boy correctly.
“I said it smells.” Graham says through his piercing blue eyes.
John raises an eyebrow, “Okay.” He didn’t want to give Graham any ammunition, no reason to bother him for the next two weeks. It was only four class periods, John could do that.
“Your blood. It smells.” Graham elaborates unprompted.
John sighs, tired. “I’m not going to play this game with you.”
Black shrugs, “No games here. Just the truth.”
It shouldn’t bother John as much as it does. Not after he’s spent an entire term letting Paul get under his skin like this. In Paul’s defense, he was actually clever with his methods. Graham was just being a bully.
John doesn’t engage again, he just opens up his textbook and tries focusing on the lesson.
Whittaker was lecturing about Dementors and the history of the Patronus charm (of which John was still struggling with. This Paul separation was doing no favors).
John tried writing notes, but he felt horribly self-conscious of Graham reading his notes and making assumptions about John.
John puts his arm around his book, hoping to cover his journal as best he can. He knows it probably looks suspicious, he tried not to care.
Thankfully, about halfway through the period, John catches Paul looking over his shoulder, finally giving John a much needed glance.
The effect it has on John’s mood should be studied. The two of them make eye-contact for no longer than two or three seconds before Paul turns back around, but it’s enough to make John relax and crack a smile. He even thinks he might be blushing.
John drops his head into one of his hands, feeling like a giddy bird from getting to see Paul’s eyes again. And of course, this meant that Paul had been thinking of John. He made the subconscious decision to turn around and look at John. Did he miss John as much as John missed him? John really hoped so.
Graham clears his throat, pulling John out of his daydream. John glances over at Graham, who was scribbling in his notes some strange shapes and patterns.
John cocks his head, Graham was a good artist to his surprise. In an empty page of his book, he had spent much time drawing out an elaborate symbol. It was designed to look like an old tattoo, and was shaded intricately. Graham Black had used a mixture of both pencil and ink to get the effect.
The drawing in question was that of a skull. It was very realistic and looked as though it was angry, despite it being a bone. But what stood out the most in the drawing was the large, winding snake that came out of the mouth of the skull. It was wrapped around itself and dropped down to look like the tongue of the skull. It was grim, and looked like a nasty gang symbol, but John couldn’t deny that it was well designed.
He wondered what it meant or symbolized—if anything. He didn’t doubt that the minds of twisted Slytherins and the House of Black were dark and unruly.
Graham catches John looking at it, and closes his book quickly, glaring at John.
“Mind your own business, Lennon.” Black says sharply.
John shakes his head with a scoff, looking away. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. If it’s such a secret, maybe don’t work on your doodles in class.”
And John knew he shouldn’t have said that, but it was out before he could think any differently. Graham scowls at John, and John makes a conscious effort not to look at the Slytherin boy in fear it would make him explode. He just keeps his eyes down, his skin feeling hot under the scrutinizing gaze of his peer.
The rest of class dragged on, and Paul hadn’t turned to look at John again once. But eventually the hour was up, and John was finally able to get away from the uncomfortable situation that was Graham.
He stands up the minute Whittaker dismisses the class, collecting his things. He had zero interest in any more interaction with Black.
But John would love to serendipitously run into Paul.
He makes an effort to linger on his way out, try to let Paul catch up to him from the front of the classroom. But Paul had gone up to speak with Professor Whittaker about something at the end of class. It could have been any number of things, but John assumed it was something to do with his teacher's-aide responsibilities.
Paul and Whittaker talk for a long time, and soon there are only a handful of students left in the class. John knew he probably couldn’t waste any more time without looking suspicious, and eventually only two other Slytherin girls were on their way out of the class. John knew Paul would be following the rules regardless, and after one final glance at the back of Paul’s neatly combed hair, he decides to leave.
It shouldn’t make John feel as irritated as it did, but he couldn’t suppress the frustration he feels as he leaves the class. This whole rule was stupid anyways, and John couldn’t see how it could possibly benefit anyone.
He huffs on his way out of class, completely ignoring the Auror who was still standing guard as he heads to his next class.
“Well, it’s probably going to scar.” Madam Merriweather says with a tut as she looks over John’s leg. John was alright with that, he has enough scars. What’s one more? “But it’s healed well. Any pain when you walk?”
He shakes his head. When he put his weight on his left leg for too long, it started to ache a bit, but he really wasn’t concerned about that.
“Well good, then.” Merriweather takes a droplet and a vial and squeezes a few more drops onto the wound. It was a mixture of some healing herbs and oils, and it gave John’s legs a cooling sensation as it touched his skin. “You don’t need to come visit me again unless it starts hurting again. Be careful at Quidditch, and stay out of trouble.” She says matter-of-factly, collecting her things and exiting out of the pulled partition so John could readjust his clothing.
He pulls his trousers back up, covering the scar on his upper-thigh. John messily tucks back in his button-up and uniform sweater-vest, grabbing his books and stepping out of the partition.
“All good?” Elliot asks, standing from the vacant bed next to the partition.
John nods, “Let’s go eat, I’m starved.”
Since John and Paul have been forced to be separated, John’s found himself spending more and more time with Elliot. It was nice to be back with his childhood best friend, but the both of them had an unexplained discomfort between the two of them.
Elliot knew that kissing John would complicate things, and no matter how much he tried to move on and act like nothing had happened, both of them could feel the unspeakable tension in all they did.
“What spell was it?” Elliot asks as they walk to the Great Hall.
John shrugs, “I haven’t any idea.” He admits. “There was a lot of non-verbal casting happening. I didn’t even feel it hit me. Paul thinks it was Lacero. ”
Elliot hums, “You’re a badass, you know that, right?” He asks, nudging John.
John chuckles uncomfortably, “I’m not, really. Paul carried me through that fight. He walked out without a scratch.”
“Maybe not a physical scratch.” Elliot suggests, “But he’s seemed totally off recently.”
“Well, they’re making us act like we don’t know each other.” John says with a scoff. “Says it will cause an uproar if we’re seen together.”
Elliot shrugs, “I can see their thought process. I think they just want everyone to lay low for a little while. I mean it’s mad with all these Aurors about. Mum is worried sick.”
“So they have to punish Paul and I?” John asks while they walk down the grand staircase, almost to dinner.
Elliot stops in his steps, and John walks down about three stairs before turning about to see what the hold up was. Elliot stood motionless, looking at John with his lips pursed.
“Are you and Paul… together?” He asks.
John stutters on air, looking to see if anyone unwanted might be listening in. “What?”
“Don’t bullshit me.” Elliot shakes his head, “Are you two together?”
“Like… are we dating?” John asks dumbly.
Elliot sighs, “Yes John. Are you dating?”
John laughs nervously, because he didn’t really know the answer to this question himself. “No.”
“No?”
“No.” John looks up at Elliot. “We’ve never really talked about it. I don’t think we’re… I don’t know.” John rubs his eyebrow, “Paul sometimes gives me mixed signals.” He admits.
“Like what?” Elliot walks down to John’s step, and they can continue on to dinner together.
John shrugs, “He doesn’t want our other friends to know we’ve been hanging out alone.”
“His other friends? Black and Pritchard?” Elliot asks.
“Absolutely not.” John shakes his head, he knew Paul secretly hated both of those gits. “George Harrison from Ravenclaw and Ringo Starr from Hufflepuff.”
Elliot raises his eyebrow, “Ringo?”
John nods.
Elliot hums, “Isn’t he… y’know.” He trails off. John cocks his head, unsure of what Elliot was getting at. Elliot continues, “He’s trouble y’know. Has all those problems with… substances and what not.”
“What?” John furrows his brow. He hadn’t heard much about that, except for Arthur disapproving of John’s friendship with Ringo. But he thought that was just Artie’s pure-blood arrogance seeping through. It happened to the best of pure-bloods, their pomposity being so deeply-ingrained it was hard to avoid.
But then, John remembers the strange tablets Ringo gave him weeks ago. The baggy was now shoved underneath John’s bed, he hasn’t touched it since. And John remembers when he was in the Slug Club and George showed up to dinner late, mentioning to Paul that there was something wrong with Ringo.
John had no idea what Elliot was getting at, though. Ringo wasn’t dangerous, he was just a friendly lad who maybe wasn’t the most put-together.
Elliot sighs, “It’s no matter. I didn’t know Paul hung out with him. He doesn’t seem to be of his…status.” Elliot decides he better change the subject, “What else does Paul do? To give you mixed signals?”
John shrugs, “He deflects anytime I ask him about what we are. He wants us to be alone, but always invites the others instead. And when we…” John tapers off, not sure if he was ready to say anything about having Paul’s tongue in his mouth out loud, much less to Elliot.
“When you what?” Elliot pries.
John sighs, “Y’know. When we…” John whispers, “-er-snog.. it never goes anywhere.”
Elliot snorts out in laughter as they turn the corner to the entrance hall into the Great Hall.
“What’s so funny?!’ John asks, feeling horribly embarrassed now.
Elliot sighs and they stop just before the doorway to the Hall, “You say it like it’s a dirty secret!”
“It is a dirty secret!” John rolls his eyes, walking inside to the Gryffindor table. “We’re supposed to be enemies, he was basically dating Jane last term, and we’re both boys.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Elliot asks. “That you’re both boys?”
John shakes his head, “I don’t know. I’m still figuring it all out. It’s not like being queer is the most celebrated thing.” John knew his feelings for Paul weren’t dirty or wrong, but he was still exploring his own identity, and he was terrified of being outcasted any more than he already was. It would be so much easier if Paul was just a girl, then John could kiss and hold Paul whenever and wherever he pleased.
But John liked that Paul wasn’t a bird. He liked his distinctly masculine features and traits, they’re just what made John so crazy for him.
The two boys sat at the table, they were the first of their friend group to come down for dinner. Arthur and Collette would be here any time.
“So, when you say it doesn’t go anywhere, what do you mean?” Elliot asks again as he pours himself a cup of tea.
John can feel his face go bright red, “Stop! You tosser.” John shakes his head, reaching for a roll.
“I’m just curious!” Elliot laughs, “Lila wouldn’t let me do anything for the longest time. It wasn’t until last week she finally took her top off.”
“I can’t do this.” John covers his face with his hands. He felt like Arthur in this situation, who hated any type of uncomfortable conversation.
“What is it even like snogging a bloke?” Elliot asks nonchalantly, whether he was aware of how he was embarrassing John or not was unclear. “I mean I’ve certainly thought about it, fantasized about it. But you’re the only lad I’ve ever-”
“Oh my God, stop. Please.” John says with a groan.
Elliot laughs, realizing the game. “Alright, alright. But it would be good for you to get it out. You know I won’t judge you.”
John supposed he had a point, but he didn’t dare entertain it.
At that moment, Collette comes to sit next to Elliot, across from John. “Hello boys!” She says warmly, her bright red hair pulled into a neat plait. She notices John’s discomfort and embarrassment, and looks between her two friends, “What’s all the fuss about?”
“John’s informing me what it’s like to snog with Paul McCartney.” Elliot says smugly.
John’s face turns bright red as he grabs a dinner roll and throws it at Elliot’s face. He then drops his face into his hands, feeling utterly humiliated.
Collette’s eyes light up, “Oh! Do tell.”
“He was just letting me know that it ‘never goes anywhere’.” Elliot teases, rolling his eyes.
“Doesn’t go anywhere!? Is he at least a good kisser?” Collette asks, lacing her fingers together and resting her chin on them, a mischievous smile stretching across her face.
“Enough. I hate both of you.” John groans, still hiding his face out of embarrassment.
Collette and Elliot chuckle together, “I can’t say I can see Prefect-Paul snogging with anyone.” College says as she starts loading her plate.
“Maybe it hasn’t happened and Johnny is lying.” Elliot shrugs.
John’s feeling angry now, his neck heating up and cheeks burning, “I’m not lying.” He says sternly, “And you two are bloody gits for teasing me.” John’s tone is stern, and Elliot and Collette finally subside for a moment, aware that maybe they have offended their friend.
Thankfully, Arthur finally joins the table, sitting next to John and silencing the uncomfortable conversation with his presence. Arthur didn’t know anything about John and Paul’s romance. He was only aware of them becoming friends after the winter break. John wasn’t sure if he was ready for Arthur or anyone else to know. Not if they were going to behave like Elliot and Collette.
The table goes recognizably quiet when Arthur sits, and all that can be heard among the other Gryffindors is Collette loudly sipping on her cup of tea.
Artie looks around dumbly, “Don’t all speak at once…”
There’s a long beat of silence. Elliot exhales deeply, and John clears his throat.
“We were just discussing Quidditch practice starting up again.” Elliot says simply.
Collette nods, “It can’t come soon enough. This has been the longest winter of my life.”
John feels like he can breathe again, and he politely smiles and nods as the conversation about Quidditch blossoms. He can’t imagine Arthur would be very accepting of John and Paul. In fact, John doesn’t think anyone on the Quidditch team would like that he’s spending more and more time with the captain of their rival team.
He’s just thankful Elliot hasn’t made a big scene about it yet.
John was really starting to miss Paul.
It had been a full week now since they were together in the Hospital wing, and truthfully, John was unsure if he could make it another seven days.
At least Quidditch has started again, and the snow has finally let up. It was still biting cold outside, but any sign of a powerful Wizard casting a blizzard spell over Hogwarts seems to have gone away with the presence of the Aurors.
The sun had started to shine again, and it made the blanket of snow throughout the grounds shine and glimmer like glitter. The days even felt a bit longer than they did a month ago, and the entire school seemed to itch with spring-fever.
But what was making John miss Paul the most was that Valentine’s Day was in just two days, and the entire school seemed to be sick with crushes and love.
Heart-shaped decorations were strung throughout the Gryffindor common room, courtesy of Emilia Longbottom and Ariel Prewett, two fourth-years who were simply buzzing with the idea of romance.
There was an overwhelming energy of youthful giddiness everywhere John went, and he even thought he could smell the brewing of love potions around every corner.
It just made him scoff and roll his eyes.
He never cared for Valentine’s Day before. Didn’t even think about it last year when he was tied up with the Ministry. Before this year, romance never even crossed John’s mind. He was never a lovesick type.
But this year, he feels starkly aware of all the couples around him. Peter and Katherine were basically secretly dating (hiding under Elliot’s nose, trying not to break the no-dating-teammates rule), Cynthia and Dorian were still the it-couple of the school (much to John’s distaste), Elliot was spending all his free time with Lila, and even Arthur had been on several proper dates with Perdita from Hufflepuff.
Normally, it wouldn’t bother John. But all he could do was think about Paul.
While John’s friends were off exchanging love notes and sending enchanted paper-cranes or magic flower-petals, John was stuck in the common-room studying.
In fact, John reckons he’s never felt this lonely before. Everyone seemed to rub-in his face that he was very much by himself.
Even George had Pattie, who John saw basically sitting in eachother’s laps in the corridor the other day. Ringo was nowhere to be seen these days, John only ever saw him when Paul and George were involved, and ever since his conversation with Elliot on the grand staircase, he wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about the lad. Regardless, even Ringo talked about a ‘Mo’ back home in Liverpool he can’t wait to get back to.
Everyone was coupled up but him.
But if John could be with Paul, at least the two of them could spend their alone time together. Up in the Astronomy Tower, or maybe stealing private moments in quiet corridors and abandoned greenhouses. Of course, John couldn’t show his affection for Paul quite as publicly as all of his peers, but at least he wouldn’t feel quite so isolated.
John found himself wondering if Paul was feeling the same way. Were Paul’s other friends going on romantic dates and staying up late together, leaving him alone to study in the Slytherin common-room?
Did Paul have the same disdain for Valentines? Feeling completely lonesome and irritated by the rose-bombing and butterfly charms that fluttered around the heads of teens in love?
Or did Paul like Valentine’s Day? Was he charmed by the colors, scents and shapes associated with the holiday?
Did Paul miss John as much as John missed him?
Did Paul smell John when Slughorn passed around a vial of Amortentia potion in class the other day?
He very much hoped so.
Because John smelled Paul.
“I hate this holiday.” Collette sits down next to John with an exacerbated huff. They were on the sofa in front of the fireplace.
John groans, “You and I both.” At least Collette wasn’t coupled-up. Although John’s noticed she’s been spending more time with a pretty black girl from Ravenclaw, and her finger-nails were shorter than usual. He pushed away the thought.
Collette hums, “I reckon you won’t be spending it with Paul?”
John shakes his head slowly, “No, we’re still in time-out.”
“I see.” Collette chuckles, “Good work in practice today. It’s impossible to see with the sun reflecting on the snow like that.” She sighs. The reflection of the bright-white light was the worst part of Quidditch this time of year. They were preparing for their up-coming Quidditch match against Slytherin. It was one of the biggest games of the year, but John primarily looked forward to it because at least he and Paul could be seen together for the duration of the game again. Maybe they could have a conversation in the air, or at least look at one another without fear of being spied on.
John didn’t feel much like talking, and he was almost done reading this chapter on the Obdormio charm. Collette picks up on it, and sighs.
“You miss him?”
John sets his book down, “Would you judge me if I said I did?” He asks.
Collette chortles, “Of course not. You really like him, don’t you?” She asks.
John shrugs, he didn’t like talking about it. Of course he really liked Paul, he wanted to spend every waking moment with him. But that was private, and John wasn’t ready for anyone else to know that. “Sure.”
Collette smiles, “Alright.” And she stands up, dropping the subject and heading out of the common room. John wasn’t sure why, he didn’t need to be. He sticks his nose back in his book.
As he reads, Emilia Longbottom comes into the common room, crying profusely and rather loudly. John tries ignoring it, but she’s very upset. He slouches down on the sofa, hoping to keep his cover. He looks up at the portrait above the fireplace, making eye-contact with the scholar depicted.
The painting looks surprised, and holds his finger up to his mouth to encourage John to stay quiet. John nods, and then the painting runs out of his frame, not wanting to deal with the adolescent drama.
John curls into himself, and then he hears another person enter the room.
“He’s a fool, Emilia!” It’s Ariel Prewett. “Any boy in his right mind would see you’re a catch!”
John feels a smile crack on his face. Young love was so entertaining sometimes. He stays quiet as the two girls discuss at length the massive mistake Beau McCormack was making. He’s relieved when they eventually go to their dormitory to finish their conversation, and John can sit up again.
There’s another thirty-or-so minutes before anyone new comes into the common room, and John looks up to see Collette again.
“Where did you run off to?” John asks, having finished his reading and was now noodling on his guitar.
Collette has a playful smile on her face, her hand behind her back, and comes up to sit next to John. “I brought you something.”
“Did you?” He asks, setting his instrument down, he hasn’t played for a while.
She nods, pulling her hands around to show a little paper box in her hands. “It’s from a ‘stuck-up lad who tries too hard’.” She quotes John.
John smiles wide, giving Collette a knowing look, “Did you give him this idea?” He asks.
She shrugs, looking away mischievously, “Here!” She shoves the folded-box into John’s hand.
John looked around, making sure no one he didn’t like was around, suddenly feeling very sheepish. He looks to the box, and unfolds the top. As the box is opened, a little sparkler shoots out. It was small and it wasn’t hot, because it was a charm rather than a real fire. But it shone brightly and sparkled in John’s eyes. When it burns out, John can see at the bottom of the little box was a note.
He reaches in and takes it out, setting the little box on his lap as he reads.
John,
Happy Valentine’s Day from me and little Sputnik.
J.P.M.
He can’t contain his glee, and he reads over the short but sincere note a few times. His memory is soft as he remembers telling Paul about Sputnik all those months ago, and was enamored by Paul’s depiction of the satellite. The real thing was nothing like a beautiful sparkler, but he liked Paul’s idea of it even better.
John was especially fond of how Paul signed the note. No one knew his first name was James, at least no one who they could get in trouble by. This didn’t break the rules, technically. If no one knew Paul sent John a letter, no one would have any reason for suspicion between the two of them.
James was John and Paul’s little secret.
“You’re a peach.” John says to Collette, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. She just winks at him.
“Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you.”
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
(Thank you for all the comments sorry I came off like a needy situationship)
Chapter Text
Every time John tried to run into Paul, it didn’t work.
He lingers during breakfast, hoping to bump into the prefect. But Paul must have been coming to eat early. John hated how it felt intentional, like Paul was purposefully trying to avoid him.
John sticks around the transfiguration courtyard before lunch, but Paul must be taking a different route. It frustrates John that Paul was being so deliberate.
He makes a visit to Professor Whittaker’s office when he knows Paul usually works, but the classroom was locked up.
John wanders by the Slytherin dungeon, but doesn’t even see a Slytherin going in or out of their common room.
He even stuck around to watch the Slytherin Quidditch practice one day, but Elliot made a fuss about them having dinner together as a team so they could go over plays together.
Paul wasn’t even in the Astronomy Tower in the middle of the night anymore. And John had gone to check many times. Almost every night over the last week of their separation John made a visit to their special place.
But Paul was never there.
It felt deeply personal, and John tried convincing himself it wasn’t. He knew that Paul was a goody-two-shoes, that he would follow any rule set in place. Especially if it was put in place by the Headmaster himself. Plus, there were eyes and ears everywhere. Even if they tried sneaking around, there was always someone or something watching for them. The portraits had been assigned to keeping an eye on the two boys, along with of course the many Aurors running rampant on Hogwarts grounds, and every faculty member made an effort to keep the boys apart in their classes. Even Slughorn had given a new seating-chart in Potions so they were on opposite ends of the room.
It was starting to get incredibly frustrating.
Even in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Paul would only look back and smile at John once, if he was lucky. Then at the end of class, he was meeting with Whittaker or hustling out of the room before John could bump into him.
He was so irritated. Not only was this rule stupid, but Paul was too obedient to be any fun. What could have been an exciting two weeks of sneaking around has become the most boring, isolating weeks of John’s life.
Well, maybe not his whole life. He was in prison for a time, after all.
But these two weeks have really shown John how much he actually enjoyed Paul’s company. Even if they were irritating the hell out of one another. No one pushed John’s buttons like Paul, but that was because no one understood John quite like Paul.
If it wasn’t for the Valentine Paul had sent John, the Gryffindor’s insecurities would have surely turned into disdain and anger. That box was the only thing that kept John sane. He would open it and read the note every night, just to feel some semblance of normalcy, like Paul was still here with him. If John didn’t have it to alleviate his anxieties, he surely would have convinced himself that Paul hated him by now. That all of this was fake, and Paul never really cared for John like he had believed he did.
But that little J.P.M. was enough to keep John’s head screwed on straight.
Thank God it was almost over. There were only a few days left before they could start seeing eachother again. Wednesday was finally the last day of the two weeks, and on Thursday they could be together again.
John fantasized about finally being with Paul again. He thought about getting to talk with him, to laugh with him, to just be around him. He’d like to kiss Paul, too. He was starting to feel like a wound-up clock that needed to let out some steam. And ever since his humiliating talk with Collette and Elliot at dinner last week, John’s realized that he wanted to go further with Paul.
He had no idea if Paul wanted that, and he would never push that on him. But if anything, being completely separated from Paul for two full weeks has certainly proved to John that he really liked kissing and touching Paul. He was only 17, after all, and when John usually could go and blow off some steam at a victory party or a lake bonfire, he was forced to a life of celibacy over these last two weeks.
John hated it, and he was ready for it all to be over.
But lucky for John, it was the day of the Gryffindor versus Slytherin match.
This was the biggest game of the year. Every house knew the weight of the rivalry, and the hype surrounding this game went back literal centuries.
But to John, it was his chance to finally have some interaction with Paul.
Regardless, the entire school was buzzing with excitement. Everyone wore either red or green, even the houses that weren’t participating. The buzz around the game was palpable. Several Professors had to take points away in their classes in the previous week because of everyone’s behavior surrounding the match.
It was a highlight of the year, and at the tail-end of winter it was the perfect time to have it.
John had even heard of a secret betting war going on between some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. And on top of that, there was a secret party being held in the Room of Requirement for the winners, put on by Hufflepuff themselves.
Elliot had been especially harsh on the team this week. Losing to Slytherin would be social suicide, and Elliot wasn’t taking any risks. They had practiced double this week alone.
But it felt good, despite the soreness. It was the perfect distraction for John from his insatiable pining for the Slytherin seeker.
The energy in the Gryffindor locker room was completely different from how it had been during their first match back in the fall. Everyone was practically buzzing with excitement, feeling the palpable spirit of Gryffindor as they all got ready for the match.
This was the match of the season. It always was.
“Alright.” Elliot stands in front of the team, looking locked in and ready. “We all know how important this game is. If we win today, we’ll be basically guaranteed a spot in the match for the cup this year.”
John sat in between Collette and Arthur, trying to focus on what Elliot was saying but being obviously distracted by the fact he would finally be interacting with Paul.
Part of him hoped it would be a quick game, but the more primal side of him hoped it dragged on, just so he could be around Paul.
They do a final team cheer, and before John knows it, the Gryffindor Quidditch team is blazing onto the pitch in a blur of scarlet and gold. The crowd roars for them, and John is hooked on the rush of energy. Adrenaline and excitement flow through his veins, inspiring him as the team hypes up the Hogwarts student body.
The Quidditch stands were packed to the brim. This match always had the highest attendance, and it was clear that people were fighting for room to see what was sure to be a memorable game.
Soon after, the Slytherin team is flying out, and they’re met with an equal amount of praise and valor. John’s eye immediately goes to Paul, who was leading the pack as they flew over the stands, bright green smoke bursting behind them.
John couldn’t help the smirk on his face. This was going to be fun.
Hyde calls the start of the game, Elliot and Paul shake hands, the rules are shortly reviewed, and with a blow of the whistle, the snitch is released and the game is on.
John gets distracted by how Paul glides through the air at first, but he’s quickly pulled back into the game, remembering he had a job to do.
Slytherin starts with possession, and John immediately flies down to play defense. He’s hyper-aware of every move he makes, knowing that Paul was probably watching everything he did.
John felt an insatiable urge to show off because of that. So he starts the game with the vigor of a professional Quidditch player, just give Paul a show.
Elliot blocks the first Slytherin shot, which is met by a series of cheers and groans from the crowd. Collette gets the quaffle, and with a new-found speed she zooms down the field.
Collette makes a hand signal to run “Werewolf”. A new play she and Elliot came up with over the Quidditch break. They’ve executed it dozens of times in practice, but John still had a few doubts it would work out.
He flies down to do his part of the play, still feeling that intense need for Paul’s attention with every calculated movement. He didn’t even know where Paul was right now, and chances are he wasn’t even looking at John, but rather the snitch (like he was supposed to). But John didn’t care, he’d take the extra motivation while he had it.
John flies to Collette’s left, veering hard to a nose dive that throws Collette’s defender off her trail, heading down for John. Peter flies up and circles around Collette in a seriously impressive manoeuvre.
Collette throws the quaffle up to Peter, who catches it upside-down and then throws it hard to John, who had snuck up behind Peter’s defender. John now had all three Slytherin chasers trailing behind him, which meant he had to fly hard and fast.
Luckily, he was the fastest flier on the Gryffindor team, and with his speed distracting all three chasers, Peter and Collette were both wide open, taking on each open hoop.
John chooses Collette, just cause he was closer with her, and she sinks the quaffle right into the goal.
10-0.
The crowd loses it, and John laughs in delight. That play was epic, and the Slytherin team had no idea what was coming for them.
The entire match proceeded to be played at that pace. Each team had brought out their very best plays and had their absolute strongest players making their most impressive moves. The game was so fast-paced that even John had moments where he got a bit turned-around, but he always got right back on track.
It was Hogwarts Quidditch at its very finest.
The score had stayed impossibly tight, too. It wasn’t until Slytherin was up 70-60 that John finally caught wind of what Paul was up to.
In fact, John was pushing the quaffle down to the goals when he noticed Paul was flying right next to him, keeping up with John at an impressive closeness.
John does a double-take, noticing that it wasn’t another chaser or beater to worry about.
Paul was smirking at John, his head completely turned to look at him as he flew parallel to the Gryffindor. John got totally distracted by it, obsessed with being close to Paul at all that he got knocked over by a Slytherin Chaser, the quaffle falling out of his hands.
John realizes that Paul was part of that play. A dirty defensive move to change possession.
He swears at himself and then can’t decide if he’s absolutely pissed or a bit enamored by Paul who flies away. John swears he saw Paul wink at him. If anything, it fires up John more.
“Fine, if that’s how you want to play!” He yells at Paul, having no idea if he heard him.
John brings on his a-game at that. He’s ready to play just as cheekily, and he goes to score two goals for Gryffindor in a row after that.
The next he runs into Paul is when he’s playing defense, Gryffindor up 100-90.
Paul must have caught sight of the snitch, because Arthur is chasing after Paul hard, the two of them caught in a fast race through the pitch close to the ground. John sees as they zoom past him, and he’s tempted to fly down and assist Arthur, but he holds himself back. That wasn’t his fight to win.
Slytherin eventually calls a time out, and the Gryffindor team meets in the air by their goals. The score, 110-90.
“Let’s keep this lead!” Elliot says when everyone catches up.
“Everyone’s playing so well!” Katherine says, adjusting her wrist-sleeve. “Sorry I almost let that beater get you, Pete.”
“No worries.” He shrugs, “Good shot back there, Carter.”
Collette smiles, “Alright let’s stay focused.”
“Yes.” Arthur says, panting, “I’ve seen the snitch twice but that McCartney is faster than me. He sticks to my side and waits for me to catch sight of it before going in. It’s bloody irritating.”
“Talk about working smarter, not harder.” Collette chuckles.
“What can we do to assist you?” Elliot asks.
“Get McCartney off my tail.” Arthur says, “If he wasn’t riding my dick I could have caught it by now.”
John can’t help the smile that cracks on his face when Arthur says that.
“You got it.” Elliot says. “Lance? Get Paul off his trail. John, you help, too.”
John nods, him and Lance making eye-contact and non-verbally agreeing to get the job done. John would love nothing more than to make Paul’s game a little more interesting.
He can’t help but feel that competitiveness that used to rule their entire relationship resurface. Paul was always pushing John, always expecting more of him. John was ready to give it. Nothing worked him up quite like Paul.
Hyde blows the whistle, and the time-out is called.
It’s only a few more moments before the action starts up again. Collette calls a special play where Katherine acts as a chaser so John can help get McCartney out of the picture.
John flies high up, looking for where Paul was.
Paul and Arthur were close, down by the Hufflepuff faculty booth. John nods, and nose-dives right down to where they were.
He aims for right in between the two seekers, cutting through the very small space between them at a rapid pace, throwing them both to the side.
Paul yells out, steadying himself on his broom and glaring at John, who was the one laughing now.
John knew Paul too well. He knew that would ruffle Paul’s feathers, and he couldn’t help himself from running after John. Of course he did. That’s just how Paul was. If John did something better than Paul, Paul would just have to one-up him.
And just like that, Paul was engaging in a game of tag with John, who was doing everything in his power to keep Paul as far away from Arthur as possible.
They flew up into the stands, zooming above the heads of the spectators, who all screamed and shouted as they felt the wind of the boy’s brooms hit them. Then John flew hard into the center of the pitch, intercepting a play. Paul almost gets hit, and then John feels a bit bad.
Then, John stays low to the ground and flies right into the scaffolding of the stands, ducking back behind the colored-fabric for each house. Paul chases him through, the light dimmed and shaded by each house’s color.
“Lennon!” He screams out, but John keeps focused on the task, hoping it’s enough time for Arthur. “John!” Paul calls again, and the shouting of the crowd is drowned out enough down here. But John tries to ignore him yet again. “Johnny!” Paul finally yells a final time, and John looks back like a fool.
But the next thing that happens is John loses control of his broom, no longer focused on flying and totally distracted by Paul, and he runs right into a taut, dividing fabric between the Hufflepuff section and Slytherin section.
John hits it and then falls hard to the ground. The wind knocks out of him, and he groans.
Paul lands right next to him.
“Fuck, are you good!?” He asks, looking down at John.
John cracks a smile, and then manages to wheeze out, “Better now.”
Paul rolls his eyes and holds his hand out for John to grab. John does grab it, but then yanks Paul down on top of him.
He clutches Paul and then pulls him down into a sloppy, unpracticed kiss.
Paul can’t help but chuckle into it, but then quickly pulls away.
“You motherfucker!” He says, scrambling back onto his feet. “You’re sabotaging us! You prat!”
“I would never!” John says, aghast.
But then there’s an ear-splitting roar from the crowd, and they both know it’s happened.
Arthur caught the snitch and won the match.
“My inner-thighs are all bruised up.” Lance says with a hiss as he pulls off his gloves.
“Who cares!? We fucking won!” Peter says as they walk towards the locker room.
They were all buzzing. It was an epic finish to an epic game. The entire crowd had gone completely berserk for it.
Beating Slytherin felt better than anything. John felt especially proud of how he was able to assist. Tricking Paul was better than any goal he could have scored. He felt utterly giddy with this outcome.
Plus, he got to kiss Paul.
Regardless, Paul was not happy. He was mad at himself for falling for it. But not even he could stay upset with John and his winning grin as they walked out from under the stands.
The Gryffindor team partied alone for a while, jumping and shouting, feeling completely immortal for crushing their arch-enemies.
Inside the locker rooms, John got under the steaming water of the shower, sighing as it hit his frosty skin. He lets himself relax under the hot water as it rolls off his body, warming him up slowly but surely. He knew he was going to be up for a crazy night tonight.
He washes off any sweat and mud that caked onto his body as they played, and even after John was completely clean, he stayed under the water for a long time, just enjoying the feeling of its warmth. He hears as every other shower turns off, and eventually he’s the only person left in the showers. Everyone else spoke loudly and excitedly, each discussing the game and the glory they earned from it.
He stays there for a good while after that, until he’s sure no one else is in the locker rooms. He isn’t entirely sure why, he just needed a moment to clear his mind, to relax. To process that win. He could get used to an epic win like that.
After he’s soaked to the bone and his fingertips are all wrinkly, John turns off the steaming water.
He grabs one of the towels the house elves had left, drying himself off and running it through his messy, sandy-auburn hair. He runs the towel over his fresh scars on his thigh. Most of them had healed well, but the main cut was still red and angry.
John wished he could have a ciggy, but now that Quidditch had started again, he had to stay clean. After a game like that, he’d do anything for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
He wraps his towel loosely around his hips, walking out of the showers to go get dressed, whistling to himself.
John turns the corner to the locker room and is entirely expecting to be alone. But he’s startled when he sees that someone had been waiting for him.
The Gryffindor freezes in his tracks, looking at the frame of Paul McCartney, who stood there, waiting patiently. He was wearing his uniform still, but had taken off his outer robes, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
John swallowed thickly, his heart rate rising in an instant and his posture shifting. John’s suddenly very aware of how naked he is. There was nothing between him and Paul except for a towel, and John thought he was dizzy.
“Go Go Gryffindor.” Paul says smugly, probably not expecting to see John standing there practically naked.
John can feel the blush that tints his cheeks. He knows he should say something, but he can’t. His mouth suddenly feels very dry, and he feels very naked.
He clears his throat, “Couldn’t stay away, could ya?” He asks, cocking his head. John was desperately trying to play nonchalance, but really he was giddy at being alone with Paul after two weeks of isolation.
“I can always leave.” Paul shrugs, gesturing towards the door with his head. He takes a step to it, “If you’d prefer.” And Paul starts to turn around.
But John reaches out and grabs Paul’s wrist before he can escape, pulling him into his bare chest.
He and Paul are flush against one another, and Paul’s breathing hitches. John’s chest wasn’t totally dry and his hair was still dripping. He smirks as he looks at Paul’s lips. They were about the same height, but the way Paul pulled his frame into John’s made him feel small against his chest.
“The team’s pretty upset with me.” Paul admits. “It’s basically my fault we lost that match.”
John sighs, “You’re upset with me?”
Paul raises an eyebrow, “If I was upset with you, would I be here right now?” He asks, cocking his head. John supposed he was right, and he pulled him in even closer. They were breathing the same air now.
“Can I kiss you?” John asks Paul.
Paul bites his lip and nods.
John takes it slow. Slower than he ever has before.
He indulges in every movement of Paul’s lips against his. He melts into Paul’s mouth, and he kisses deliberately. They aren’t rushed, they have no reason to be. There were no other students here, no one to ruin this for them.
John felt like a king in this moment.
Paul wraps his arms around John’s neck, John holds onto Paul’s waist and hips. Their rhythm is slow and sultry, and they take a long time before introducing their tongue.
And not feeling Paul’s tongue against his own for two weeks was far too long for John. The kiss deepens, but it’s still slow and calculated.
John fiddles with the hem of Paul’s sweater, pulling it up over his head. Paul lets him, and they break the kiss for just a moment to get it over his face. They look at one another through hooded eyes at that moment before continuing their slow-paced kissing.
Then John is working at each one of Paul’s buttons on his uniform with minor coordination he and Paul work together to pull off the shirt. When they get to the final few buttons they get impatient and Paul just rips it over his head.
And so, they both stand there, topless and sweaty. They don’t kiss again right away, and just look at one another with heaving chests.
John’s eyes study Paul’s torso. He looked much healthier than he did a few months ago in the hospital with pneumonia. His ribs were no-longer visible and his lean-frame was softer.
Paul was stunning to John, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and feeling his chest with the light tips of his fingers. Paul shudders at the feeling.
John’s fingers drag down to Paul’s waistband, and he hooks his fingers under before yanking Paul closer to him by his hips. John keeps his hands on the other boy’s waistband as he leans in and starts kissing him again.
This time it’s hungrier, needier and so good.
They messily start snogging, kissing into one another hard and hot, heavy as they lick into the other’s mouth. Paul wraps his fingers in John’s hair, yanking and tugging in his drying hair. John lets out the lightest groan and wraps his arms around to squeeze Paul’s ass. He grasps and pulls at the meat there, kneading it between his veiny hands. Paul gasps at that, and John uses it to lick into Paul’s mouth dirtily.
He pulls Paul’s hips into his as close as he can, so they can each feel their desire for the other person.
Paul was hard, that was no question. And it was painfully obvious that John was rock-hard, too. There was a definite tent in the towel now, which got looser and looser on his waste.
They rub against one another. It’s inexperienced and lusty. They each tilt and angle themselves in any way they can to get any and all friction they can.
It’s electrifying, and John’s feeling so sensitive. He needed more. He grabs Paul’s ass tighter and yanks him in as much as he can, needing all pressure the Slytherin is willing to give.
It was so juvenile, in a way. Like a teen humping their pillow. And yet it felt better than anything.
Paul fumbles with the button his trousers, and John tries helping him but his hands are shaking, and so he just ends up bumping Paul’s bulge with his hand, and Paul moans at it. Really moans.
“Fuck.” John says under his breath, and captures Paul’s swollen lips in a wet kiss. He decides to reach his hand down Paul’s trousers, trying not to overthink.
He doesn’t reach into Paul’s boxers, and instead decides to rub Paul’s hard cock through his cotton underwear. Paul sighs, and John feels dizzy. He wraps his hand around it as best as he can, trying to still kiss Paul through it. He jacks Paul off through his boxers and Paul clings to him, dropping his head on John’s shoulder and kissing his neck, shoulder, collarbones and anything he can get his mouth on.
Paul sucks a deep, dark hickey into John’s shoulder, right where the skin is the most sensitive at the base of his neck.
John’s mind was spinning. He was touching the cock of another bloke. And they were both loving it. Paul’s boxers were damp with precum, and John makes the decision to reach his hand into Paul’s boxers, wrapping each of his slender fingers around Paul’s stiffy.
Paul moans again at that, crying into John’s shoulder. John starts an uncoordinated jerking motion, loving the weight of Paul’s cock in his hand. His hand was pretty dry, but Paul’s precum made up for it. John swipes his finger over the slit, smearing Paul’s slick over himself. John was so hard himself he thought he might cum from this alone. It helped that Paul was sighing in John’s ear and clawing at his back.
The towel wrapped around John’s hips was getting dangerously loose, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was getting Paul off, and by the sounds of the lad, he sounded close.
“Fuck, John.” Paul groans, his forehead sweaty and pressed against John’s shoulder. “I’m gonna-”
“Go on. Cum in my hand.” John kisses Paul’s temple and that’s what does it.
Paul spills into John’s hand, making a mess in his boxers and groaning out in ecstasy as he does. John’s breathing hitches and he’s close himself from nothing but the sounds and touch of Paul.
John pulls his hand out of Paul’s pants, and it’s covered in his spunk.
“Shit.” John swallows.
“Sorry.” Paul chuckles, feeling lighter from his post-orgasm endorphins.
John wipes it on his towel, not sure if he’s ready to do anything else yet.
But before he can say or do anything else, Paul’s hand is shooting past the towel wrapped around his waist and gripping around John’s cock.
John gasps and stutters, not prepared for the sensation. Paul is fast and twists his wrist expertly as he returns the favor for John. John sighs and gasps over and over again with each pump.
The towel gets looser and looser and after one particularly strong pump of Paul’s wrist, it loosens enough to fall off John’s hips, leaving him completely naked and at the total expense of Paul.
Paul looks down at John’s cock. It was glistening and red-hard. Paul bites his lip, and his pace picks up. John isn’t going to last much longer.
“Let go. For me.” Paul whispers in John’s ear, and with no more coaxing, John cums hard into Pauls fist, a strained but loud groan squeezing out of his vocal chords as he spills. “That’s it.” Paul says, “Good boy.”
John thinks he might pass out, and his knees buckle. He needs to sit down, and he shakily clutches onto Paul. That was better than any jack-off or sex he’s ever had.
“Fuck, Paul.” John says.
Paul smirks and brings his hand up to his lips, keeping devious eye-contact with John as he licks his hand clean.
John’s ready to go again. He was utterly obsessed with Paul and couldn’t believe he had him.
“You’re amazing.” John says when Paul’s finished. They share another sloppy kiss, and John can taste himself on Paul’s lips.
They pull away and tuck themselves back in, putting everything back where it belonged and redressing.
Paul kisses John sweetly one more time when he’s redressed, “See you Thursday.” He winks and walks out of the locker room.
These were going to be the longest six days of John’s life.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 31
Notes:
Happy Sunday!
Sending you all good vibes and love as we finally enter the spring season! I’ve been writing this story for so long i can’t believe it’s already nice outside….I’m starting to write the very last chapter now, crazy!
Enjoy… and I’m sorry.
Just stick with me… okay?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tuesday morning they were all bundled up in the Viaduct Courtyard, John’s Gryffindor scarf wrapped tightly around his neck.
Collette, Arthur and John all laughed as they watched a group of Hufflepuff students playing pranks on one another. A mousey third year was hanging by his ankles as his friends (or enemies) levitated him.
John and his friends leaned up against the stone on the perimeter of the courtyard, enjoying the scene. A few other students had joined to see what was going on, and everyone laughed jovially as the poor bloke shouted in protest.
“What do you reckon he did?” Arthur asks.
Collette shrugs, “I think I’ve seen him watching Quidditch practice before.”
John laughs as they drop him in the snow. He gets up like a good sport, brushing snow off his robes.
“Let’s go, it’s almost time for practice.” John beckons his friends with his head, but as they step away, there’s a shrill scream heard from across the courtyard.
The three Gryffindors snapped their heads to see what was going on.
A young Ravenclaw girl ran to the Viaduct Courtyard from the boathouse stairs screaming bloody murder.
“A Dark Wizard! Down in the boathouse!” She screams, running messily through the courtyard. There’s a series of gasps as the other students in the courtyard start scattering, trying to get back inside.
John instantly feels a pull to protect, and he abandons Arthur and Collette as he runs to the scene. Always the reckless hero, John was.
“John!” Collette yells out.
He made his way over to the Ravenclaw, she was shaking and tears were in her eyes. John’s handled a Dark Wizard before, he could do it again. “Where?”
“Down in the boathouse!” She cries, pointing in the direction of the house.
John wastes no time, he starts to the stairs, carefully running down the icy steps as he pulls out his wand. His heart raced, and he didn’t stop to think about what was really happening. He didn’t even question if she was telling the truth.
He didn’t care. The Dark Wizards were after him, and it was up to John to show them who they were really up against.
John starts running through spells, preparing himself for the absolute worst. He was surprised to hear a dark wizard could even get to the boathouse, although he reckoned the boathouse wasn’t technically considered “school grounds”.
He makes it to the bottom of the stairs, running at full speed to the house, no thinking as he runs straight into danger.
He was a Gryffindor, after all.
John bursts through the door, chest heaving and heart pounding as he expects to see another cloaked foe.
He looks around, and he’s completely alone. All he can hear is his breath and the soft lapping of water against the stone. The lake wasn’t frozen inside of the boathouse.
John walks around the perimeter of the room, on high-alert. He keeps his wand at the ready, and for the first time it crosses his mind that perhaps the Ravenclaw might have been overreacting. Or just straight-up lying.
But just as John is ready to let his guard down, he hears a bubbling from under the icy water.
He whips around to see what it was, and in a split instant a man is bursting out of the icy water, shooting up onto the dock as his cloak drips with water. He was in the same dark, heavy cloak as before, and had his face covered yet again by a skull mask.
John clenches his jaw and grips his wand, pulling it up and shouting “ Stupefy !”
The Dark Wizard blocks it with ease, they’re at point-blank battle distance. It’s too close to cast any powerful spells such as Incendio, so John has to make due with what is essentially hand-to-hand combat.
The enemy casts something at John, but he’s able to deflect it. John retaliates with Percutio . The other blocks and casts non-verbally at John yet again.
Luckily, John was able to keep up, but the casting is fast and messy. The two back eachother up into corners repeatedly, the sparring feeling like that of a fencing match rather than a well-practiced duel.
John snarls as he strikes again, first with Levioso and then quickly with Lacero, the awful spell he thinks was used on him back in the forest a few weeks ago.
The enemy groans out in pain, and he’s dropped from the air. John can catch his breath for a second as he looks at the Dark Wizard, who was getting up, stumbling on his leg which was now cut-up. John knew that was a dangerous spell, he could get in some serious trouble for casting it.
But it was on a Dark Wizard, wasn’t it? Not all rules apply there. Or at least they shouldn’t.
Regardless, it pulls John out of it. His anxiety settles in and he’s suddenly afraid he’s going to get in terrible trouble again.
The Wizard stands up, heaving and then before John can refocus, he’s hit with Expelliarmus, disarming him quickly. The Dark Wizard then hits John with a knockback jinx, and he hits his head against some stored boats as he falls to the ground.
Then, as John opens his eyes again after impact, the Dark Wizard is pulling his wand back and begins to say “ Crucio !”
But just as John braces for impact, prepared to feel the absolute worst pain and most unforgivable agony possible, a third voice is casting “ Expelliarmus! ”
The Dark Wizard’s wand flies out of his hand, and John looks up to see an Auror—accompanied by none other than Paul McCartney.
“ Flipendo!” Paul casts.
“ Incarcerous !” The Auror yells, and the enemy is entirely immobilized.
The Auror moves over the Dark Wizard, holding his wand to the neck of the Wizard. Paul runs over to John.
“Are you alright!?” Paul asks, chest heaving.
John cracks a smile, just happy to even see Paul again. “Never been better.”
Paul rolls his eyes, “You daft idiot, what were you thinking? Taking on a Dark Wizard on your own?” Paul says while he examines John. “You’re bleeding, right here.” Paul touches John’s temple, “S’not bad. Episkey. ” Paul casts. John feels drunk and giddy that he’s seeing Paul.
In runs another Auror and Professor Flint. “Are there any others?” The Auror asks.
The first Auror informs them there wasn’t anyone else, and he casts a spell that knocks out the Dark Wizard to keep him from struggling anymore. “We’ll take this one into the Ministry.” He says as he pulls the mask off his face, revealing the identity of the enemy.
John didn’t recognize him as he looked around Paul to get a glimpse. But by the looks of Paul, he wondered if maybe Paul knew who he was. He looked vaguely familiar, but John knew he hit his head pretty hard. The Aurors quickly cover him up from the students, and after a few words exchanged with Professor Flint, the Auror’s apparate out of the boathouse.
There’s a beat of silence, John catching his breath and Paul looking as though he’s just seen a ghost.
And then, “Alright you two, to the headmaster’s office we go.” Flint says, moving to help Paul stand up.
John sat impatiently, his leg bouncing up and down frantically as he waited outside of Headmaster Dippet’s office. The headmaster was meeting with Paul and Flint now, and John was forced to wait outside. They were still keeping the two of them separate, which just made John’s blood boil.
He leans forward, resting his arms on his knees as he waits.
He felt fine, and was able to convince Flint and Dippet that he didn’t need to go visit Madam Merriweather again. He just had a bit of a headache, which was worsening as he waited for Paul to come out of the office.
John was on the verge of a spiral, afraid this would restart his punishment. That he and Paul would have to endure another two weeks apart. John wished Paul hadn’t come to his aid. He didn’t even know Paul was in the area. Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe Paul heard John had recklessly thrown himself into trouble and came to make sure he was alright, which would have been very on brand for Paul.
He’d be lying if he denied Paul’s arrival made him happy. It made him downright giddy. Happy not only to see Paul again after two terribly long weeks, but relieved that he was saved from enduring the Cruciatus Curse yet again.
Finally, the door to Headmaster Dippet’s office opens, and Paul walks out.
John stands up, straightening his tie when he sees Paul accompanied by the Headmaster and their Charms professor. John clears his throat.
Paul gives him a little smile, “Are you still feeling alright?” He asks.
John nods, wishing he could lean over and give Paul a big, greedy kiss. But he’s able to somehow hold himself back.
Paul smiles again and leans forward, not enough to whisper, but closely so he can lower his voice as he quietly says “Two more days.” And then he walks away.
John feels butterflies flutter around his stomach, watching Paul walk down the stairs away from the Headmaster’s office.
“Come in, Mr. Lennon.” Headmaster Dippet says, pulling John out of the trance that is Paul McCartney.
The Headmaster’s office is full of strange knick-knacks and relics. There was lots of warm light that poured in, illuminating the gold-crested cabinets and shelves. Headmaster Dippet’s private book collection and potions materials lined the walls, alongside the portraits of past Headmasters who read and napped which hung high on the stone.
John had been in here before once. Just after Cynthia reported him, he was called to the Headmaster’s office to face his fate. The Aurors captured him here. His memories of this otherwise eclectic and mystifying room were tainted with trauma and fear.
“Have a seat.” Dippet gestures to a large armchair across from his desk. John sits, feeling uncomfortable and out of place. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m alright, really.” John insists.
“Paul said you hit your head.”
“I did, but he took care of it for me. I’ve just got a little headache.” He explains.
Dippet hums in response, “Silas, you may leave us.” He says to Professor Flint, who nods and turns to leave the room.
John feels very warm, and he pulls his scarf off, fidgeting with it in his fingers as he waits in anticipation for some type of beratement.
When the heavy door closes behind him, Dippet speaks up again, “You think I am upset with you.”
John shrugs, that wasn’t a question, not really. He wasn’t sure how to respond.
“I am not.” Dippet reassures. “In fact, I’m rather impressed by the skill you have portrayed in recent weeks. You have a real gift for combat.”
John looks up at the ancient man, feeling a bit lighter. “Thank you?”
Dippet chuckles, “You’ve had quite an exciting few weeks, haven’t you?”
“I suppose.” John says with a cleansing breath, relieved he’s not receiving detention or more Paul-related punishment.
“Tell me, why did you decide to take on a very powerful Dark Wizard on your own?” He asks. “I know you are a Gryffindor, but not even I know many Gryffindors willing to risk their lives without a second thought. There’s a fine line between reckless abandon and a hero’s courage.”
John sighs with a smile, “I’m not sure, really.” He admits, “It just came over me… this desire to show them what they’re up against. I don’t want them to underestimate me.”
“I see.” Dippet nods, “I think you’ve proved yourself as a skilled wizard. I can’t imagine anymore Dark Wizards will see you as an easy target.”
“I don’t know if I understand why I’m a target at all.” John adds.
Dippet hums, “That is a question we are all trying to find the answer to.”
“It’s the book, isn’t it?” John asks.
Headmaster Dippet doesn’t answer instantly, letting both John and himself settle into what was just suggested. His silence doesn’t alleviate any of John’s fears.
“I do think that, yes.” Dippet eventually nods.
John sighs, “I never wanted the book to come to me. I never asked for that responsibility.” He says, letting more emotion come through his tone than he intended.
Dippet holds up his hand, stopping John, “I understand. That is a burden no boy should ever be forced to carry.” John didn’t like being called a boy. He didn’t want to be infantilised. “Mr. McCartney believes that you are wanted by these Dark Wizards because the book answers to you. It does not answer to others in the same way.”
“But why me?” John asks.
Dippet shrugs, “It could be any number of reasons. You come from a muggle-family, meaning your magic is less refined and more moldable. You had a hard upbringing, you were quick to act. Surely the book was aware of that. It knew it could take advantage of you.”
“So I’m weak.”
“You’re impressionable. The best wizards are. You have no bad habits, no expectations. Pure-blood wizards with blood-pacts and familial standards are not so flexible. The best wizards are the ones who can adapt.” Dippet clarifies.
John doesn’t reply, he isn’t sure how to. He just has a horrible pit in his stomach, like he was some kind of failure.
“You are also very powerful. You have exhibited great strength and skill in your magic. The book would not choose a wizard who could not handle its contents.”
“But I’m good! I try to be good. I try to do the right thing. I try to be good.” John says, his voice shaking. “I’m a Gryffindor. I’m a good guy.” his breathing hastens, “Right? I’m a good person, aren’t I?” John pleads.
Dippet gives John a tender look, a comforting one that John needed. “Yes, John. You are a good person.”
John felt horribly damaged, and his already broken psyche was starting to turn on him.
“I’m not a Dark Wizard. I’m not a-a- I’m not a Slytherin .” John says.
He realizes what he says, and instantly regrets it.
Dippet gives him a knowing look. “It is true that the house of Slytherin produces more dark wizards than any other house. But you have learned for yourself that not all Slytherins are destined for that.”
John sighs, of course he’s learned that. Paul was one of the best Wizards he knew.
“I’m just… scared. Honestly.” John admits.
“Why?”
“Why do they even want the Grimoire? Really? There’s nothing good that can come of that book.” John says.
Dippet agrees, “There are many mysteries to be unraveled.” He says, “And since you are no child, I will tell you. There are whispers of evil. A darkness growing among a group of Witches and Wizards.”
John tastes metal in his mouth, hating the entire concept of a growing darkness. He remembers what Hagrid and Paul were talking about back in the hut all those weeks ago. The Slytherin boy from when Hagrid was in school. Tom Riddle.
Dippet picks up on John’s discomfort, his wisdom and age peering right through John.
“There is no need to worry. For now. It will be many years before any true evil rises.” He reassures John. “But that is why he must keep that book away from the enemy. That book has vital information they are seeking to succeed in their plan for evil.”
“That’s why Dumbledore is away, isn’t it?” John asks.
Dippet nods, “Albus has been on sabbatical for quite some time. I do not think he will return to Hogwarts as the Transfiguration Professor.”
“He won’t return?” John asks.
“Oh, he’ll return.” Dippet says with a smile. “I can’t be Headmaster forever.” He says, winking. John feels a bit better now.
“Who has the book, Headmaster?” John asks.
Dippet sighs, “It would help you feel a great deal better if I told you, wouldn’t it?”
John eagerly nods.
“It is in the care of Whittaker. I trust him. He has locked it away under special protection.” He explains.
That should make John feel better, but he’s been unsure of Whittaker as of late. He just nods dumbly. John can’t imagine Dippet trusts many people with his life, so he uses that to reassure himself it was going to be alright.
Plus, he at least knew that he was safe from relapse. With the book properly locked away, John could sleep better at night.
“It will be alright, John. But I must ask you to stay out of trouble . We cannot risk losing you to the enemy. You are far too valuable to us all. Not just here at Hogwarts, but to the entire Wizarding World.”
In theory, this should make John feel much better, or at least comfort him in some way by being special. But if anything, it just stresses him out more.
John wanted simplicity. He wanted an easy year at Hogwarts. He wanted to win the Quidditch cup and pass his O.W.Ls.
Instead he’s got the weight of the Wizarding world resting unfairly on his shoulders.
“Now, what can I do to help you feel better?” Dippet asks, wanting something good to come out of this meeting.
John doesn’t have to think very hard, “I don’t want to be separated from Paul anymore. He’s my best mate. He gets me.” John decides to leave out any mention of the snogging and codepency the two of them had developed.
Dippet nods, “You two did well over the last two weeks. I think today’s attack was pure coincidence, and didn’t have anything to do with you two as a pair. My portraits reported complete obedience from you two. Suspicion among students and parents has gone down greatly. Well done. I reckon your two weeks are up on Thursday.”
John feels good about that. He could do two more days. Of course, Paul followed the rules so closely because he knew they would be rewarded for it. John never had the hindsight to realize the game. Paul was always playing chess while John played checkers.
“But stay smart. Don’t venture off of school grounds alone.” Dippet adds. “Have a nice evening, Mr. Lennon.”
John stands up, nodding. “Thank you, Headmaster.”
He exits the office, feeling simultaneously better and worse at the same time.
At least he could see Paul soon.
John sits at the table of the Great Hall, drinking some coffee. He waited in anticipation as it was the final day before he got to see Paul.
“Pass me the jam.” Arthur asks John.
John hands his friend the raspberry jam, not looking up from his Quidditch play book. His stomach twisted and turned.
“Owl Post!” A student from the other side of the Hall shouts.
John’s surprised when a letter drops in front of his breakfast. What once was a shocking surprise had quickly become normal for John, all thanks to Paul.
And this time, he could tell that this was Paul’s doing as well. Paul had nicer envelopes than anyone else, and a special wax seal.
John eagerly picks it up, ripping it open. He hoped it was Paul’s invitation to their first day together again. Perhaps a proper date, maybe even a promise of alone time together. He couldn’t contain his excitement.
But John’s shoulders drop when he reads it, this wasn’t what he wanted at all.
19th February, 1958
Dear John,
Please do not show this to anyone.
The Dark Wizard you fought that they caught yesterday was Ambrose Black. Graham’s older brother. It’s caused quite a stir in the pure-blood circles. The Black family is under extreme scrutiny… by some of us. Other pure-blood families are praising the Black line for doing what’s necessary to keep the Wizarding World pure. Yes, that is exactly what it sounds like.
My father is very upset about the attacks on the school. He’s even more upset that I’ve been involved. He’s heard about our friendship. I don’t know how. I’ve never told Michael about our friendship. But other pure-bloods who see how close we have gotten will have no problem calling me a blood-traitor. Even if they think we are just friends.
Even if we aren’t just friends.
I’ve told no one, just to prevent this from happening. Not even George and Ringo. No one should know.
Unless you told them.
I’m so sorry to do this through a letter. Believe me, nothing brings me more pain. You deserve so much better than this. It has never bothered me that you are muggle-born. It never will bother me. But between the attacks, the Aurors, the whispers of a Dark Lord and now the prejudice that the sacred 28 pure-blood families have, my father is very distressed.
He is taking me out of Hogwarts for the foreseeable future.
I don’t know for how long. I’ve fought against it hard. He is sending both Michael and myself to London to receive private tutoring from the Abbott brothers—two Pure-blood scholars who my father approves of.
I’m angry. And I’m confused. I will already be gone by the time you receive this. It’s a terrible risk sending it all. If my father finds out I sent this, I no doubt will be punished.
It is my ultimate goal and expectation to be back as soon as possible. I must be on my best behavior, so please, don’t write back to me. I don’t want to give my father any reason to keep me away longer than he has to. I’m hoping by the Spring Equinox. I’ll be back.
Look after George while I’m away. He doesn’t have many friends and I worry about him. He’s like a brother to me.
Please know I will spend the whole time thinking of you.
Think of me when you look at the moon on the Astronomy Tower. I will be thinking of you.
Spring will come.
Best,
J.P.M.
John drops the letter shakily. He felt numb, shocked and utterly terrified. He didn’t understand why. It didn’t seem like Paul understood, either.
“What is it, John?” Collette asks, seeing that John was clearly in distress.
John looks up at his friend, looking back and stares blankly. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”
He folds it up and shoves it in his pocket. He had no idea how he was going to get through.
But he would have to.
For Paul.
Notes:
Tumblr: @buttahpie
Chapter 32
Notes:
Hey guys!
For those who don’t follow me on tumblr, I wasn’t able to update last week because I was performing in my senior recital for graduation! I was just wayyyy too busy, so thank you for your patience!
I graduate from University THIS WEEK!!
Anyways, enjoy! Sorry for the long wait!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Thirty!” Collette yells out after scoring.
The chasers race back to the half-way point, ready to go in for another play. It felt good to be flying again, even if it was still cilly outside. John felt more alive up on the broom, and it was a much needed distraction from his complete isolation from Paul.
If anything, it was fueling his gameplay. He was more nimble, smarter, and certainly more aggressive during practice these days.
They raced down the field towards the goalposts, where Elliot guarded them along with Arthur. This current drill was designed to make it impossible to score—and it felt it was. But luckily, all three chasers were on the top of their game.
The drill ended when they scored fifty points, and if they couldn’t score it in under ten minutes, the whole team would have to do a conditioning drill. John’s least favorite. The determination was there.
Collette throws John the ball, and he and Peter come up with a quick version of their play Hippogriff. It’s altered for the shorter play space, and the quaffle was frozen solid from the cold, but after some quick thinking on all their parts, John is shooting the quaffle into one of the rings.
Arthur blocks it though. The bugger was secretly a wicked talented keeper. He couldn’t beat or chase to save his life, though. John groans out in frustration. They were starting to run out of time.
Katherine hints the quaffle back at the chasers, who waited back at the midway line again.
“Speed isn’t going to cut it.” Collette says, catching her breath. “We’re all out of shape from the break.”
“Funny how that works.” Peter sighs.
“Well let's get this done.” John says, “I don’t want to do strength and conditioning today.”
Collette nods, “Agreed. There’s three goals and only two keepers. Let’s try Jabberwalkie with Peter scoring.”
The other two nod and waste no more time before flying down the pitch and executing the play. To all their relief, Peter scores on Arthur, and they’re back in the game. They have two more minutes to score one more time.
The chasers fly back to the starting point for the drill, John adjusts his glasses. He had to start wearing them while playing, the snow was too intense. And since Paul helped him feel more confident in his glasses, it didn’t feel quite so scary for John.
The final two minutes were ticking away quickly, and John knew they needed to get their heads in the game. The three Gryffindor chasers began their final play.
John starts with the Quaffle, he flies as far as he can before Lance hits a bludger in his direction, forcing him to pass the ball to Collette.
Collette catches it, but she stutters in the air, and has to make an extra maneuver to be properly positioned to score. She decides it isn’t worth risking shooting and missing with just under a minute left before the drill is up.
She looks for Peter, who wasn’t in a good position to take the shot. Luckily, John picked up on this and was able to position himself differently. He flies hard and fast to Collette’s left, swooping all the way around her. She senses him coming, and in a masterful move she passes the quaffle behind her back to where John flew behind her.
John grabs hold of the round ball and is able to shoot it into the right goal post with 12 seconds to spare on the drill. He can hear Peter cheering for him, and even Lance and Katherine were pleased. The chasers kept the entire team out of strength and conditioning, and while Elliot and Arthur wouldn’t admit it, they were relieved to be done for the day, too.
John has been so tense these days. The stress of the Aurors, The Grimoire and the Dark Wizards all paired with his isolation from Paul was working together to make John feel entirely out of control of his own life.
Paul .
It’s only been a few days, and he felt entirely lost and hopeless. John could feel that he was falling into a deep,overwhelming depression because of all of this.
John had just started to realize what Paul meant to him, and then he was completely taken away from him. It was debilitating, and it made John feel completely terrible.
Everyone else has noticed that Paul is gone, too. The explanation the other Slytherins gave was mostly true: his father was concerned about the attacks and didn’t want to risk his sons getting hurt.
But John knew the whole truth. He knew this went deeper than a father’s concern. There was real prejudice and hate under the surface. John can’t help but feel like this is all really his fault.
If only he hadn’t gotten close to Paul. Maybe none of this would have happened.
All because they had to sit next to each other in class.
It must have been whatever charm was on that rope.
John tries not to let it spiral. He keeps trying to live every day like it’s normal. He forces himself to get out of bed and to go to his classes. Although now Graham and Cynthia were partners again, which left John totally alone in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He’d have to do partner work with Whittaker. Which normally wouldn’t be an issue, except for Whittaker’s off-handed comments about John’s skill and his constant, barking cough.
He doesn’t eat much. He’s lost his appetite. But Collette picked up on it, and she started making sure John was getting meals.
John couldn’t stand to go to the Astronomy tower. Or any of his and Paul’s special places. He avoided the transfiguration courtyard, only using it to travel to and from class. He didn’t dare go near the greenhouses. He even felt strange when he was around the Central Hall, just because he and Paul met up there so many times.
He and his friends tried going to Hogsmeade last weekend, and John felt like he might be sick when they were in The Three Broomsticks.
He wished Paul didn’t have this kind of influence over him. But he just simply did. John didn’t want to feel so depressed without Paul, but he couldn’t help it.
Paul saw John for who he really was. He listened to him, he trusted him. He held John. He touched John with the gentle fervour of a sacred Veela. As if John was to be worshiped just for who he was.
And Paul really made John believe it: that he was important in spite of all his flaws. Paul even made him feel important for his flaws. As if John’s flaws were exactly what made John himself.
Paul had become John’s breath support. And he was gone.
Thank god for Quidditch. It was the only thing getting John through.
It was the end of February, finally. And there was a Quidditch Match between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff this Saturday, the first of March.
At last, the Hogwarts student body had something to look forward to. The worst part of the year was over. Winter after Christmas was absolutely brutal, and with the promise of spring in the air, there was hope that it was all going to get better.
John latched onto the fresher air. The Spring meant Paul.
Of course, he didn’t know if Paul would actually be back by the equinox. But it at least gave John something worth getting out of bed for.
The halls were buzzing with excitement over the match. The second half of the term would be filled with Quidditch games and nicer weather. It was always a lovely time at Hogwarts.
But of course, it was still winter for a few more weeks. John repeatedly reminded himself that he can do anything for a few weeks. He made it through several weeks of Ministry jail. What’s a few more weeks without Paul?
Additionally, John knew he had to keep up on his school work. Now that Paul wasn’t here to motivate him (whether it be out of spite or actually inspiration), it was getting much harder to be a good student. John found himself falling back into his old habits of skipping homework and showing up to class late.
He had even found himself in detention with McGonagall finally. This perfected John’s streak of having detention with every Professor at Hogwarts. He knew Paul would be disappointed, but something about it made him feel strangely accomplished.
Regardless, John knew that Paul would be proud of him if he kept up with his studies. If John still had good marks when Paul returned, he knew that Paul would be pleased.
And John so desperately wanted to please Paul.
So, in spite of it all, he keeps his head on right.
John chewed on his nail as he read his playbook, completely oblivious to anything going on around him.
He sat on a bench outside of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, it was getting late.
A presence looms over him, blocking the light from John’s book. Whoever it is kicks John’s foot with his shoe. He looks up, irritated.
“For being a delinquent, you read a lot.” Ringo says, his hair terribly messy.
John cracks a smile, “‘Aven’t seen you in ages.” He says simply.
Ringo shrugs, “I was sick. Merriweather kept me locked up for ages.”
John closes his book, “To what do I owe the honor?”
Ringo raises an eyebrow, and then pulls out a wrinkled paper bag from his pocket. John smiles, standing up eagerly.
They make it to a quiet corridor, and Ringo takes John over to a large tapestry, pulling it back to show a large hole in the wall. They crawl in, finding an old classroom that was once sealed off, but past students had done a good job unearthing it.
It was a small room, probably used centuries ago. There was no telling why it was closed up now, it could be any number of reasons. John imagined it had to do with ghosts or poltergeists.
“How’d you find this place?” John asks, sitting on a dusty stool.
“Found it me third year. I don’t think anyone else knows about it.” He takes off his robes and pulls out his bag.
John also takes off his outer layer, loosening his tie so that he could enjoy the effects of their recreation.
Ringo takes out the contents of the bag, sitting on a table, his legs spread. He tosses John the same little tablet he had given him a few weeks ago. The little colorful bits John wasn’t brave enough to try.
John catches it, looking at it. “What is it?” He asks.
“You mean you didn’t try it!?” Ringo looks up, shocked.
John shakes his head slowly.
“You fool! It’s good stuff. Crazy strong. Me buddy back home showed it to me last summer.” Ringo explains, “Just put it under your tongue and voila.” He kisses his hand like a French chef, “It’s better than any charm or hex you could imagine!”
John is skeptical. He looks at the tiny tablet. It was as if it was made of paper, and it was very tiny. “We don’t smoke it?”
Ringo shakes his head, “Nope. Just trust me.”
John really wasn’t sure if he wanted to try it. His mind hearkens to all the vague warnings his friends had given him about Ringo as of recent.
But Ringo was looking at him with such mischief, and John didn’t want to be a tosser, so with a deep and heavy sigh, he popped one into his mouth.
“Put it under your tongue.” Ringo instructs, taking one himself.
John places the tablet under his tongue, and just waits for a moment.
Nothing happens initially, he and Ringo just look at one another hazily. It takes almost a half-an-hour before John feels anything. Ringo asks John a few questions about upcoming Quidditch matches, John asks Ringo if George was doing okay, and then it hits him.
It wasn’t hard and fast, like a good puff of a spliff might be. But instead it was slow and gradual, his body seemed to melt, his senses opened and everything felt light.
John swore he could smell the scent of his Aunt’s perfume somewhere, and thought maybe he could taste Paul on his lips.
The rest is an absolute blur. John’s never experienced anything like it. Everywhere he looked there was something strange and unnatural. Colors, shapes, patterns, noises. He’s never experienced this kind of magic, it was intense and completely unusual.
He vaguely remembers Ringo being there, but he mostly just lays on his back on the floor and stares at the ceiling, forgetting even his own name for a while.
He doesn’t even remember walking back to the common room, he just knows he’s suddenly there and the entire room is spinning. It was awful, he thought about going to the hospital wing, but he wasn’t sure how he would explain this to Madam Merriweather.
“Are you alright?” Collette asks John when she sees him. Her voice sounded completely different, like she had gone through puberty a second time. He looks up at her with droopy eyes, and her usually fiery red hair was a shade of blue that John has never seen before.
John nods, trying to get to his bed.
He’s never hated stairs more. The narrow stairs to his dorm were all wrong, some moving up and some moving down, and he found himself back in the common room twice before finally ending up in his dorm room.
John tried to make himself throw-up whatever was in his system but it didn’t work. He falls into his bed, feeling like he wasn’t real. He must have been flying.
He isn’t sure how much time passed before Elliot and Arthur stood over him, looking at him with giant eyes. They both spoke about something, but John was sure they must have been speaking French or something.
John feels a little better when they leave, they must have done something to help him. He’s able to sleep, but his dreams are completely out of control.
He dreamed of a giant sky, dark and stormy. In the sky was the giant cloud. John didn’t know what the giant cloud was, he just knew he didn’t want to be anywhere near it. He hears a wolf howl from behind him, and he starts running at full speed through the void.
He can hear screaming now. And when he looks to his side he can see other students. He wasn’t sure if he knew who they all were, they had non-descript faces. Some were much younger than him, others looked older. A few he knew he was older than, but they were fully grown adults with scars and age and pain in their faces.
He wasn’t sure what it meant. One of the girls looked an awful lot like Collette with her red hair. Another boy looked like Elliot, but sadder. Colder. His eyes were sunken in.
John looks back at the big cloud. It was storming green and black, turning into a grim skull as it took over the sky, darkening the world. It looked like the drawing Black did back in class.
John trips, falling on his face. The other students leave him, and he tries to get up, but he can’t. His legs are broken. He screams out in something mixed with fear and agony.
He hears footsteps walk up to him, and he cranes his neck to look up. It’s a young boy. He looked almost like Paul but not quite. It wasn’t Paul. John would know Paul anywhere.
But this boy had a similar air to Paul. He was maybe a year younger than him, and had a serpentine look about his face. His eyes were sharp and narrow, and they shone green. John felt a horrible pang of fear. He was terrified he was going to die. Or worse: he was going to be recruited. Whoever this is, he was not safe or good.
“You curse them.” He says, his voice youthful but hauntingly hollow.
“What?”
The boy looks at the Hogwarts students, who had seemed to be frozen in place. “Them.” He nods at them, “They’ll be forced to fight against me for decades.”
“Why?” John asks, he can taste blood in his mouth.
The boy chuckles, “It’s tragic how kids have to be heroes. I promise to make all of their deaths quick.” He then pulls out his wand, and starts speaking in a strange tongue. John couldn’t even begin to guess what language it was. It didn’t sound like a language at all, but rather a foreign string of hissing and whispering.
John hears a body fall next to him, and he turns to look at who it was.
Paul’s lifeless body lay next to him, his eyes open and blood coming out of his mouth. Paralyzed with death.
John shoots out of bed with a shout, his chest heaving rapidly. He was sweating, and his heart thudded in his ears. He was horrified.
Paul. Was Paul alright?
John felt better from the drug, normal really. Whatever it was didn’t give him much of a hangover. His curtains were drawn and he pulled them apart, seeing it was midday. No one else was in their dorm. He was in the same clothes as yesterday.
What day was it?
He didn’t care. He runs to his chest, digging around inside for parchment and quill. He starts drafting up a letter, his hands shaking with fear.
Paul
I know you said not to write. I have to. Are you alright? Are you safe? I had a horrible, horrible dream. Ringo gave me something bad and I’m scared. I think this Dark Wizard business is much worse than we thought. Or at least it’s going to be.
Write back,
John
John’s been quite troubled since his dream, and he’s been even more shaken up from whatever it was the Ringo gave him. He found himself irritable in class, anxious and tired, and it felt like his body had taken a hit that he couldn’t quite recover from.
He sat at dinner the night before the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff match, still feeling hungover, even though it had been a few days. He hadn’t told a soul about the dream, he didn’t know who to go to. And the fact that Paul hasn’t written him back yet was starting to really concern John.
“You look like shite.” Collette says bluntly from across the table.
John looks up at her with a frown, “Thanks, Carter.” He could always rely on Collette to tell him like it is.
“Is everything alright?” Arthur asks with more kindness in his tone.
John sighs, these were friends. He could trust them, couldn’t he? “I… took a bad drug or something the other day. It’s really fucked me up.”
Elliot’s jaw tenses, he sets his fork down. “John, quidditch has started again. We can’t have any-”
“I know, I know.” John stops him. “I’m a tosser for it, you don’t have to remind me.”
“What drug was it?” Collette asks, looking concerned.
Truthfully, John had no idea. He didn’t even know if it was muggle or wizard stuff. He just shrugs. Arthur and Elliot give a knowing look. John understood their heeds of caution now.
“I can assure you it’ll never happen again.” He says, getting a chill throughout his body.
At that moment, a voice can be heard from behind John, it startles him from, he’s been so jumpy lately. “John?”
He turns around, looking up to see George. “Geo—what’s wrong?” He can see in George’s face a look of concern.
George nervously looks at the Gryffindor Quidditch team. It was an intimidating sight to see some of the school's best athletes all staring up at you. Of course they moved together as a pack, eating every meal together.
He looks back at John, “I-I need your help.” John can hear the hint of Liverpudlian in his accent as he says this.
John just instantly nods, remembering Paul’s letter which distinctly asked John to look out for George while he was gone. He finishes his tea in one big gulp and stands up.
“It’s Ringo.” George says, his hands shaking.
Notes:
Tumblr: @buttahpie
Chapter Text
John wasn’t sure what to expect, really. He had seen many strange and unsettling things before. It was just who he was. It’s hard to become a pawn in the scheme of an impending war without having seen a few horrors.
But what John came upon with George in the fourth floor girls bathroom was unlike anything he could have expected.
“Holy shit.” John says, running to the motionless body of Ringo. He lay on the floor, on his side. His robes were off and his body was dripping with a cold sweat. He looked utterly ghastly, his skin was pale and eyes sunken in, foam built up at his mouth.
“Fuck.” George said, falling to his knees in front of his friend. “He wasn’t like this when I left him!”
“What was he like?” John asks, feeling for a pulse. It was faint but it was there.
“He was conscious and had all his bloody clothes on! But I knew he wasn’t himself. Paul usually helps when this happens.” George reaches for Ringo’s robes, trying to cover him.
“This is a normal thing?” John asks.
“No! Well… not this bad, usually. I’ve never seen him like this.” There was real panic in George’s tone as he spoke.
“We need to get him help. I can run and grab Merriweather-”
“No!” George reaches over Ringo’s body and grabs John’s wrist, “You can’t.”
John blinked at George, he didn’t understand why. He realizes he doesn’t need to. But he can speculate. So he just nods, “Do you know any healing spells?”
George shakes his head, “Only for cuts and abrasions, I don’t know how to fix this.”
John didn’t know the first thing about healing magic. Paul would, if he were here. Paul seemed to know everything there was to know about magic. John kindly reminds himself that now is not the time to be thinking about Paul.
He pulls out his wand, and runs through any spells he knows. But he’s at a total loss. He thinks, but his heart was racing and head was spinning. Could this have happened to him the other night?
“George, what caused this?” John asks a little firmer than he meant to.
George shakes his head, “I told him not to take it.”
“Take what?”
“It’s some muggle drug. I don’t know what it’s called.” George says. He was pure-blood, after all.
John nods, if this were the muggle world, he’d call the police. Ringo would certainly end up in jail, but at least he’d still be alive. John didn’t know the protocol in the wizarding world. He didn’t even know if hard drugs (whatever Ringo obviously took and clearly overdosed on) were illegal in the wizarding world like they were in the muggle.
“Arthur knows some healing spells, he’s a brilliant wizard. He’ll know how to help.” John stands up.
“You can’t tell anyone else!” George stops John again. “Please. I promised Ringo.”
John sighs, looking down at Ringo who was still unconscious. “George, do you want Ringo to survive?” He asks point-blank.
George licks his lips, and then just nods. “I’ll stay here and do what I can.”
John’s back with Arthur in less than twenty minutes, and Ringo isn’t looking much better. Arthur gives John a look that’s mixed with something of concern and frustration, but moves to Ringo without hesitation.
He kneels next to the lad, pulling out his wand and instantly speaking incantations that John had never heard before. George was in serious distress, and looked like he was on the verge of tears, but was trying to be strong. He held Ringo’s lifeless hand as Arthur worked on him.
John stood, watching the scene with anxiety. He wished Paul was here. Paul always knew what to do in bad situations. He never froze up, he never got nervous, he never panicked. At least John didn’t think he did.
God, John’s been worried sick about that boy ever since his dream. And of course Paul hasn’t written him back. It was starting to consume his every thought. He wondered if he should write to Paul about this happening. It seemed to be a good idea, but he wasn’t sure. Ringo was Paul’s friend, but Paul also told John not to write at all. Had he left George and Ringo any letters? Were they given explicit instructions not to write back, as well?
After a few minutes, Ringo can be heard gasping for air, and George is sighing in relief. Arthur keeps working on him, but eventually stands up.
“He needs to see Madam Merriweather. I’ve done all I can do.” He says.
“Thank you.” George says. “How you feeling, Rings?” He asks.
Ringo groans, sitting up. Whatever Arthur had done, he did it well. Color had returned to Ringo’s face, and he seemed more sober.
Arthur moves over to John, speaking in a hushed voice, “This is what I was talking about.”
John looks at Artie, trying to tell if he was being judgemental or just concerned. It was unclear. “Thank you, Artie.”
“I wouldn’t want anything like that to happen to you.” Arthur says, patting John on his shoulder. He then turns to George and Ringo, “I’ll go fetch Madam Merriweather. I’ll tell her you slipped and hit your head. That’ll give you at least a full day in the hospital to rest with no questions asked. But we can’t cover everything. She can see right through lies.” He turns to go. John crosses over to his new friends.
“Can you walk?” George asks. Ringo nods, standing up shakily, but almost immediately goes back down, like a fawn learning how to walk.
“Gave us quite the scare, Rings.” John says, sitting down next to them.
Ringo smiles weakly. “Sorry.”
“‘S’alright.” George says with a soft smile. “Here, this’ll help.” He hands Ringo a piece of chocolate. He takes it, biting in.
“I’ve got to get sober.” Ringo says with a deep sigh.
John knew that feeling. Not with actual drugs, of course. But with the Grimoire, which was like his own special drug. Ringo had it hard, he was influenced by both muggle and wizarding substances. He felt awful for his friend, and thankful he was alive.
George nods, “Remember, you promised Paul you’d stay clean while he was away.”
This instantly grabs John’s attention, of course Paul was making everyone around him better. He had that influence on people. “Did Paul write to you two?” He asks.
George shakes his head, “No. Did he write you?”
John suddenly felt a bit sheepish. “Yeah, he sent me a letter right when he left. Explaining everything.”
“Shit.” George says, “He didn’t explain anything to us.”
“He came to say goodbye to us the night he left.” Ringo says groggily. “Just said he was goin’ away for a while.”
John tried not to let that bother him. Paul didn’t come to say goodbye to John. At least John got the full explanation, in some ways that was better.
“What was the reason?” George asks. “He looked really upset when he left. Just said his father was taking him and Mike away for a while.”
The Gryffindor shrugs, “He asked me not to tell anyone in the letter. But it really has to do with the recent attacks.” John wanted to respect Paul’s wishes.
George looked away, almost like he was hurt. And for the first time, John realizes that perhaps George may not like the new addition of John in their friendship. He and Paul had been friends since childhood, and now it would seem John was closer to Paul than anyone.
Except now John hasn’t seen or spoken to Paul in nearly a month.
He can taste bile. He missed Paul so much.
“Don’t tell him about this… will you?” Ringo asks his two friends. “I can’t disappoint him again.”
John knew that feeling all too well.
He and George nod, promising Ringo they wouldn’t. Madam Merriweather comes in just a few minutes after that, doting upon Ringo with genuine concern. They didn’t know what Arthur told her, but John sensed he may have given her a bit more information than just a concussion.
Merriweather gives John an exacerbated look. He seemed to be involved with many of the problems she’s dealt with this year.
Nevertheless, she whisks Ringo away, taking him to safety.
George and John are left alone. John realizes he’s never really been alone with George. They always had Paul, and typically had Ringo added to the mix as well. Otherwise, George was practically a stranger to John. His study buddy and occasional spliff sharer.
The awkward silence after Ringo’s exit makes John starkly aware of that fact.
He clears his throat, “Excited for the match tomorrow, are you?” He asks.
George shrugs, “I’ve never cared much for Quidditch. I only pretend I do for Paul.” They head out of the bathroom.
“You’ve known him your whole life, then?” John asks.
George nods, “We met when we were very young. Our families associated with one another pretty early on. Pure-bloods and what not. I think they wanted to arrange a marriage, but Paul had no sisters, and my sister Louise was so much older than him or Mike.” George explains. He was usually so cold and standoffish to John. He must have really needed a friend to speak with after what happened.
“Do purebloods only marry other purebloods?” John asks, curious.
“Some, yeah. The sacred twenty-eight families are like that. They’ll marry their kids off to other pure-blood families. Malfoys will marry the Crouches and what not. You’ll even end up with families like the Blacks, who just marry their cousins.” George says as they start down the grand staircase.
“What?!” John asks, disgusted. “It’s like a twisted version of the royal family.”
“Sure.” George shrugs, “I don’t really know what that means but yeah, I guess.”
“The royals… they marry their own cousins. The new queen is married to her cousin.” John explains.
“Yeah. The Blacks kind of are like royalty. But they’re all a bit intense. They’re obsessed with their bloodline.” George explains. John thinks back to Paul’s letter. It had been a Black who attacked John in the boathouse all those weeks ago. “You know the McCartney’s are one of them.” George adds.
“One of what?” John asks, raising an eyebrow.
“One of the sacred twenty-eight.” He says.
“I don’t even know what that means.” John says, the two of them educate the other on the worlds they grew up in.
“They’re wizarding families who have had no intermixing with half-bloods or muggles. They’ve been pure-blooded wizards for centuries. It’s supposed to make their magic better or stronger or something. Their blood isn’t being mixed with any non-magical blood. So they’re superior to the rest of us in some way.” George says. John didn’t like the sound of that. It seemed like a sure-fire way to cause issues and prejudice.
“But aren’t you a pure-blood?” He asks George, the two of them stopping just outside of the Great Hall.
“I am, but the Harrisons aren’t part of the sacred twenty-eight. Somewhere in my bloodline, there's been muggle blood mixed in. My great Uncle, actually. He wasn’t a wizard at all. Plus some other ones. I’ve got a cousin living in America who’s married to a muggle, and all their children are non-magical. The sacred-twenty eight are real true pure-bloods.”
“And Paul’s one of them.”
George nods.
“And the sacred twenty-eight won’t mix with any half-bloods or muggle-borns?”
“If they can help it. Even the good ones, like the Weasleys and the Prewetts will still try to stay within the other twenty-eight families. It’s like a badge of honor or summat.” George says.
“Are they all Slytherin families?” John asks.
George shakes his head, “No. I mean, all the Blacks are. I can’t ever imagine a Black being sorted into a different house, that’d be a bad life for that poor kid. The Malfoys usually are, the Lestranges… you see it’s because Salazar Slytherin was all obsessed with the bloodline and the purity of magic or something. I think it’s all a bit outdated. But that’s just me.” George says with a shrug, as if he wasn’t explaining to John a primary and pivotal piece of wizard history that directly affected him and Paul’s relationship. “My family isn’t so worried about it. I mean, Pattie is only a half-blood and I’m pretty sure I’m going to marry her one day.” George says dreamily.
John can’t help but smile. Pattie was a fourth year in Ravenclaw with George. She was without a doubt, one of the prettiest girls in the entire school. The type John would have gone after if he wasn’t completely head over heels for some Slytherin bloke. John really didn’t understand how George ended up with such a lovely girl. He was lanky and awkward and still didn’t seem sure of who he was yet. But John could tell they made each other happy, and that’s all that mattered.
“Sorry, I’ve talked your ear off.” George says, sheepishly. “I do it to Paul, too.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say more than five sentences before tonight.” John says with a grin. “It suits you, George.”
George smiles, “I’m gonna go check on Ringo. He’s my best mate. Wanna come?”
John looks into the Great Hall, where Collette and Arthur were waiting for him. “I think I better go.” He looks back at George, “I’ll come check on him tomorrow after the match, yeah?”
“Sounds good. See you later, John.” George says and turns to go.
John watches him go. George was smart, he didn’t get nearly enough credit for it. Paul had a nasty habit of talking over the lad when they were together.
But what George told John tonight troubled him. Of course Paul’s father would take him away if he knew Paul was associating with a muggle-born. If bloodlines and status and the purity of magic was so important to the sacred twenty-eight, then it would certainly cause an issue between him and Paul. Even if Paul tried not to let it. What George was explaining seemed pretty deeply ingrained in those twenty-eight families' traditions.
He tries shaking it off, turning into the Great Hall.
“Is he alright?” Collette asks.
John gives an irritated look at Arthur.
“She waited down here for you the whole time.” Arthur says, “And she’s very convincing. I didn’t tell her everything.”
John shrugs, “He’ll be okay. He’s with Madam Merriweather now.”
“Oh John, I’m so sorry.” She gives John a hug, an unexpected one at that. But he takes it, and hugs her back tightly. He needed a hug after that stress. Collette was tall for a girl, but John was able to melt into her touch. He didn’t realize how badly he needed some physical contact since Paul’s been gone.
He looks over at Artie, who was giving them both an inquisitive look. John clears his throat and pulls away from his friend. “Shall we go to the common room? I’ve got a song on the guitar I’ve been wanting to work up.” He says sheepishly. Arthur asks no more questions as they go back, to John’s relief.
With Paul gone, he has been spending more time with his friends in Gryffindor. Collette specifically, because she’s the only one who doesn’t seem to baby John.
Elliot was often too busy off with Lila, and he and John’s friendship hasn’t been the same anyways. And Arthur was preparing to take his N.E.W.Ts. So Collette was his new best friend. He liked her enough anyways, but he didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. Arthur still had no idea about John’s own relationship with Paul.
They enter through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room, and instantly can hear crying from within. Arthur instantly goes into Prefect mode, curious about who it might be. He’s taken more and more prefect duties as of late. This was primarily because Cynthia had been getting more and more lax with her own duties, to everyone’s shock and confusion.
And that’s just who was heard crying: Cynthia.
She sat in the corner of the room, by one of the windows, her face red and puffy. The three quidditch players move over to her.
No one else was in the common room. It was a Friday night, and everyone seemed to be out for the evening. Either that or Cynthia’s crying scared everyone out. She was still part of the ‘it-couple’ of Hogwarts after all.
“Cyn, what is it?” Collette asks, sitting next to her on the loveseat.
She looks up, seeing John, “It’s nothing.” She sniffles.
John and Arthur give one another a look. Girl stuff maybe? They both felt horribly uncomfortable when it came to girls crying.
John clears his throat and turns to walk away. He and Arthur get comfortable and the sofa in front of the fireplace. They both slouch down, trying to discreetly eavesdrop, but to avail. All that can be heard is quiet, muffled speaking and a few sniffles between the girls. Collette and Cynthia were roommates, and after a few minutes of them talking, they got up and went to their dorm without saying a word.
Artie speaks up when the coast is clear, “What do you think that’s about?” He asks.
John shrugs, looking into the dancing flames of the fire, “My best guess is it’s Dorian related, the selfish prick.”
Arthur hums and nods, “He’s the worst boyfriend ever. Just last week he ditched her at Hogsmeade for Black and that Malfoy kid.”
“The young one?”
Arthur nods, “Belladonna is her name. She’s only a second year.”
“Gross.” John frowns.
“I don’t think it was like that… or at least I hope it wasn’t. I think it has to do with all this craziness with the Aurors and whatnot.” Arthur bites his nail.
John couldn’t explain it, but he felt the need to tell Arthur about all this mess. How he was involved, the things he knew. Arthur was very smart, he was probably the best wizard John knew—other than Paul—and when Paul was gone, Arthur could help John sort it all out in his head. He needed to tell someone about his dream.
“I think this dark wizard business is bigger than any of us realize…” He says.
“What?”
“If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell a soul about it?” John asks.
Arthur nods, “Of course, John.”
John always knew Arthur was being serious when he didn’t call him Jonathan. He takes a deep breath, and begins, “I know you’re upset with me about Ringo… The poor lad doesn’t have a lot of support around him, I think. He’s gotten into a bad habit and has been dealt a bad hand of cards.” John defends his friend.
“I’ve known Richard since I was twelve. I know.” Arthur says.
John sighs, “Promise you won’t be mad at me but… He gave me that drug the other night.” John had mentioned that earlier tonight at dinner, so at least he didn’t have to deal with the initial shame from Arthur, who was so stoic and morally aligned. The most of any of John’s friends. Arthur never even touched a cigarette, or kissed a girl without taking her on three dates first. He was the best of all of them. “And it was bad. I heard and saw things that weren’t really there-”
“Does this have to do with the Dark Wizards?” He asks, raising one of his dark eyebrows.
“Yes!” John says, “Yes… I had a dream while I was on the drug. Well it was a nightmare. It was terrible… I had this vision of a war. And all the soldiers were students… like us. But it wasn’t any of us. They all seemed… younger. Like they were an entirely different generation of Hogwarts students. But the point is that they were students. One looked just like Collette. Red-hair…” John recounts the dream, telling Arthur of the cloud, the forest, the boy who spoke with him, the corpse of Paul, all as he stared into the fire.
Arthur is quiet at first, taking in everything John says. He then speaks up after a long moment of contemplation, “How much of it do you think were the effects of the drug, and how much was an actual vision?” He asks. Arthur was good at divination. But John knew that Divination and visions were different, and you wouldn’t typically have a vision while asleep. Dream interpretation was a completely different realm of divination.
“I’m not sure.” John admits. “I think the drug allowed my psyche to open up. I think it allowed someone else to tap into my brain.”
“The boy you spoke to.”
“Exactly.” John shudders, remembering his haunting tone of voice as he threatened John and all those Hogwarts students.
At that moment, an owl hits the glass of one of the windows of the Gryffindor common room, startling both of the boys half to death. They both stand, grabbing their wands out of instinct. It flies into the glass again, and Arthur stands up, moving to the window.
He opens it just in time for the owl to fly through before hitting it a third time. It was a very small, Pygmy owl and it flew rapidly around the room. It was obviously very tired, and attached to its talon was a letter.
John holds his arm out, keeping very still so the small owl can land on him. He detaches the letter. He didn’t recognize the letter or seal, but he knew exactly who it was from.
February 28th, 1958
John,
I am okay. The dark wizard business is definitely going to turn into something bad. I’ll tell you about it when I get back.
Had to use a wild owl. Can’t risk getting caught. This is his first delivery, I’ve named him Scraps. We can use him for now.
Don’t write back too quickly,
J.P.M
John takes a much needed sigh of relief. “It’s Paul.” He says to Arthur. “He’s okay. He’s alright.” He plops onto the couch, feeling like he can think clearly for the first time in days. Scraps flies down to the arm of the couch.
John looks fondly at the tiny owl, and then scratches him behind his feathers, “You are my new best friend.”
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 34
Notes:
Okay
I’m just posting this third chapter today too because it kinda goes with the last two and now we can jump into the next plot heavy section!
YOU’RE WELCOME
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
March 3rd, 1958
Paul,
Happy about the bird. Hufflepuff beat Ravenclaw, to everyone’s surprise. It was a total upset. But a wicked game. I heard Slytherin got a new seeker. That Malfoy girl. Are you really going to be gone that long? Black’s taken over as captain… They play Hufflepuff at the beginning of April. Please promise me you’ll be back by then.
Yours,
John
March 11th, 1958
John,
Sad to have missed the match! I can’t believe Ravenclaw lost! That’s a huge upset. It makes the season so exciting, the quidditch cup could really be anyone’s at this point. I hate that I’m missing it. I can’t believe they took Belladonna as the seeker… that’s a slap to the face. What a mess. I’ll have to fix so much if I get back.
Sorry my letters are short. I have to write them when no one is around, which is getting harder and harder. I have so much to tell you.
Best,
J.P.M.
March 15th, 1958
Paul,
Don’t apologize. I know how it is. Have you ever tried to communicate by fireplace? I know it’s advanced magic, but if anyone could do it, it would be you. Just a thought. I’d love to hear your voice again. Gryffindor is scrimmaging Slytherin next week. I’ll let you know if Malfoy is any good. She’ll be nothing compared to you. She’s been seen with Black and Pritchard a few times. I’m worried about what they could be scheming. It’s getting warmer here, spring is in the air. That means you’ll be returning soon, right?
Yours,
John
March 19th, 1958
John,
I can’t make any promises. I can’t communicate by fireplace. There are tabs on me from all sides. So much has happened. I’m worried about the direction the wizarding world is heading. I can’t tell you anymore.
J.P.M.
March 21st, 1958
Paul,
I understand. You’re scaring the shit out of me, though.
Malfoy’s not bad, but she isn’t you. She’ll be a good replacement when you leave Hogwarts next year. The scrimmage was undecided, it went on for too long and Hyde called it. Just our luck. Malfoy plays dirty, she follows Arthur around like a shadow as he looks for the snitch.
Black has introduced some new tactics into the Slytherin gameplay. They’re really aggressive. We can handle it but it’s very different from your style.
If anything is wrong, you’ll tell me, won’t you?
John
March 28th, 1958
John,
Don’t write back.
JPM.
No parties after Hufflepuff absolutely spanked Ravenclaw, the ban on parties after quidditch games was still in effect, and to everyone’s dismay, there would not be any festivities to sneak into the Hufflepuff common room for.
Regardless, the whole student-body buzzed with excitement from the game. Spring was in the air, and finally there was something worth living for again.
By the end of the first week of March, the whole castle seemed to have breathed new life into it. The snow outside was officially melting, the days were noticeably longer and lessons had started to focus on the midterm exam content.
But most importantly: it meant Paul would be home soon.
Ringo got better, and vowed sobriety to John and George. He was in the hospital wing for a few days longer than they were expecting because there was something wrong with his blood, too. He knew he had to get healthy. So John and George decided to keep checks on him.
Otherwise, March goes on completely normally. Even the Auror’s had seemed to dwindle out and attacks halted. John stayed in the school most of the time, knowing he was likely the cause of those awful attacks.
John got to drop Herbology and Divination after his O.W.Ls results were processed, and he spent the extra time practicing quidditch and doing everything in his power to stop thinking about Paul.
He and George had started playing guitar together in their free time. George was better than John (although John would never admit that), and had explained that he learned how to play when his cousin sent him a guitar for Christmas in his third year.
George was funny, and wasn’t nearly as stand-offish and cold as John initially thought he was. The two of them would share a spliff and play together, George teaching John wizard songs and John teaching George Muggle songs. They never did it with Ringo though, who had sworn off any substances and was so far doing a really good job. Ringo seemed healthier, he was doing better in his classes (according to Arthur) and he even started tucking his shirt in all the way. John knew Paul would be proud.
Even things with Elliot were starting to feel somewhat normal. The two of them started having their same old banter, and were choosing to spend time together when they could. It felt like old times again. John was hoping that wasn’t just because Paul was gone, and Elliot had finally put down all his weird Paul-related walls.
For all intents and purposes, March 1958 felt like a completely normal, pleasant month at Hogwarts. Other than Paul being gone.
That was until Saturday, the 29th.
“It’s not funny!” Collette says as they trot through Hogsmeade.
“It’s a little funny.” John says with a smirk. They had just been relating Collette’s ginger hair to that of a fat red toadstool. Even Arthur was chuckling along as they riled up their friend.
Collette frowns, her lips pressed in a thin line. “I have no control over my hair color!” She covers the crown of her head with her hands.
“If all gingers were like you, Carter, we wouldn’t have any problem with you!” Elliot says. He had finally agreed to a Hogsmeade trip without Lila, the two of them growing more and more inseparable these days.
“Exactly, but Flynn’s ruined gingers for all of us!” John shrugs.
“Weasley is a perfectly kind boy.” Collette rolls her eyes.
“ You don’t have to share a dorm with him!” John argues.
“And hear him snore!” Elliot adds.
“Or share a toilet!” John laughs, and they are all snickering as they pass by a side-street of the village. Spring foliage has started to grow.
John sees a scuffle out of the corner of his eye, someone running across the side street in a frantic whisper. It makes him stop, and he turns to look at what caused the commotion, his hands in the pockets of his jacket.
His friends move on without him, leaving him to investigate alone. He turns down the alley, unsure of what he would find.
A few steps ahead, Arthur stops, noticing John had disappeared.
“Where did John go?”
John takes out his wand. He wasn’t even sure what he was going to find—if anything. It was probably just a Hogsmeade resident, but he felt the pull to find out.
He dips down the road, gripping his wand, looking for trouble as per usual. The only problem was that Paul wasn’t there to back him up this time.
John follows down the side alley the figure dipped behind. They were back behind the train station, in a quiet and secluded corner of the otherwise jovial and comforting village.
He can hear voices, so he ducks behind a building, peering over his shoulder to try and listen. He knew how reckless this was, but that was just how John was. He listens in.
“That’s just how it has to be!” One voice says in a harsh whisper.
“I don’t want to do it anymore!” The other voice was certainly feminine.
“It isn’t up to you!” A third voice snaps, still in a hushed tone, but more than a whisper. “You swore!”
“Please.” The feminine voice sighs, “Don’t make me anymore. I’m tired.” John wasn’t sure if he wanted to jump out, he didn’t have enough information yet.
“In ten years, you’ll regret betraying any of us.”
“Well, you have to find someone else to be your pet. He’s a good man.” The woman says.
“First McCartney and now you. What is it about him that makes you all turn on me?” John was sure he knew who was speaking, now.
“I’m not turning on you.” Yes, that was certainly the voice of Cynthia.
“Shh.” The other male voice hushes them, “We have a visitor.”
John tenses. Of course. He wished he had an invisibility cloak. That would make his eavesdropping tendencies much easier. He hears the voices chuckle, and in a split moment of pure Gryffindor recklessness, he rounds the corner of the building he was hiding behind, drawing his wand and preparing to cast a spell.
But when he looked at where the voices should be, there was no one there. It was completely empty.
John looks around, tense and perplexed. He clenches his jaw, and keeps his wand at the ready. But he could see no one. He looks up to see two ravens, each opening their mouths back and forth, the conversation John had just listened in on happening again just as before. They must have been charmed to repeat the conversation they heard. That was clearly a bit of complex magic that John couldn’t begin to understand. But as he listens to the two black birds speak in the voices of people he knew, he realizes something terrible.
He had just walked right into a trap.
At that moment, an arm is reaching out from inside a building, and yanking him in. He shouts out, but he’s hit with Silencio and is rendered speechless. John struggles against the other person, but to no avail.
He’s then hit with another spell, and is falling into a deep, heavy sleep.
When he wakes up, he thrashes, startled and confused. But he’s not tied up or held against his will in any way. Instead, he’s been carefully placed on an old, thin bed.
He looks around, rubbing his head. He had a headache, but he can’t remember why or how he got it.
His eyes lift up to meet the gaze of Dorian Pritchard sitting in a chair across from John, looking at him heavily and with his wand in his hand, his elbows resting on his knees.
John clears his throat, unsure of what was happening. He feels around for his wand, but it isn’t anywhere. He swings his legs off the side of the bed, adjusting his body to face the headboy.
“Afternoon.” John says, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him.
“Nineteen.”
“What?”
“Nineteen years old. That’s how old my brother was when he died.” Dorian begins. “Expelled from Hogwarts. His wand, broken in half. He completed his ministry service, and yet they still didn’t offer him a chance to recant. No magic.” His jaw was tense. John’s heart started beating much faster. He tried to calm himself. He really shouldn’t have investigated on his own. “He fell in love with a muggle girl. My family didn’t approve. They disowned him.” John struggled to understand why he was hearing any of this. “No magic. No family.” Dorian starts fidgeting with his wand. “And then, his girl died. Killed in a car accident. No magic. No family. No future.” John’s stomach drops, that was eerily similar to his mother’s demise. “So what did my dear brother do? He hanged himself.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because!” Dorian shouts, “It isn’t fair! Why do some people’s lives get ruined for making a mistake, when others are praised for making a far worse offense?!”
John swallows. So this is how it’s going to be.
“Dorian… I didn’t ask to be readmitted here.”
“No! But stupid fucking Dippet and stupid fucking Jim McCartney decided that you were better than anyone else!” Dorian stands now, and John was truly afraid. “You! A filthy mudblood !” John grinds his teeth, actively trying not to lunge at the prick and strangle him. “Well it’s wrong. It isn’t fair .”
“Life isn’t fair, Pritchard.” John says, trying to stay cool and collected. That was new for him. A few months ago he would have exploded by now.
Dorian grunts, “Cynthia!” He shouts. John sits up as Cynthia opens the door to wherever they were, her head down. She held John’s wand. Dorian held his hand out for her to hand it to him.
Dorian takes John’s wand in hand, and then snaps it in two like it was nothing.
It makes John’s mouth fill with bile, and he flinches as it happens. Cynthia reacts, too. She looks away, looking completely ashamed.
John tenses, “Cynthia you deserve better than this pathetic fuck.” He enunciated every consonant, trying to cut Pritchard with his words.
Dorian inhales sharply in response to what John says, and then walks over to Cynthia and back-hand slaps her. She yells out, and John stands from the bed. But Dorian is faster than John, and he has his wand pointed right at John before he can take a step towards the poor girl. John stands a little taller, but stays in place.
“So this isn’t about the Grimoire?” John asks.
Dorian chuckles, “No. Not anymore. Sure I wanted to use it to get you expelled once-and-for-all, last term. But not now. Not since I realized that book will only make you more powerful. You’ll be seated at the right-hand of the Dark Lord if you get your filthy hands on that book. No. Now I just want to make you suffer like my brother did.”
“Dark Lord?”
Dorian cracks an awful smirk, “Oh yes. He’s gaining power. Slowly. In time, he’ll rule the whole wizarding world. And beyond.” John wanted to lash out. He wanted to give Dorian a piece of his mind, but he knew that he could be of much more use here. He remembered Paul’s letters about the dark wizard situation being worse than they were expecting. He knew he had to hold it together for now.
“How long?” John asks.
“Why should I tell you? Your kind will be the first to go when he’s in power.”
“How. Long.” John says with more fervour, not letting Pritchard’s empty threats scare him.
“Well the sooner he can get his hands on that book, the sooner he can carry out his plan.”
“His plan?”
“Do you always ask this many questions?” Dorian says, jabbing his wand in the direction of John. John takes another step back. He glanced at the door, there was a window on the other side of the room, but he had no clue how he was going to get out of this situation without his wand. He looks down at the two pieces of his wand which lie on the floor. He felt a twinge of pain as he stared at it. An extension of himself was now destroyed. He couldn’t help but feel at a loss. He looks back up at Dorian.
“What are you going to do to me?”
Dorian cracks another ghostly smile, “Oh, it’s not you I’m going to hurt.” He then moves his arm and points his wand right at Cynthia. “It’s sweet Cyn, here.”
It took everything in John not to attack Dorian there, but he knew any movement would cause harm to Cynthia.
“I’m going to get you expelled for good. And probably sent to Azkaban for good measure.” John shudders at the word. “Just wait until the Ministry hears about how you used an unforgivable curse on another student. That’s sure to get you sent away for good.”
Cynthia gasps. Something told John she wasn’t informed of this part of the plan.
“You won’t.” John says.
“It’s my word against yours. I don’t see any witnesses nearby.”
“Cynthia will tell the truth.”
“Not if she’s so changed she can’t speak anymore.” Dorian chuckles, and then pulls his wand back, “ Cruc-”
“ Expelliarmus! ” A new voice yells, disarming Dorian. John snaps his head to the doorway to see Arthur standing there, holding Dorian’s wand. He feels like he can breathe again. “Stupefy !” He stuns Dorian, so he falls back onto the ground.
“Fuck.” John says, running to Cynthia who was crying on the floor. “I’ve got you, I’m here.” He says, wrapping his arms around her.
“Shit, Lennon.” Arthur says.
“Thank you.” John looks up at his friend.
Arthur looks completely in shock, but he nods. Running up behind him now was Collette and Elliot, the two of them squeezing in the door frame and gawking at the scene with wide eyes.
“I’ll go get help.” Elliot says. Collette runs to Cynthia’s aid, kneeling on the floor next to her. Cynthia was completely inconsolable, and understandably so.
“My wand.” John nods to the broken pieces for Artie to see.
“Shit.” He walks further in the room, keeping his wand pointed at Dorian. “This is bad.”
“Two visits in one term.” Dippet says from across his desk, his fingertips on each hand pressed together as he looked at John with his ancient eyes. “New record, I think.”
John sighs, “For what it’s worth, I don’t want to keep ending up here.” He says, sitting in the headmasters office.
Dippet hums, “I know it, Mr. Lennon.” He puts his hands down, “Is Miss Powell feeling better?” He asks.
“She’s with Collette Carter. I’m not entirely sure.” John shrugs. After Elliot got Professor Flint, John was sent right to the Headmaster’s office.
“Miss Carter is a very nice girl. Incredible on the Quidditch Pitch.” Dippet says playfully, and John understands that he is not in trouble and can relax.
“Do you watch the matches, Professor?” John asks.
Dippet smiles, “Indeed. I used to be a quidditch player myself.”
“You weren’t!” John chides.
“Ravenclaw Keeper, 1653, ‘54 and ‘55.” He says, looking a bit younger as he reminisces. John is starkly reminded of how old this man sitting before him was. “Miss Carter’s got a real gift. You do too, John.”
“Thank you, but I’m nothing without Collette and Peter. Collette’s hoping to play for the Hollyhead Harpies after school. I think she’s good enough, too. She’s kept a poster of theirs by her bed all six years at Hogwarts.” John replies. Collette was the best quidditch player he knew, other than maybe Arthur. Paul was good, too.
“You two seem to spend a considerable amount of time together. Are the two of you-”
John’s face goes red, “No!” He says, maybe a bit too quickly. He clears his throat, collecting himself, “No. Collette is wonderful, but she’s just my friend.” Why did this keep happening!?
“I see.” The Headmaster chuckles, “Well, I’m happy she was there for Miss Powell.”
“Me too.” John’s shoulders drop, remembering why he was here in the first place. It’s easy to forget about your troubles when you’re talking about quidditch. “Cynthia didn’t deserve any of what happened to her.”
Dippet nods knowingly. He was looking older and older these days. “I’m sorry to hear of such an unfortunate turn of events for the young lady.”
“Pritchard needs to pay for-”
The Headmaster holds his palm up, stopping John from continuing, “I will deal with Mr. Pritchard personally.” He ensures. “I wanted to know if there was anything you needed to tell me before I let you go?” Dippet asks, like he already knew the answer.
John considered for a moment. He debated on whether or not to tell his headmaster about the Dark Lord Dorian mentioned. Chances are Dippet already knows about this looming threat.
He decides to just shake his head slowly. It didn’t feel right. Like it wasn’t his secret to share.
Dippet just nods, choosing not to pry. “I think it’s time to make a call to a friend.” He says, standing up. He took out his wand, it was very long and looked brittle, but had a jewel encrusted handle that caught John’s eye. Dippet swishes it around, and out of some parchment on his desk, an origami owl emerging from the previously flat sheets of parchment. It was ornate and looked and moved as if it was totally alive, even hooting once. Dippet then whispered something to the paper owl, and it took flight, its wings flapping greatly as it flew out of the open window.
John watched it with awe. He would truly never get sick of the magic here.
“I’m going to have to ask you of something, John. Something terribly hard and unfair for someone your age.” Dippet turns back to John. He tenses. He didn’t want any missions or expectations. He just wanted to be a regular Hogwarts student. He supposed it was far too late for that.
“What is it?” He asks, trying to put on a brave face.
“I need you to get that book back from Ignatius.” John hasn’t heard Whittaker’s first name in years. “And I need you to destroy it.”
He swallows thickly, ignoring the anxiety building in his chest, “Why me?”
“The Grimoire will only respond to you. It has chosen you.”
“It needs to be destroyed ?” He asks.
Dippet nods, “There is valuable information in there. Information Tom Riddle needs in order to transform into what he is trying to be.” John feels a chill run through his spine. “If he or any of his followers get their hands on that book, it will certainly lead to great death and destruction in the Wizarding World…and beyond.” He spoke very seriously now.
John feels weak, but he holds it together. He could do this. He was a Gryffindor, after all.
“How do I destroy it?” John asks, his mind racing
“I’ve sent for Albus Dumbledore. I know you have met him?”
John nods, back at Christmas they shared dinner together with some other Gryffindors. McGonagall was there. John remembers him being a strange and fascinating man.
“He has spent the last few years tracking Tom Riddle, trying to stop him before he gets too powerful. He will be of much more assistance than I.” Dippet explains. John remembers many people telling him that Dumbledore was the greatest and most powerful of modern-day wizards.
“I understand.” He replies, “But, can’t you just take the book back from Whittaker?” John asks.
Dippet shakes his head, “Things are not so simple, John.” Is all he replies with, leaving John feeling more confused than before.
Dippet changes the subject at that. “I’m very sorry to hear about your wand.” His professor says, “I can give you special permission to visit Diagon Alley and receive a new wand before classes start on Monday. You may take a friend, if you wish.”
John perks up at this. His mind instantly goes to Paul. What he would give for an afternoon with Paul. Even if he couldn’t take Paul, he’d be in London. Right where Paul was. He feels a surge of excitement run through his body. “I’m alright to go by myself, professor.” He could send Paul an owl tonight. Hopefully it would get to him in time, if he would be going to Diagon Alley tomorrow.
“I would prefer if someone went with you. You seem to attract trouble.” He winks at John.
John supposed his professor was right, he nodded, “Collette would be perfect, actually.”
The Gryffindor common room had a definite vibe to it. Everyone had heard some version of the story at this point, but no one knew the details. All that mattered was the ‘it’ couple of Hogwarts had just broken up, Cynthia was absolutely beside herself, and Dorian was nowhere to be seen.
When John entered the common room, a dozen pairs of eyes fell on him. The room goes quiet. That told John they all knew he was somehow involved. He awkwardly walks through the room, students of all ages staring at him and whispering.
He decides to head towards the girls dormitories where he figured Cynthia and Collette would be. Arthur and Elliot stood outside of the staircase.
“Is she okay?” John asks them, quietly. The common room still stared at them. Arthur looks over John’s shoulder.
John groans and turns around, feeling his frustration boil over, “Something any of you would like to say?!” He asks the room.
A few Gryffindors clear their throats, looking away awkwardly. But not all of them.
“Go on?” John felt his old self coming out. Before Paul softened him and convinced him he was worthy of love and recovery. God, he needed to see Paul again. “Since you all stick your nose in my business anyways!”
Lance fucking Bingham stands up, “Did you break up Cynthia and Dorian?” He asks. Lance was always the tick getting under John’s skin.
“No. Next question.”
“Where is Dorian?” Suzy asks, her hair looking shorter than usual.
“I don’t know. I don’t think we’ll be seeing him around anymore.” John says. He didn’t know the outcome for Dorian, but he attacked two students and nearly performed an unforgivable curse on his girlfriend. With four witnesses.
“Why are you always stirring up trouble?” A seventh year student asked. Her name was Cressida. John didn’t know much about her, just that she was training to be a healer and broke Arthur’s heart a few years ago.
John’s jaw tightens. He looks around the room. There were Gryffindors of all ages. Little eleven year olds who looked up to him—literally—to fellow sixth and seventh years who he’s known for years. A voice in the back of his head tells him to bite back, to come up with something snarky and rude in reply. Something clever, like he’s done his whole life.
But a softer, gentler voice reminds him of who he really is.
It was Paul’s voice.
He takes a breath, “I don’t know.” He admits, candidly and honestly. “I never asked for all this trouble. I never asked to put anyone I care about in danger.” John addresses the full room. Most of Gryffindor house was in there, listening intently.
He continues, “We all get dealt a hand of cards, but we never get to choose our hand. I’ve gotten a really bad hand. I don’t want it... The Headmaster is asking me to do something that’s very hard. And very scary.” He finds that Gryffindor-bravery somewhere deep inside, “But I won’t quit the game. We don’t get to choose our cards. All we get to choose is what to do with it.” John was making it up on the spot, hoping he was making sense. “Well, I’m choosing to use my shi- my bad situation and make something out of it.” He remembers there were eleven and twelve-year-olds listening. “There’s uncertainty ahead. But I promise I’ll never put any of you in harm. I promise I’ll never put Hogwarts in danger. Hogwarts is my home. You are my family.” He hopes it’s sincere enough, because he felt every word he said. He meant every word he said.
No one replies initially. But John feels a hand on his shoulder. It’s Arthur’s, “And we’ll look out for John, won’t we?”
“Yeah. We’re Gryffindor’s, it’s what we do.” Elliot says now. John smiles at his friends. They didn’t even know what Dippet was asking of John.
“How can we help you?” A third year asks.
“We’ve got your back!” One of the first years who John remembers from the quidditch pitch last fall says.
The room relaxes, and various students warm up to John again, eager to help him in his quest. He looks around, feeling the outpouring of trust. He can breathe finally. These were his friends, his people. He could do anything with them by his side.
29th March, 1958
Paul,
I know you told me not to write to you. Forgive me.
Much has changed and happened. Dippet has given me a task. I’m scared honestly. I need your help. You’re the best wizard I know.
I’ll be in Diagon Alley tomorrow afternoon. Just Collette and I. I’ll tell you why later. If you can come, please do.
Yours,
John.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 35
Notes:
Hey guys! Happy Sunday!
PLOT HEAVY chapter ahead! This chapter really starts the final major arc of the story! But don’t worry, there are still like ten chapters after this haha.Since we last talked, I GRADUATED UNIVERSITY! I officially have a bachelor’s degree! Yippee! I also finally have more free time over the next little bit so hopefully I can write more!
Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They travel by floo network. Dippet let them use his own personal fireplace, and informed them not to tell anyone else of where they were going. Before Collette and John left just after breakfast, Dippet handed John a bit of parchment written Leaky Cauldron, 6pm. Tell no one . John pocketed it, not even showing Collette. He knew he’d be doing more than just purchasing a new wand today.
John’s travelled by floo once before, and hated the entire experience. He slides out of the Leaky Cauldron fireplace, covered in soot and dust, coughing. He stands up, brushing his rear off.
Collette comes behind him, looking perfectly clean and normal. She had much more experience than John.
“So, do I get to know what’s going on?” Collette asks, picking up on the added mission as they walk tap on the bricks to Diagon Alley. John’s been here a few times before, but not before the Grimoire mess. His Aunt would take him to get his school supplies in the summer and would spend the day shopping in London while he met up with Elliot and his family. John had happy memories attached to the street.
“Not here.” He says, knowing it was too busy and anyone could be listening in. They had to stay until six anyways, so they had time. But John knew he needed to get a wand first thing, just in case any of the trouble he attracted was nearby.
They hit up Ollivander’s first. John was uncharacteristically sad about his wand. A wizard’s wand was part of their individual profile, it made them who they are. Every spell, every memory, every success and failure he shared with that old wand.
Not to mention his wand was literally a brother of Paul’s.
God, John really missed Paul. He hadn’t even realized just how bad it was until he got to London, suddenly very aware of how close they were to each other. John had no clue where Paul was in the city, but just the knowledge that their proximity was closer now than a few hours ago made John ache with want and yearning for the lad.
He had no way of knowing if Paul got his letter. He sent it late last night, attaching it to the fastest owl in the owlery. He couldn’t trust Scraps to get it to Paul on time, he was just a little owl. And John didn’t care if Paul getting a strange owl would cause suspicion, he needed to see Paul and that was the only way it was going to happen. He would just have to hope.
John was allowed to keep the broken parts of his old wand, but they weren’t really of use to him anymore. They would only create dangerous and unpredictable magic. He would have to research for some kind of use for the broken pieces. He remembers Paul mentioned that Hagrid put the shards of his broken wand into an umbrella, although John thought that sounded unruly.
His new wand was 12 inches exactly and made of cedar wood. But it had a Phoenix feather core, of which John was trying not to be disappointed by. His previous wand had what he thought to be a much cooler core, and it matched Paul’s.
“Don’t be down.” Collette says, “Phoenix feather cores are rare, too. And they produce a much more powerful type of magic than any other core.” She says as they pop into Madam Malkin’s. She needed a new set of pajamas.
John shrugs, “I suppose.” He gives the wand a little flick, testing out the weight and balance. “It’ll just take some getting used to.” He kept looking around, hoping for a glimpse at Paul, but he’s had no luck yet.
The two of them looked in Broomstix, the sweet shop and even perused the Harpy’s Bazaar for a while. John was trying to make the most out of the day out, enjoying spending it with Collette, who was low-maintenance and easy to talk to. But he was so anxious about his mystery meeting a six, and trying to run into Paul. Not to mention the looming threat of destroying the book that weighed heavy on his mind currently. Dippet had made it seem like the entire future of the wizarding world was on John’s shoulders. His ability to destroy it would determine the outcome of the lives of many witches and wizards. And he didn’t even know where to begin. John tried not to spiral, but he was clearly in a different mood.
Collette could tell he was distracted, but she never pushed or pried for why. She was always so good about that. She never made John feel bad for anything. Sure she teased, but she was the first person to defend John. Other than maybe Paul.
God, where was Paul?
“Cynthia seemed a little better this morning.” She said as they sat outside a cafe. She was trying to get John’s mind off of whatever it was so focused on.
“I feel terrible for her.” John shakes his head.
“I do too.” Collette looks down at her cappuccino. “She really loved him.”
“I’ll never understand why.” John shakes his head, still looking around the busy shopping district for any sign of the boy his heart belonged to. It’s been literal weeks since he’s seen Paul, even longer since he’s had a real conversation with him.
“He manipulated her.” Collette sighs, “I saw the signs, but she was so sure he wasn’t. I had to trust her.” She takes a sip of her coffee, “Foul. I don’t even know why I drink this.”
John chuckles, “I’m just happy she wasn’t seriously hurt.”
“Not physically, at least.” Collette adds. John nods, she was right. He couldn’t imagine the pain Cynthia was emotionally going through. She was being used by Dorian all along. John wondered how a guy like that ever got something like headboy. It scared John. Made him wonder what other powerful wizarding positions are at risk of corruption. He hoped not the Headmaster—or worse—the Minister of magic would ever be run by someone with ulterior motives.
“Are you going to start apparition lessons next month?” Collette asks John.
He nods, “Yeah, I figure I’ll need it.”
“Me as well.” She says, taking another sip of her drink, the conversation stale despite them being such good friends. John was just so anxious, and she couldn’t do much about that.
John checked the time, it was only three o’clock. They still had a lot of time to kill. At least there was plenty to do in Diagon Alley.
At that moment, he looked up, glancing across the street where a bookstore was. He looks at the storefront. He remembers getting a few textbooks there before. But this previous year, Dippet had arranged for all of John’s textbooks to be collected for him. John had very little money. His mum left him a bit, and his aunt was well off, but he had nothing to his name. Nothing like the purebloods who were heirs to their family’s fortunes. Nothing like-
“Paul!” John says excitedly, standing up. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Paul was inside the bookstore, looking at John through the window. It had to be him!
“What?!” Collette sits up, looking around for what John saw. “What are you talking about?” She asks.
John leaves the cafe, walking across the street towards the bookstore. Collette frantically pulls out some change for her coffee, throws back the rest of the bitter drink with a grimace, and hurries after her friend.
What John didn’t know was Dippet had privately given her a note, as well. One that instructed her not to let John out of her sight, and to protect him at all costs.
He enters inside the bookstore. There were a good amount of witches and wizards shopping, but it wasn’t too busy. He looked at where Paul was standing, but he was gone. John groans and starts to search around the bookstore for the lad. Collette helps him.
They wander between bookshelves and tables covered in various different reads. Collette tries not to look suspicious, but John was frantic as he turned every corner and looked at the faces of any wizard he could.
“Are you sure you saw him?” She asks.
“Positive.” John nods. “I’d know him anywhere.”
They kept looking around, the bookstore obviously had been charmed to be larger on the inside than the outside. Collette notices that one of the employees starts looking at them suspiciously, and she grabs John’s arm.
In a hushed voice, she says “You need to be more careful.” She then nods at the witch who raised an eyebrow at them. John nods.
But it’s then that he sees Paul walking up a flight of stairs, just catching a glimpse of him at the final moment before going to the second floor. John runs towards him quickly, eagerly going up the stairs as Collette trails behind, trying to look as ordinary as possible.
The second floor is like the first. Paul is nowhere to be seen at first, and then he’s seen going up to the third floor for just a split second.
The third floor was different. It was like an inn, and down a narrow hallway there were six different rooms on each side, each with the door firmly shut.
John walks down the hall, unsure of what room Paul ducked into. But as he passes the second-to-last door on the left, it swings open.
He freezes, catching his breath from the chase and staring with awe.
Paul stands there, mirroring John with the same look of soft focus and open body-language.
He was beautiful. Just as beautiful as John remembered—even more beautiful. His hair was neatly done, but of course that one perfect strand was falling out of place in front of his face. He wore wizard robes that were expensive and tailored to his body, a deep shade of blue with gold accents. His eyes looked so green today. John knew they were hazel, but he noticed all the green bits more than ever before.
Neither said anything at first, both just frozen and shy, afraid of doing the wrong thing.
But then, Paul reaches out and grabs John, pulling him into a tight hug. John eagerly hugs him back, wrapping his arms around the boy who was just a tad taller but much skinnier than John. He holds Paul flush against him, never wanting to let go.
Paul wraps his arm up, grasping John’s hair and burying his face in the crook of John’s neck. He clutched onto John with wanton trust. They both cling onto the other, like they were their breath support.
“ John. ”
“ Paul .”
“Fuck, I missed you.”
“I know, I know. I’m here now.”
After a good minute of just holding the other person without saying much else, John pulls away slightly, looking at Paul’s face. They were just inches apart, and John cups Paul’s jaw, tenderly holding it in his hand as he studies his face. Paul glances at John’s lips, and that’s all it takes for the two of them to crash together, their lips connecting without any hesitation.
The kiss is better than anything John could have expected. It’s deep and meaningful and the best way to say hello. They deepen it slightly, but then Paul pulls away, startled. He saw Collette, who was standing a safe distance away from them both, letting them have their reunion.
John was put off by this, and looked at Paul with furrowed eyebrows and concern. He turns to see Collette standing across the hall, leaning against the wall and looking down at the floor.
“It’s okay, she knows.” John reassures. Paul nods tentatively, and opens the door wider for the both of them to enter.
The room was cold and barren. There was a sofa on one end and a bed on the other. There was a shared bathroom with the room next door, and there was an old, dusty armoire next to a tall window which looked out over the rooftops of Diagon Alley and London.
“Don’t tell me this is where you’ve been staying.” John looks around.
Paul chuckles, “No. My mum’s family owns this shop. This is where they house their employees if they need it. It’s just extra now. I knew we’d be safe here.”
John can’t stop staring at Paul. There he was! Right in front of him! Like he never left! God he was perfect.
“Where have you been staying?” Collette asks, swiping some of the dust on the armoire with her pointer finger, rubbing it between her two fingers.
“Close to Hyde Park. Both Michael and I.” He puts his hand in his pockets. “It’s nice.”
“You got my owl.” John says, not really posing it as a question.
Paul nods, “Not without a bit of commotion, though. I had to promise Mike I’d help him with his homework all next year so he wouldn’t tattle.”
John smiles and then walks over to Paul and hugs him again. He never wanted to let go. He can feel Paul smile against his neck as they hold one another again.
“I’ve missed you, too.” John says when they pull away.
“I know. It’s been dreadful.” Paul shakes his head, “My understanding is that we both have things to tell the other.”
John nods, “So much has happened at Hogwarts.”
“Here, too.” Paul adds.
“How much time do you have?” John asks.
“Not much before they notice I’m gone. But enough.”
John shakes his head, “You could give me an eternity with you and it still wouldn’t feel like enough time.”
Paul gives John an overwhelmingly soft look at that, and if Collette wasn’t standing right there he might lean in and kiss the daft git, but they’re able to hold it together.
The three sit, Collette and John on the sofa, Paul in a chair in front of them.
“You go first.” Paul says.
John nods, “Dorian’s been expelled.”
“Shit.” Paul’s eyes widened, “What for?”
“He attacked John and Cynthia. Almost used the Cruciatus Curse on Cyn.” Collette says.
“Fuck.”
“He wanted to frame me for it. He wanted to get me sent away for good.” John explains.
“He doesn’t want you to use the book?” Paul asks.
John shakes his head, “That’s the other thing: He said I would be more powerful with the book, so he didn’t want me to get it anymore. He said I’d be seated ‘at the right hand of the Dark Lord’.”
“Holy shit.” Collette looks at John, “You didn’t tell me about that!”
“I haven’t told anyone.” John replies.
Paul looks deep in thought, “I was afraid of that.” He looks up at John, “I met him.”
“What?” John cocks his head.
“Tom Riddle, I met him.”
“Jesus.” John sits back. “When?”
“A few weeks ago. My father got invited to this big banquet. It was only families in the sacred twenty-eight. Do you know what that is?” He asks.
John nods, “George filled me in.”
“Good lad.” Paul smiles, “Is he well?”
“He is. We’ve gotten closer.”
“And Ringo?”
John hesitates. Ringo had a bad spell there not too long ago. “He’s okay. He’s getting better.”
“Rings.” Paul shakes his head.
“This is a lovely reunion but we have limited time.” Collette adds.
“Collette-” John starts.
“She’s right.” Paul agrees, continuing, “My father could show up at any minute.” John’s heart sinks. This was not how he wanted his reunion with Paul to go. He wanted to hold him and kiss and tell him what he meant to John. “They were all there—even the Weasleys and Prewetts—No one knew what it was all about. My father took me because I’m the heir to the McCartney fortune. That was a big thing about it. The Blacks were there, with Orion and his new wife, Walburga. The Malfoys, the Crouches, the Rosier’s, the Lestranges, even the Longbottoms. We were all summoned. And all the heir’s were, too. Even the Malfoy heir, who’s only four years old. ”
“What was the Banquet about?” John asks.
“Well, Riddle was there. Him and this eastern woman was with him. She was so… strange. She truly looked like a snake. I can’t remember her name, I just remembered I never wanted to look at her.” Paul starts to describe the scene, “It was held at Malfoy Manor, and it sounds like the Malfoys, the Burkes and the Blacks are already on his side.”
“What even is his side?” Collette asks.
“That’s exactly what the meeting was about. He told all of these families about an idealized world. A world where they are all protected, rich and their children can be brought up ‘safely’.”
“Safely? The wizarding world is already safe!” Collette scoffs.
“Exactly. But he doesn’t think so. He says it’s being corrupted from within. By blood-traitors.” Paul adds.
“Shit.” John grips his fists.
Paul nods, “He promised these families he could protect them if they pledge their allegiance to him.”
“Seems like an empty threat.” John says.
“That’s what I thought, too.” Paul agrees, “He didn’t give very many specifics. I think he was trying to weed out the loyalists and the ones he’d have to worry about.”
“But how is he going to do it?” Collette asks.
Paul shrugs slightly, “Unclear. Obviously there's an element of dark magic. But he went on this big tangent about ‘everlasting-life’ and ‘eternal-youth’, nothing will get rich people to open their pockets like that.” He explains.
“Is he a politician?” John suggests.
“In a way? I don’t know, really. There were some… cultish things about how he conducted the meeting, but it was still only the first one.”
“There are going to be more?” Collette frowns.
Paul nods, “Sounds like it. One a year for the first few years.”
“Years!?” John scoffs.
“Yes. This is going to take a long time. It’s only now being set into motion. It’ll take years—decades even—that’s why the heirs were there. That’s why they have a bloody four-year-old in attendance. If they’re young and know no different, then why should they have a reason to rebel?” Paul shakes his head. “Riddle explained that this would take some time. But he needed their allegiance now . He said he was in the process of getting stronger, of becoming someone worthy of their loyalty. But he was missing something.”
“That’s where I come in.” John says.
“What?” Paul asks this time.
“Dippet gave me a task yesterday. He told me I must destroy the Grimoire, and I must do it soon.”
“Bloody hell.” Paul sighs. “Riddle wants whatever’s in that book.”
“Exactly.” John nods. “Although I don’t know what it is. There’s some really advanced dark magic, and I didn’t study even half of the book. It could be anything.”
“But why you?” Collette asks.
“The book chose me, I guess. It’ll only answer to me.”
“Have they tested that?” Paul asks.
John goes quiet. He truly didn’t know. “I haven’t any idea.”
All three of them sit quietly for a moment, taking in all they’ve shared with one another at this point. It was a lot all at once, especially for such young people to take on. Paul was still only sixteen.
“What was your dream?” Paul asks, breaking the silence. John forgot he wrote to Paul about the dream, it was so long ago now.
John breathes in deeply, “I think I dreamed of Riddle.” Paul swallows thickly, “He spoke to me. But he was young, as if he was our age. And Hogwarts was on fire and there were generations of Hogwarts students running from him, terrified for their lives.”
Collette puts a hand over her mouth.
“Bugger.” Paul shakes his head, “This is bad.”
“Dippet sent for Dumbledore. He said he can help. He told me that Dumbledore has been researching how to stop Riddle for some time now. It sounds like this has already been going on for a bit.”
“I knew it.” Paul shifts in his seat.
“I think I’m going to be meeting with him tonight.” John says.
“Is that what the note Dippet gave you was about?” Collette asks. John nods.
“Paul, what did your father think of Riddle?” John asks, feeling a terrible sinking feeling in his gut.
Paul shrugs, “It’s unclear. My dad is a literal judge of character—you remember—but Riddle really did make some interesting points. He’s persuasive, that’s clear. And you can't help but cower before him. He just has this… presence. It’s inexplicable. But I see right through him. He made sure to introduce himself to all of the heirs. He knows his insane plan will only work if the heirs are on board.”
“So you spoke with him?” John asks.
“Yes. Shook his hand even. It was terrible. I think he’s a legilimens. That’s where I fucked up, John.” He looks up at John, apologetically.
“Paul.” John feels terrible dread, “What happened?”
“I’m so sorry John. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Paul, tell me.”
“They know it’s you. They know you’re the key to the book. They know where the book is. They know they can’t access it without you.” Paul drops his head in his hands. John bites the inside of his cheek, he supposed before now it was all just speculation. They knew John had been in court, but it wasn’t until Tom Riddle read Paul’s mind that he knew John was the key. “I was weak. I always think of you when I get in those uncomfortable situations and read right through me. Spoke to me in my head, even.”
“Shit.” John says. “It’s okay, Paul. Really.” He nods, reaching out to hold Paul’s hand. “I’m ready. I really am.”
“I’m so sorry John. It was me all along.”
“What?”
“How they tracked you at Hogwarts. I wasn’t spying on you, I swear on my life. But they used my trace. I’m still underage, and we were together so much.” Paul explains. “Riddle told me in my head.”
“Fuck.” John stands up, pulling Paul up into an embrace as he begins to shake. It made perfect sense, really. It explained why they couldn’t go anywhere off grounds without getting attacked, why it only happened when Paul was with him. He was so afraid Paul was spying on him, he never realized they could spy on him through Paul.
“So really, this isn’t safe.” Paul says as he lets John hold him. “I’ve put you in danger by even coming, but I had to tell you. You had to know. Your life's in danger and it’s all my fault. I’ve betrayed you.”
John couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he took Paul’s face in his hands and held him there, looking deeply into his eyes, “It isn’t your fault, Paul.” He shakes his head. “You didn’t know. You didn’t mean any harm. I don’t blame you, I promise.” John says.
Paul’s teary-eyed but holding it together, “Really?”
John nods, “Promise.” And he kisses Paul deeply. They pull away, not wanting to make Collette uncomfortable. “I’d face danger any day if it meant seeing you.”
Paul smiles between John’s hands, his face smushed just right.
John realizes that if he had been told that a few months ago, it would have caused an utter spiral and total panic. His own anxieties and insecurities would have eaten away at him, like they did that night after the boathouse. John’s made a lot of progress recently.
It never would have happened without Paul.
“When are you coming back to Hogwarts?” John asks, dropping his hands.
Paul sighs, “My father won’t let me go back this year.”
“What!?” Collette stands now.
“No!” John feels numb. “Why?!”
He thinks it’s not safe! Which is bullshit. It’s safer than anywhere else. At least that’s what I thought before… well before I realized he wants to keep me safe from you .” Paul says to John. John feels his heart tug at that.
“That’s absurd.” Collette says.
“I know.” Paul shakes his head. “He said I can go back in the fall but… oh John .”
“Paul I can’t take anymore heart-ache today.” John sighs.
“He said only if I agree to an engagement over the summer. To a woman. To Luciana Rosier.”
“Fuck.” John was now chewing on the inside of his cheek violently, the taste of blood filling his mouth. He grasps Paul at that, the two of them holding one another desperately.
“Uhm… boys?” Collette says with a shake in her voice. She was looking out the window down at the street below the bookstore. “Three darkly-cloaked men just walked into the shop.”
“Shit.” Paul says. “They’re coming John, for you.”
Collette starts frantically searching for a way out, or something they could use to fight. Paul had his trace still, and wouldn’t be able to use magic. She pushes the sofa in front of the door, locking it and searching around.
John studies Paul’s face again, looking between his eyes frantically. He then catches Paul’s lips with his, kissing him with fervour.
They kiss passionately, their emotions high and anxiety overwhelming. They clung to the other, as if it would be the final time they kissed. John’s full body is on fire, he loved kissing Paul so much, their lips were perfectly made for one another.
Paul held John’s face in his hands, and John pulled Paul’s hips into his, and while he really wanted to keep kissing him and forget about every bad thing to ever happen in the world, he knew they had limited time, and dark wizards would be there any minute.
They pull apart, resting their foreheads against one another for a moment.
“Paul, I-” John starts to say, but the crack of a wizard apparating interrupts him. They pull apart quickly, and Paul’s father is standing in the room.
John remembers what Paul’s father looked like. He was much older than Paul, but had elements that were distinctly his. The same round eyes, the same build, he was about the same height as him and wore expensive wizard robes.
“James. We’re leaving. Now.” He walks over to Paul. He didn’t speak with anger or force. He was just steady, sure. It helped to alleviate the panic throughout the teens in the room.
Paul squares his shoulders, “How did you know-”
“There’s no time for that. Not now.” McCartney pulls out his wand, preparing to apparate out with his son.
John was rendered speechless. They could hear shouting from down stairs, and his anxiety began to take over. Paul stays planted next to John, his eyebrows furrowed together.
“What about my friends? We can’t leave them here to fight alone!” Paul gestures to Collette and John, who then share a look of concern. If this is what it was going to come to. They both ready their wands. John wasn’t sure how his new wand was going to fare in battle. They didn’t know each other yet—his wand and himself.
Paul’s father looks between his friends, “So this is the boy?” He looks at John.
John swallows. Did he recognize John? He had to have.
He speaks up again, “They will capture him and kill her.” He says to Paul. “I’m sorry, but I can only take one of you. You’ll understand why I am choosing my son.” McCartney addresses John and Collette. He didn’t seem corrupt at all, just a parent making a sacrifice.
Collette scoffs, knowing there was no time for this. She opens up the armoire, looking for something they can use to their advantage. John hears her breath hitch when she opens up a side door.
“No!” Paul shouts. “Either we all stay, or we all go.”
They could hear running up the stairs now. John starts running through combative spells through his head.
McCartney looks at his son sternly. “First you disappoint me, running away, then you argue when danger is near? James, we must go now.” And he reaches out to touch Paul.
At that moment, they can hear banging on the door. John’s heart threatened to burst out of his chest.
Paul pulls back again, “I’m staying!”
Bang.
“You won’t!”
Bang.
“I’m not leaving them!” Bang.
“You don’t have to.” Collette says, holding two brooms in her hand. They were old, and appeared to be just standard cleaning brooms. But they would get the job done. Especially if rode by two skilled chasers.
She hands one to John and moves to the window, working on cracking it open. But it was old, and clearly hasn’t been opened in quite some time. She struggles.
The door blew open, and three dark wizards stood there, all in dark cloaks with masks. One was a woman, one was nearly seven-feet-tall.
John drops the broom, drawing his wand back and yelling, “ Incarcerous! ” One of the wizards blocks it effortlessly.
McCartney lunges for Paul, but Paul avoids him again, the two of them shouting at each other.
“ Expelliarmus!”
“ Stupefy!”
“ Protego! ”
“ Incendio!”
“ Petrificus Totalus! ”
“ Bombarda! ”
“Protego! ”
There’s another crack, and an Auror is now in the room, helping John fight back. Paul’s father gets pulled into the action, knowing he had no other choice. Three-on-three, each a powerful wizard in combat. John holds his own, ignoring how his hand shook.
Paul runs to Collette’s aid, helping her pull the window open.
“John!” She shouts. He turns, seeing they could escape. He blocks a curse and reaches for his broom. He runs to the window, continuing to block spells messily. Collette was already on her broom. “Get on!” She yells at Paul.
Paul has a split moment of hesitation, looking back at his father. Another Auror apparates into the room, joining the fight. Paul then looks at John, and they non-verbally agree to make a run for it. They had to escape. They had to protect John.
Collette jumps out of the window, her broom dropping a meter but catching air. She screams, but starts to hover well.
John and Paul run towards the window together, mounting the old broom together and jumping out without hesitation. They both yell, feeling their stomach drop and breath take away as they free fall for a split-second. Paul grasps onto John’s waist, squeezing his eyes shut. But the broom catches air just as Collette’s did, and they’re hovering over the street.
Paul looks back through the window, where another Auror had joined the fight. But so had two more dark wizards. He can still see his father, who recognizes that Paul had escaped. McCartney lets his guard down for a quick moment, looking back at Paul.
The Dark Wizard uses it as his chance, and hits Paul’s father with a curse, taking him out with a scream.
“No!” Paul shouts, watching his dad fall to the ground. The combat was still violent, the room filled with bright flashes of color from each curse and spell.
“John! Let’s get out of here!” Collette yells.
They start flying away, Paul crying into John’s shoulder. “We have to go back!”
“We can’t!” John says firmly. “The Auror’s will take care of him! We have to get away from such a busy and public area!” John says as they fly over the rooftops of Diagon Alley.
But they don’t make it very far. There’s too much weight on such an old broom and John’s broom starts to stutter. They begin to lose air, and he pulls up, doing everything in his power and all that he knows to keep them in the air. But it doesn’t work. This wasn’t a broom intended for flying, and it starts veering all over the place.
“Collette!” John yells for his friend, who is just ahead of them and having similar problems. She turns over her shoulder, her red hair blowing in the wind behind her. She looks just as John and Paul start to nose-dive for the ground.
“Fuck!” John yells as they near the cobblestone of a dark corner of Knockturn Alley.
Paul pulls out his wand and yells, “ Aresto Momentum! ”, and just inches from the ground they freeze in place for a few seconds, breaking their fall. Then, the drop finishes, and they hit the ground. It still hurts, but it doesn’t do any serious damage.
They both lay on their stomachs, trying to catch their breath. The fall knocked the wind out of their lungs pretty hard.
Collette’s broom had gone completely rouge, and was spinning rapidly to the ground, she was unable to take control of it.
John reaches up, trying to cast a spell to stop Collette, but his shoulder had been pulled out of it’s socket in his own crash-landing, and he wasn’t able to reach his arm up before his friend crash-lands a few feet away from them, destroying a few crates in the alleyway.
“Collette!” He hobbles onto his feet, grabbing his shoulder and setting it back in place with a grimace.
She lay on her back, motionless and groaning.,
“Shit.” John spits a bit of blood. He wasn’t sure where that came from. He didn’t have the capacity to worry yet. “Are you okay?” He asks Paul.
Paul nodded, but looked completely out of it. Numb.
“You're bleeding.” Paul says emptily to John. He reaches out and touches John’s cheek.
John holds his fingers up to the cut, and when he pulls his hand away it’s covered in blood. “Bugger.”
The two boys finally stand up, looking around. This was a bad part of town. They were behind a dirty pub, and it reeked of garbage and dark magic. Collette still hadn’t stood up.
“I need help.” She says. “I don’t think it’s just sprained.” She hisses in pain, trying not to cry, and the boys rush to her, each wrapping one of her arms over their shoulders so she can stand.
“Holy fucking shit.” Paul says.
“It’s broken.” Collette says as tears well-up in her eyes. “My leg, it’s broken!” She cries.
“It’s going to be okay.” John says instinctively, “It’s going to be okay.” John looks over at Paul, “Paul your father is going to be alright.” He says, but Paul doesn’t reply, just giving a thousand-yard stare as a response.
The three take a moment to collect themselves, all a bit shaky from what they just went through. John tries the one pain-relieving spell he knows on Collette, but she was in a lot of pain, and her leg was looking terrible. Paul explains a few spells John can try, and they set Collette down while John plays doctor on her. He had already foolishly cast one spell with his trace, it would be unwise for him to cast any more. They didn’t need upset parents, dark wizards and Aurors searching for them.
A man walks past the narrow entrance to that back alley, and freezes when he sees them. “Well.” A new, fourth voice says to him. It’s masculine and strong, and it scares them. He was standing in the shadow of the buildings, hiding his face. They quickly look up, John reaching for his wand.
The mystery man holds up his hand, stepping into the light.
“This is not where I was expecting to find you.”
It was Albus Dumbledore.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Also I want to shout out my reader with the user @starfood! At the time of publishing this chapter, this reader has read just about every single fic I’ve published on here in the last two days! Not only have they read them all but they are such an active reader and have commented on EVERY CHAPTER. They are currently in the process of reading VVA and I LOVE reading all of their comments and thoughts. They are a super active reader and it’s readers like them who keep me publishing my works! Thank you so much and i love you!
Chapter 36
Notes:
Hello friends! Happy Easter to anyone who celebrates!
Enjoy! You can tell I wrote this AFTER discovering the marauder’s fandom bahahaALSO huge shout out to @starfood who made some LOVELY art of this fic!
Link to their art: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64838425
Thank you so much friend!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was officially dusk, and the four wizards had to strategically navigate to a safer place. Collette’s leg was broken, and Dumbledore used a pain-relieving spell on it, but he informed her she’d have to go to a better healer.
“I know just the witch.” He says as they sneak around Knockturn Alley. He stopped the bleeding on John’s cut on his face, but John was starting to get a headache. Dumbledore wanted to get back to the streets of London, although none of them understood why. They were all just thankful to be with one of the greatest Wizards of all time.
Paul was completely out of it. John could tell he was in shock, and he knew that he blamed himself for everything that happened. He wanted to be there for Paul, to console him, but he knew he needed to wait. Paul would stay closed-off until it was safe to let go. Until he was alone, or at least alone with John. A coping mechanism he learned growing up under his own circumstances.
Dumbledore didn’t say much, he just led the teens through back alleys. They were left alone, which was a relief. Probably because everyone knew how powerful Dumbledore was.
But John was starkly aware of how much danger he was in by being out here. And especially with Paul, who still had a trace.
They eventually make it outside of Diagon Alley, back into Muggle London. All three of them were exhausted. All of John’s body hurt from the fall, and he felt the incessant need to yawn.
It was the time of day when it’s not quite dark yet, but the sun is down. The sky was a dull, cool shade of grey-blue.
“Can’t you just apparate us?” John asks.
Dumbledore smiles slightly, “As skilled as I am with Apparation, Mr. Lennon, I cannot take three fully grown-students with me.”
“Take us one at a time, take Collette first.” Paul suggests.
Dumbledore shakes his head, “And leave you two trouble-makers out here alone? I think not. There are better means of transportation.” He says as they wait on a street curb.
Almost instantaneously, a large, triple-decker bus rapidly appears in front of them. It was a deep shade of navy-blue, and shook and rock as it came to a halt.
The Knight Bus, it read on the side.
The door swings open, and the ticketer speaks with Dumbeldore before letting all four on. They hobble into the vehicle, all feeling sore.
Dumbeldore gives the address of their destination, and without a second thought, the driver is speeding down the streets of urban London.
John tenses, the driving was terrible and reckless, and yet they never seemed to run into anything.
“First ride?” Dumbledore asks him.
John nods. Collette was resting her head on his shoulder, bordering sleep. Although he didn’t understand how with the bumpy ride.
“For the witch or wizard in need.” Paul explains, “It’s how I got to Diagon Alley to begin with.”
“Yes, I was only informed of two for tonight.” Dumbledore says, standing above the three of them. He somehow stayed perfectly balanced and still as he stood despite the rambunctious driving. It was effortless for him.
Paul’s lips pressed into a thin line, he felt ashamed.
“I’ve made a terrible mistake.” He mutters.
Dumbledore shrugs, “Perhaps.” He begins, “But perhaps you did not. Perhaps you only did what was necessary.”
Paul raises an eyebrow, glancing over at John. John shrugs, and they share a smile. Dumbledore was always speaking in limericks and rhymes.
John was so relieved this was all happening with Paul. There’s no one else he’d rather do this alongside. He’d be worried sick about Paul if he wasn’t here with him. Even though he knew Paul was confused by the decision, John was pleased that Paul chose to jump out of that window with him.
He reaches his arm over Collette’s lap and squeezes Paul’s knee, trying to give him any comfort. Paul gives John a weak smile. John pulls his hand away, but Paul grabs it and keeps it in place. John holds it there. It felt better for both of them to touch the other.
Whether Dumbeldore noticed or not was unclear. He never suggested he saw the boy’s simple display of comfort and affection.
The ride isn’t much longer before they arrive at their destination. But it was long enough for Collette to fall asleep on John’s shoulder. Poor girl. He carefully wakes her up and they get off the bus, still hobbling.
They were outside of a lovely house. A mansion really. But it was humble, despite its size. It was a cozy and welcoming home, with amber light shining from the windows and a big wrap-around porch. It was a Victorian style home, but anyone could see that much love and effort has been put into it over the years to turn it into a rich but welcoming looking abode.
The four wizards move away from the bus, Dumbledore leading the way as John and Paul assist Collette, who looked absolutely knackered. The pain-relieving charms were wearing off.
“What about Hogwarts?” John asks.
“Oh, you will not be returning to Hogwarts tonight, John.” Dumbledore says as he steps up to the porch. A giant tabby-cat slept on a porch swing outside of the front door. “Or the following night.”
“Oh?” John asks. Dumbledore always seemed to know everything.
He shakes his head, “No. Not until we know it’s safe for you.” He knocks on the door.
The three students look at one another, all feeling confused and exhausted.
“What a day.” Collette sighs, exacerbated.
It’s not long before the door opens. A middle-aged woman with reddish hair opens it. She wore round glasses and had an apron tied around her dress. She had a kind face and soft eyes.
“Euphemia, I apologize for not calling.” Dumbledore says. He steps to the side to show the three injured students. “I’ve brought you a few strays.”
Her face lights up, “Strays are my favorite .” She opens the door wide, welcoming all four in.
The inside of the house was just as wonderful as the outside, and it smelled of wonderful herbs and oils. It was a huge house, and it was full of pictures and things that were loved and told endless stories.
“Come in!” The woman says, helping bring Collette in. She tuts, “What a shame. Go help her onto that couch and I’ll take a look. What are your names, dears?” She asks.
“Paul.”
“John.”
“Collette.”
“Lovely to meet you. Shame it’s under such circumstances. Are either of you hurt?” She asks them. She wasn’t very tall and looked very soft. She was nothing like Aunt Mimi who was all sharp lines and pointed edges.
“I hit my head.” John says, “Just a headache.”
“I’m alright.” Paul says, trying to stay strong.
“I think they all took a bit of a spill.” Dumbledore says. “Is Fleamont in?”
The woman nods, “He’s in his study.” She nods to the back of the house. Dumbledore heads in the direction. They get Collette laying on the sofa, and John and Paul sit in arm chairs across from it. “I’m Euphemia Potter. My Husband Fleamont is in the other room. You can all call me Effie, got it?” She says sweetly while propping Collette’s leg up and conjuring an ice pack to press on it. They all nod, and Collette forces a smile. Effie was very kind and gave off an energy of pure love and goodness. It was palpable. She heads into the kitchen to start making up draughts for them all.
The three of them are decidedly quiet. They weren’t sure what to even say, or how to say it. Paul was still in shock, and John figured he might be, too. But they were all holding it off as best they could. It wasn’t time to break down, not yet.
A few minutes go by and a little house-elf hobbles in with a tray of tea. “Gully has brought you tea!” He says sweetly.
“Cheers.” Paul says reaching for a cup. They all sip on it. There were also biscuits and buttered-bread, and they all ravenously ate and drank, staying completely silent as they waited. What for? They didn’t know.
Eventually, Effie comes back in. She had her own tray of potions and herbs. She hands all three of them a little vial, “This is a draught that will help with any soreness or aches.” She explains. Collette drinks it instantly. Effie passes John and Collette each a bigger bottle of another elixir, “This one is for any serious pain.” And then she hands a tiny vial to Paul, “This one is for nerves.”
Paul’s eyebrows knit together, no doubt irritated that she could tell he was a nervous wreck pretending not to be.
They all take their potions and Effie starts to work on Collette’s ankle. She casts some spells on it and wraps it up for her.
“Gully’s made you all some dinner. I’m sure you’re hungry?”
“Starved.” John says, trying to bring some optimism to the mood. The two boys follow Effie into the kitchen and dining room.
Gully had prepared quite the feast. Shepherd’s pie, fresh bread, puddings of all kinds. Effie gestures for them to sit down, and they start loading up their plates. Neither of them were much in the mood to talk, and thankfully Effie didn’t pry. She just hummed away in the kitchen working on healing remedies. She had made a plate for Collette and taken it to her.
John and Paul quietly eat their food. John was insatiable, and ate through two full plates before he noticed that Paul was haphazardly picking at his food, eating like a bird.
The older boy looks at Paul, swallowing what was in his mouth. Paul doesn’t notice John was looking, his cheek resting on the palm of his hand as he played with a pea.
“It’s rude to play with your food.” John says dryly.
Paul cracks a smile, looking up, “‘M sorry.” He takes a big bite, forcing it down.
John wanted to ask what was wrong, but it’d be redundant. He knew what was wrong, of course he did. He knew Paul would talk about it when he was ready.
Eventually, Dumbledore and another man—presumably Fleamont—enter the room, taking their seats at the table.
“Boys.” The man says. He was as warm and welcoming as his wife. He had a dark, groomed beard and neat hair. “Nice to meet you.” He holds his hand out for each to shake. “Name’s Fleamont Potter.”
“Paul McCartney.”
“John Lennon.”
“So Albus says.” Fleamont says.
Effie sits, too. They all dish their own food, which was still hot despite it being made a half-hour ago.
“We’re sorry to visit your home like this.” Paul says, always so polite. They both looked knackered.
Fleamont chuckles, “There’s no need to apologize.” He smiles. “Effie and I take in those in need all the time.”
“You’re very kind for that. Thank you.” Paul says meekly.
“No better hosts than the Potters.” Dumbledore says. “I’ve arranged for you three to lie low here for a few days. Dippet has been informed.”
The boys nod. They could now hear Collette lightly snoring in the other room.
“We haven’t any overnight things.” Paul says.
“Oh! Don’t worry about that!” Effie says cheerily. “We’ll take good care of you lads.”
The older adults eat their dinner, all quietly talking about this and that. John could tell they were intentionally avoiding bringing up anything about the attack or the looming threat of Tom Riddle. John wasn’t sure if they should wait to be excused from the table or if they could just go. He and Paul just sit quietly, listening in on their conversation. Dumbledore was unexpectedly well adjusted in this situation, and there was nothing about him that felt out of place or off-putting, as he usually came off as.
From listening, John and Paul learned that Fleamont and Euphemia were both gifted wizards who met at Hogwarts. Fleamont worked for the ministry, although he didn’t say what his position was. Euphemia worked at Saint Mungos, the wizarding hospital. They’ve been friends with Dumbledore for quite some time, and they were good people. That was clear. They both radiated comfort and goodness. John and Paul both hadn’t realized how much they needed the calming, domestic energy that exuded from the Potter’s and their home. Obviously they were well-off, too and had plenty of money. They were clearly pure-bloods. Just the existence of Gully, the hardworking but otherwise cheery house-elf made that clear.
As they ate their pudding, Fleamont talked to the boys about quidditch. He had been a quidditch player himself for the Gryffindor team in the early 1920s. Neither of them looked that old, but John supposed all wizards aged differently. They all talked about quidditch for a long time, and Paul finally spoke like himself again. Quidditch lit him up, and he sounded almost normal as he and Fleamont discussed the current professional season.
Eventually, Gully came around to clean up and Euphemia insisted everyone go to bed. “Too much excitement in one day for these boys!” She exclaimed. Dumbeldore must have privately informed her of what had happened. John and Paul help Gully and Euphemia clean the table and dishes. But as John was drying off the plates Paul rinsed, Dumbledore requested to speak with him privately.
He and Paul give each other a quick look before John sets down the plate and heads to the older wizard.
Dumbledore leads John into Fleamont’s study. He closes the door behind John and casts a powerful silencing spell, one John hadn’t learned yet. They sit across from one another in leather arm chairs that were situated in front of a smoldering fire.
“We were supposed to meet at the Leaky Cauldron.” John states.
Dumbledore nods, “To discuss everything.”
John hadn’t known who he would meet based on Dippet’s note, but it was obvious now. He sits quietly and awkwardly, feeling a bit like a little kid in trouble.
“You’re upset with me.” John says. It wasn’t so much a question as it was an observation.
Dumbledore cocks his head, “What makes you suggest that?”
John shrugs, “All adults seem to find a reason to be disappointed in me.” Aunt Mimi, his parents, his professors, the Minister of Magic, countless Auror’s, Dark Wizards now. John seemed to attract frustration.
“Disappointed? No. Fascinated? A bit.” Dumbledore nods. John isn’t sure how to respond, so he just holds his tongue. “I’ve never come across a teenager who is so… sought after by the forces of darkness.”
“I seem to attract it.”
“Clearly. But why?”
John shrugs again, “Tell me when you figure it out.”
Dumbledore chuckles, amused by John. “Headmaster Dippet has given you a task, I understand?”
John nods slowly, “He wants me to destroy the Grimoire.”
“Nasty book.”
“I know it.” John relaxes a bit. Dumbledore wasn’t as strange or as intimidating as he seemed once you got talking to him.
“John, everything I am about to tell you is strictly confidential. Do you understand?” Dumbledore asks.
John nods.
“I must hear you say you understand. We cannot take any risks.” The Professor prods.
“I understand.” John says surely.
Dumbledore nods. “Do you know the history of the book?” He asks. John shakes his head, and Dumbledore hums, “It was written before Hogwarts was founded. First written by an ancient wizard who studied the dark arts. But he did not act upon the dark arts. He was able to avoid the influence. He researched what little we knew about the dark arts in those ages. Well, after Hogwarts was founded, a student was passed down the Grimoire. This student used it as a roadmap of sorts to become a dark wizard, and they gained a strong and powerful bond with the book.” Dumbledore continues, “They added to the book, and passed it down through their bloodline. It became more and more powerful, imbued with dark secrets and evil magic the longer witches and wizards added to it. Eventually, the book gained a consciousness of its own. This was done by a very powerful and elaborate form of magic…
Have you heard of horcruxes , John?”
John shakes his head. “Only within the book.”
Dumbledore hums inquisitively, “A horcrux is an object in which a wizard imbues with a part of their soul. They detach a fragment of their soul after a cold-blooded murder, and hide it within the object. Making them essentially immortal.”
The concept made John shudder.
Dumbledore continues, “The line of Grimoire authors are who invented the magic needed to create a horcrux. And they did it by turning the book into their own personal horcrux. It holds the souls of many lost witches and wizards.”
John’s mouth goes dry. He hates talking about the book at all, much less discussing it in great depth. He felt sick knowing there were actual souls attached to the book. That explained it’s whispering and hissing.
“So the line of authors… they’re all still alive?”
“No.” Dumbledore says, “When the body of one who’s split their soul into horcruxes dies, they are doomed to roam the earth in a state of a ghost—but it’s far darker. That is a fate worse than death. It is the most miserable place for a soul to be cast to. They would not truly die unless the horcrux was destroyed.”
John remembers the blurry spectres that he saw any time he was near the book. It must have been them... the line. “That’s why the book speaks to me.”
Dumbledore nods, “Yes. And the souls of the line have chosen you as their next author.”
John sighs. Of course they did.
“They want me to add to it?”
The professor nods, “And then split your soul into the book, joining the line.”
“Bugger.” John says, although that word felt inadequate in describing how truly fucked he actually was. “So it will always haunt me until it’s destroyed?”
“Indeed.”
“May I swear, Professor?”
“By all means.”
“Motherfucker.”
John risked spiraling into a panic, but he held it all together surprisingly well, considering how his heart rate was rising and the day he had.
“But why did it choose me?” He asks after a moment.
“There’s no way of really knowing.” Dumbledore said calmly, “It could be any number of things. What’s clear though is that it didn’t choose Tom Riddle when he was a student.”
“Did he want to be chosen?”
“Yes… and no. He knew how powerful it could make him, but he also knew how it could destroy him. He found it in his fourth year. I wish I had the foresight to prevent him from reading it.”
“How did it get to Hogwarts? And why wasn’t it protected better from students?” John felt a bit angry, like this all could have been prevented.
“Hogwarts is full of mystery, Mr. Lennon. I don’t think it ever left after the first student had it. You found it in the room of requirement, no?”
“I did the last time I found it… but the first time I can’t remember. It took over me.” John bites his thumbnail.
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about that now. It’s best not to dwell on the past.” Dumbledore says plainly. John supposed he was right, he just wasn’t happy about it.
“What does Tom Riddle want with it?” John asks after another beat of silence.
Dumbledore shifts in his seat, “He wants the information on horcruxes.”
“Shit.” John sighs, “Sorry for cursing.”
“Yes… shit seems like an appropriate word here.” Dumbeldore nods, “But Riddle has already succeeded in creating a horcrux. In his fifth year at Hogwarts.”
“Then why does he want the book?”
“Because I have reason to believe he wants to create multiple horcruxes.” Dumbeldore describes. John feels another chill run through his spine. “That information is in the book, but it’s never been done before.”
“How many?”
“Six.”
John nods, decidedly quiet as he processed all he was being told.
He then speaks up again, “But what do I have to do with it? Why does he want me?”
“For two reasons. For starters, he’s building his army. He’s going to turn towards the young and impressionable, the power hungry, anyone able to outsmart the ministry.”
John raises an eyebrow, “I didn’t outsmart the ministry. I had a fair trial.”
“Correct.” Dumbledore nods, “But Riddle doesn’t know that. He only knows what others—such as Graham Black’s older brother—have told him.”
“What’s the second reason?” John asks.
“The book has sections written in an ancient language, no?” He asks. John nods. “But you understood them?” John nods again. “ That’s why. Because the line chose you as their contributor, they’re letting you read their own texts. Riddle could not actually read the chapters of multiple Horcruxes.”
“Oh.” John says, wishing he was literally anyone else in the world at this moment.
“That’s why it must be destroyed. That’s why you must do it. You can put this all to rest. The line will rest when you destroy the book.”
“But how do I do it?”
“A spell. It’s going to take a lot of work and practice. And you’ll need a powerful wand. That’s what I’m going to be teaching you while you’re here staying with the Potters.” Dumbledore says.
“How long will I be here?”
“As long as it takes you to learn the spell.” Dumbledore says plainly.
John nods. It felt less scary when it was put so simply.
“Well let’s start. Right now.” He stands, pulling his new wand out of his pocket. There was no reason to wait. The sooner he got this over with the better. As soon as that book was no longer plaguing him. John was ready. He craved normalcy and freedom from the book.
Dumbledore chuckles, “No.” He shoots John down. John frowns, deflated.
“Why not!?”
“You’ve had enough for one day. And your friends… they need you.” Dumbledore stands. “I’ll be back tomorrow to start your training.” He holds his hand out for John to shake. He doesn’t want to initially, as he’s annoyed by Dumbeldore’s bluntness, but he takes it, not wanting to find out what it’s like to be on the bad side of the most powerful wizard in the world.
They move towards the door, but before John can pull it open, Dumbledore speaks up again, “Oh and Mr. Lennon…”
“Yes?”
“Paul’s a nice boy. I’m pleased to see him with you.” He says with a smile and wink, and then apparates right before John’s eyes before he can reply with anything.
John stands alone in Fleamont Potter’s study, feeling completely lost for words and confused.
Did Dumbledore know!?
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 37
Notes:
Surprise chapter!
THIS is the reunion we all deserved ;)ALSO i felt it was important to reiterate and note that I do NOT support JK Rowling and her transphobic rhetoric. As there has been more political developments with the rights of trans folks—especially trans women—in the UK, I’ve felt prompted to make it clear that I support, love and care for all trans people and especially trans women. Rowling is hateful, harmful and regretfully disappointing in all that she says and spreads these days. My work does not stand for any of her harmful and FALSE beliefs and opinions.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
While John had been speaking with Dumbledore, they got Collette into her bed in one of the guest rooms upstairs.
“Effie thinks she’s hit her head, too.” Paul says, although they weren’t sure when or how. “Collette can’t stay awake for more than a few seconds, and she keeps asking where she is.” Paul was whispering, they were in the hallway outside of the bedrooms.
John clenches his jaw, he felt terrible for putting Collette in this situation. It was unfair to her. He felt terrible for harming his friend.
“What did Dumbledore have to say?” Paul asks, still quietly speaking.
John gives Paul a knowing look, “Too much to say now. We’ll have to talk later.” John says.
Paul nods, “Alright.”
Effie comes out of Collette’s room, “She’ll be alright, boys. Just needs to rest.” She smiles. Effie had such a comforting air about her. “I’ll show you to your rooms, they’re just down the hall.”
She walks to two doors that were across the hall from each other, opening one after another. “I’ve laid out a fresh pair of pajamas for you both. Leave your dirty robes outside your door tonight and I’ll have Gully wash them up for you. The loo is right here. Fresh towels are in that cupboard. There are new toothbrushes right here. Can I get either of you anything?” She asks.
“I think we’re alright.” Paul says politely. “Thank you. Mrs. Potter.”
“Effie, darling!” She pats Paul’s shoulder. “Oh you boys are so sweet! You know, Fleamont and I have always wanted a son!” She breathes a long, exacerbated sigh. One full of a lot of packed-away heart-ache. “We’ll see.” And Effie walks down the hallway, “I’m downstairs if you need anything!”
John and Paul stand quietly in the hall, neither of them making a move for bed at first. Paul kept his eyes down, and John could tell he was hurting. John felt awful, he wanted to be there for Paul, but wasn’t sure how to go about it.
“I think I’ll shower.” Paul says after a minute of awkward silence. John nods, and Paul closes the bathroom door behind him. John waits in the hall for a moment longer, only leaving when he hears the sputter of the shower head.
He goes into what will be his room for the next few days. It was just as ornate as the rest of the home. It had a large, four-post bed which could fit at least three people in it, easily. He’s never slept in a bed that large before, and was worried it would feel empty.
The pajamas laid out were silk. They were an off-white color with red pin-stripes. John would want to take a shower, too. He’d wait to change until Paul was out of the bathroom.
John walks to the window, which was next to French doors which opened up to a balcony overlooking the large backyard of the Potter’s. It was really a lovely piece of land, and John enjoyed how they succeeded in making such a rich mansion still feel so homey. He stands out on the balcony for a while, feeling the cool-spring air. It was going to be April the day after tomorrow. Last April was the early stages of his trial. So much can change in a year.
And yet, so many of John’s problems were still the same.
He looks up at the moon. It was a waxing gibbous. There were a few bright stars he could see, but not nearly as many as he could back at Hogwarts, where the air was clearer and you were miles and miles away from a muggle city.
John moseys back into his room. There was a mirror on the wall, and he stood in front of it, staring at his reflection.
The cut on his head had healed well. Whatever Dumbledore and Effie did to him had worked. It was already barely noticeable. He runs his finger over it anyways.
John takes a deep breath.
He was just seventeen. It didn’t feel right. The face staring back at him was still full of youth and naivety, and yet it was being asked to do something far more mature. John didn’t want the pressure, he didn’t want the fear that came with destroying the Grimoire. But he didn’t have much of a choice, did he?
The looming threat of Tom Riddle and his rampage on the Wizarding World terrified John. He must have been the most inadequate Gryffindor of all time, because deep down he was really a coward. He was totally unprepared and entirely unequipped for what was to come.
What if he couldn’t do it?
What if he wouldn’t do it?
John completely lost himself around that book. Its power over him was too intense. If John failed, would the entire wizarding world be at risk?
He hears the water turn off, and it pulls him out his anxious thoughts and concerns. He looks at the door, which he left cracked open.
John waits for Paul to come out of the bathroom, and when he hears the bathroom door open, he goes to open his own.
Paul stood in the hallway, covered in only a towel and dripping from his shower. He freezes, looking at John and blinking.
John swallows, “Are you-”
“The water takes a moment to get hot. I made sure to leave some for you.” Paul interrupts him and goes inside his own room, closing the door firmly.
John is rendered speechless. He clears his throat, trying to suppress the hurt feeling he gets from Paul. The lad was being distant. He was processing. He went through a lot today. Including seeing his own father get attacked. Paul blamed himself for it. He just happened to be taking it out on John.
At least that’s what John told himself.
He takes a long shower, still processing the weight of the Grimoire, the events of the day and anxiety he felt surrounding Paul.
Paul’s clothes were carefully folded and sitting outside of his room waiting for Gully when John got out of the shower. John felt the urge to knock on Paul’s door, but he really didn’t want to push it. So he goes into his own room.
He gets dressed in the silk pajamas. They were luxurious, and nicer than anything he’s ever slept in. He folds his clothes like Paul, deciding that was probably more polite than just leaving them in a pile on the floor (what he would have done, if he hadn’t seen Paul’s). Although, John thinks it’s silly to fold them when they are just going to be washed. He digresses, and sets them outside.
John gets the urge to knock on Paul’s door again, but holds back for a second time.
He fiddles with his new wand he lays in bed, heavy curtains drawn and only an oil lamp dimply illuminating half of the room. John rolls the wooden stick in between his fingers, still getting a feel for its weight.
He couldn’t believe everything that happened today alone. He felt like he got this wand days ago, and yet it was less than twelve-hours ago.
John wasn’t one bit tired. His mind was too busy, his thoughts restless and his fears getting the better of him.
He worried about Paul. This isn’t how he expected their reunion to go at all.
Eventually, he turns out the oil lamp and sets his wand down, settling in for bed. But sleep never comes to him. He tries everything: counting his sheep, focusing on his breathing, he even tries to remember a sleeping spell. But instead he just tosses and turns, thinking over and over again of the day. And of Paul. And of Collette and her broken leg. And of Paul’s Father motionless on the floor of that flat. And everything Dumbledore told him. And Paul. And the banquet Tom Riddle hosted. And the Grimoire. And the horcruxes. And the snake-like girl at the banquet. And Paul. And Elliot and Arthur back at Hogwarts. And Effie and Fleamont. And George and Ringo who were probably getting high right now. And Paul.
He gets up, finally deciding to knock on Paul’s door.
“Come in.” Paul says quietly behind the wood.
John cracks the door open, poking his head in. Paul was wrapped up under the heavy covers of his giant bed. He was curled in one corner of the bed, and he looks so, so small.
After latching the door shut, John locks it for good measure. They didn’t need any visitors.
At the edge of the bed, he hesitates. He hasn’t really seen or spoken to Paul in so long. What things have changed? Would Paul even want to talk to someone right now?
John figures Paul wouldn’t have invited him in if he really wanted to be alone.
He pushes away any of his hesitations, and crawls into the bed with Paul, tucking himself under the covers. He doesn’t situate himself right next to Paul right away, deciding to tread lightly. Paul was like a stray dog, if you asked for its trust too soon, it would run away forever.
John lays on his side, looking at the back of Paul. It still felt surreal being so close to him after so long apart. John finds himself wondering how he ever lived without Paul to begin with. He sighs, desperately wanting to reach out for Paul, but being afraid to.
After he feels his side of the bed warm up, he decides to scoot in a bit closer to Paul. The bed was still so large that there was still a bit of space between them, but now John could at least feel Paul’s warmth.
It’s another minute or-so of John quietly watching Paul’s shoulders rise and fall with each breath before he gets brave enough to close the distance between them. He snakes an arm around Paul’s waist and pulls the boy’s slender frame into his chest. John buries his face into the crook of Paul’s neck and breathes in deeply. Yes , he thought, this is home.
John can finally relax. His nerves calm and his thoughts quit running wild. In the safety of Paul’s presence, John can finally rest.
He thought maybe Paul had fallen asleep, but after a minute of holding him, John can feel Paul’s shoulders shake with tears.
“C’mere.” John whispers, assisting Paul in turning around to face John. John wraps his arms tightly around Paul, cradling him into his chest as he cries. John plays with Paul’s hair and rubs his back as the boy weeps. His cries are mostly silent, but he occasionally gasps for air, pressing his face harder into John’s chest as his tears fall.
John was happy to be there for Paul, even though he was fighting his own battles personally. He knew how closed off Paul was, and how there were very few people Paul could open up to. He patiently waits for Paul to calm down a bit before saying anything.
“S’alright.” John hums, “I’m here.” And he kisses the top of Paul’s head.
“I’m sorry.” Paul sniffles.
John’s heart breaks, “Don’t apologize. It’s alright, really.” He angles himself so he and Paul can look at one another. They were barely apart, looking into the eyes of one another sweetly.
“I feel terrible.” Paul’s voice cracks.
“I know. It’s going to be alright.” John says, never having done well with comfort. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Paul sighs, “What isn’t wrong?”
John lightly huffs with laughter, “You’re asking me?”
Paul cracks a little smile, “It’s just my dad.” His lips quickly pull into a frown again. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left home. I should have gone back with him before he got hurt.”
“No.” John says, “You got out vital information for the safety of countless witches and wizards!” John reassures. “You did nothing wrong by leaving him.”
“But now he’s hurt because of me.” Paul starts to cry again, “What if he’s dead and I don’t even know it!?” He covers his face, sobbing into his hands.
John embraces him again, “He’s not dead, Paul. Someone would come tell us.”
“Would they? We don’t know that.” Paul shakes his head, “Oh my God. What about Michael? What’s happening with Michael!?” Paul says as if he was realizing how his little brother was doing for the first time.
John wasn’t sure what to do, so he just held Paul as tight as he could and hushed him, desperate to help him feel okay again.
“It’s all my fault.” Paul shakes his head. “They found us using my trace. It’s all my fault.”
“It’s not Paul!”
“It is!” Paul rolls over, unable to pull himself together. “I can’t lose both of my parents. I can’t be a fucking orphan. I can’t!”
John’s never seen anyone cry like this—much less Paul. He was inconsolable, and John was afraid of what was going to happen. He sits up, looking at Paul as he broke down.
Nothing he can say with help, so he rubs Paul’s back as he works it out himself. John whispers gentle encouragement, and when Paul keeps gasping for breath, John holds him up to his chest and begs Paul to breathe with him.
It takes a few tries, but eventually they’re breathing together. John counts out long breaths in and out for Paul to relax with. Paul claws at John’s shoulders, clutching onto him like his life depended on it. And maybe it did.
John didn’t let go of Paul for a long time, not even after he finished crying. The two of them just sat there, motion and speechless for what felt like a full hour. They just breathed into one another’s bodies, remembering that they were alive.
We’re alive.
They don’t have to say anything. They never really did, not even in the beginning. There was always this unspeakable thing between them. Even back when they despised one another.
But it was never hatred. It was never true distaste.
It was confusion and frustration. It was impatience and competition.
John and Paul saw themselves in one another, and that was equal parts exhilarating and infuriating. There is nothing more intimate than sharing a soul with someone. John and Paul seemed to be perfect mirrors in every way. Gryffindor and Slytherin. Muggle-born and Pure-blood. Right handed and Left Handed. Brown eyes and Green eyes.
Opposite in every way and yet exactly the same.
“I need you.” Paul whispers in John’s shoulder.
“I’m right here.” John says, holding Paul closer.
“No.” Paul pulls away to look at John’s eyes. “ I need you .” He says with more fervor.
John swallows, knowing just what Paul was saying.
And fuck did he need Paul, too. He’s needed Paul for ages. He’s needed Paul ever since he saw him in that linen closet during that Slytherin party all those months ago. In fact, John probably needed Paul long before that, and didn’t even realize it.
John’s yearned and desired Paul for months—nearly five now. He wants to hold Paul and touch Paul in every way he could. He wants to devour him whole and taste every part of Paul. He wants to crawl into Paul’s rib cage and live there.
He’s thought about Paul and his body for hours. He’s gotten off to it, he’s fantasized about it, he’s held his hand to his mouth as he bit back Paul’s name at night when his curtains are closed in the Gryffindor dormitory.
John wanted to have sex with Paul in every way he could. He barely went a day without thinking about it. In fact, his fantasies of Paul are the only things that got him through their separation this month.
He dreamed about seeing Paul, all of Paul. Of feeling him and being one with him. He’s dreamed of Paul’s body, of his sighs, of his ass, of his cock. Of what Paul’s lips would look like stretched around John’s cock. Of what noises Paul makes when he cums.
John’s gotten a little taste of it, back in the locker room after their match. But it’s not enough. It would never be enough. He wanted to have Paul every minute of every day.
But John wasn’t sure if it was the right time. As badly as he wanted it—and he did want it badly—he wasn’t certain it was the right thing to do.
“Paul we shouldn’t…” he says. “It’s been a massive day and we’re both exhausted. You’re upset. We both are. I wouldn’t want to take advantage-”
“You won’t be. I want this, John. I asked for this. I need you, please.” Paul pleads, and he starts kissing John’s neck.
John’s breath hitches, of course it does. He can’t resist Paul, no matter how hard he tries.
He lets Paul kiss all over his neck, unbuttoning the first button of his silk pajama top.
But John grab’s Paul’s face in his hand, making him look up at John through his dark eyelashes, “Paul.”
“John.”
“Are you sure?”
Paul cracks a smile, “Of course I am.”
“You’re certain.”
“Absolutely.”
“You don’t want to wait until we’re feeling a little better tomorrow?”
“ God , no.” Paul shakes his head. He then brings his hand up to hold John’s right wrist, and he tilts his head into John’s hand, kissing the soft skin on his palm. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my whole life, John.”
John swallows at that, his eyes frantically studying Paul’s face. He can barely believe it. He can barely keep it together.
So he decides that’s enough, and while he’s still holding Paul’s face in his hands, he crashes their lips together in a hungry kiss.
John and Paul have kissed a lot. They’ve had more snogging sessions than you can count. But this time, the intent is different. It feels different, and it tastes different.
Their tongues dance around one another sloppily. They know the other’s mouth, they know what the other likes and just what they need. They know exactly what it takes to make the other one feel dizzy and weak, their heads spinning and hearts racing and trousers getting tighter and tighter.
Kisses move down to necks, and then to shoulders and collarbones as silk shirts peel off and breathing gets heavier. Hands are everywhere, and John’s fingers brush along Paul’s ribs, and Paul's hands grab and tug at John’s shirt until it’s being pulled off.
Back at the beginning of February, Paul had carefully studied and examined each one of John’s scars, his freckles and the contours of his torso. But today, when John’s pajama shirt is off, Paul just eagerly kisses up and down John’s body, wasting no time at covering him in kisses and little love bites.
Paul’s shirt comes off next, and they’re both breathing hot and heavy into one another’s mouths. Paul tugs at John’s hair, intentionally messing with it and making it look as unkempt as possible. They rock back and forth, both consuming the other person with great devotion and lust.
Eventually, John guides Paul to be laying on his back, the two of them completely diagonal on the massive bed, and John straddles Paul’s waist. He swings his legs around Paul’s hips and kisses down into him. Paul brings his hands up to John’s waist, pulling down on him as best as he can so there can be some much needed friction right there .
The two of them are sighing into the other, and angling their hips in any way they can to get just that right angle.
With a smirk, John grabs Paul's wrists and pins them on either side of his head, holding his hands strongly there while he attacks Paul’s lips with his own eager mouth. He bites, licks and sucks on Paul’s swollen lips, enjoying every sensation he felt throughout his body.
John starts to kiss down Paul’s chest, which is much flatter than a birds, but John still takes a moment to swirl his tongue around each of Paul’s pink nipples, which earns a buck of Paul’s hips.
“Are you still alright?” John asks Paul when he gets the Paul’s waistband, and he starts mouthing there, asking the question as his lips brushed over Paul’s happy-trail.
Paul gently sighs, “Mhm.” And arches his back when John presses a very firm kiss right below Paul’s belly-button.
“I’m going to take these off, alright?” John asks Paul, looking up at him as he says it.
Even though it’s dark, John can see the light flush that tints Paul’s cheeks when he’s asked. Paul nods, “Yes, John.” His voice is wrecked, “Please.” He whispers.
John feels the power and the dominance go through his entire body and right to each of his heads. He wastes no more time hooking his fingers under the waistband of Paul’s pajama pants and his boxers and tugging them slowly down, kissing along Paul’s hips and core as more and more of his skin is revealed.
He discards them off to the side of the bed, and then he just stares at Paul in full. He was serene, and John felt his breath hitch as he looked at Paul as he lay there, completely naked and looking so lovely and so debauched.
“Christ.” John sighs. Paul’s seen all of John, but this was John’s first time seeing Paul in all his glory. And what a thing to behold.
Paul giggles, covering his face with his hands, no doubt covering the bright red tone of his face.
Paul’s cock was lovely to see. John never thought a dick could be pretty, but just like the rest of Paul, it was absolutely gorgeous. It was smaller than John’s but still had a nice length and girth to it. It was ever-slightly curved to the left, and had a pretty, pink tip which leaked out the smallest bead of pre-cum.
John moaned, literally moaned at the sight of Paul’s sex. Fully erect and just waiting to be worshipped.
“Shh!” Paul says giggly. “Don’t want a visit from Gully!”
They both chuckle. When their laughter subsides, they freeze, looking at one another while feeling giddy and high on the endorphins of lust.
But John was ready to get to work. He’s never given a blowie before, but he’s gotten plenty. He knows that if he just did what he liked, it should be okay.
He leans his mouth down to Paul’s hips, and kisses all over his thighs—which were covered in dark hair, and John loved it—and presses his lips against Paul’s navel, breathing his scent in deeply.
John wraps his hand around the base of Paul’s cock, and he hears as the younger boy’s breath hitches. John then dives into the deep end, knowing there was no time like the present. He wraps his lips around the leaking head of Paul’s length and sucks gently into the velvet skin there. Paul grips the bed sheets as John takes more of him into his mouth.
He minds his teeth, and rubs his tongue flatly around Paul, taking it nice and slow. It was a new sensation for him, but he enjoyed it. His jaw was at an uncomfortable angle, and it felt strange foreign to have something that large in your mouth, but he could get off knowing that it was Paul alone.
Just the way Paul’s breath changed as he sucked him was enough to make it worth it to John. Not to mention the salty taste of his pre-cum that was so distinctly Paul and the way Paul’s thighs contracted underneath him.
John started to get bold and confident after a minute of just testing it out, and he started to bob his head up and down. He can’t go very far yet, but he’s determined to make Paul feel good. John’s mouth was hot and wet, and as his speed picked up at which he fucked in mouth on Paul’s throbbing cock, spit started to build up at the corners of his mouth, dribbling out and filling the room with the most obscene wet, slurping noises.
Paul was actively trying not to moan out loudly, and instead just made some strained groans as John sucked harder. John starts to jack off the base of Paul’s cock as best as he can with one hand, and then with his other hand he cups Paul’s full balls, massaging them gently as his mouth did wonders to Paul’s cock.
John was painfully hard now, and he couldn’t believe he could be this aroused from giving someone else a blowjob. Yet he was throbbing and aching horribly in his pajama pants, eager to get them off and give himself the relief he needed.
For now, he grabs a pillow and situates it between his thighs, humping it like a bird. It was better than nothing, despite its distinctly adolescent feeling, and it gave John some of the relief he was desperate for.
Paul’s fingers tangled up in John’s hair, and his other arm is thrown over his eyes as his mouth is slack open and he’s letting out the dirtiest little ‘ah’s’ over and over again. John genuinely thinks he could cum from this alone and feel completely satisfied.
The grip in John’s hair gets tighter, and he knows Paul is close.
The next thing that happens is Paul is repeatedly whisper-screaming out John’s name, and John desperately wished he had cast a silencing spell before they started this. He’d have to remember that for next time.
And even the prospect of a next time makes John’s cock ache even more.
But before he knows it, Paul is groaning out a strained and tight whimper and hot cum is shooting into John’s mouth.
At first, he feels the urge to pull off, it doesn’t taste great and it startles him. But he remembers how crazy he feels when a bird swallows his own load, and so he forces his mouth to stay on Paul’s twitch cock until he’s properly sucked through his climax.
It’s awkward trying to swallow with Paul’s cock still in his mouth, but John manages to swallow as much of Paul’s cum as he can. He hears Paul swear under his breath when he swallows, and then John pulls up off of his cock with a satisfying pop.
“Holy fuck.” Paul says, out of breath.
John gives Paul a few more lazy tugs as his cock starts to soften and wipe his mouth with the back of his other mouth.
But John’s about to cum untouched, and he can’t take it anymore. So he quickly tugs his own pajama bottoms and boxers off, making his own uncut cock spring out.
Paul lifts up on his forearms, looking up first at John’s own leaking cock and then his eyes drag all the way to John’s eyes, his pupils blown wide.
John could wank to that image for the rest of his life. He instantly wraps his hand around his cock and starts roughly tugging at it, jerking off into his fist quickly while he keeled above Paul.
He looked down at Paul, using him as his muse while he finished himself off. It’s already incredible, but it gets so much better when Paul raises his left hand and wraps it around John’s own, doubling the pressure on his most sensitive part.
John already isn’t going to last much longer, but Paul adjusts his position so he can get closer, and then the fucker bends down at the waist, awkwardly and uncomfortably, but manages to wrap his red lips around the head of John’s cock.
And that’s all it takes for John to let out his load right onto Paul’s face. Some of it gets in his mouth, but most of his hot, sticky cum is all over Paul’s lips and cheeks, some even shooting up by his eye.
John sighs ‘fuck’ a little too loudly, and Paul giggles like it’s the best thing to ever happen to him.
His body goes through a series of after-shocks, and he thinks he might fall over. But as he comes down from his high, his breath slowing, he looks at Paul with so much softness and gratitude.
“Fuck, sorry.” He mutters and then looks for something to wipe it off with.
But that’s when John sees Paul’s tongue dart out to lick up his lips and anywhere else it can reach, and John just stares at him in awe and wonder as he tastes John’s cum.
Paul uses his thumb to swipe some more of the cum up and suck it clean, and John decides to join in. He uses his own fingers to wipe up Paul’s face, and then he holds his dripping fingers in front of Paul’s mouth.
Paul takes them in his mouth eagerly, licking and sucking them clean, all while keeping eye contact with John like his life depended on it.
John thinks he could go for a round two from that.
“Fuck.” He says, sitting down to face Paul, the two of them facing one another now.
Paul sighs, and then leans forward to kiss John so gingerly and sweetly. He thanks John with his kiss, and it’s nothing but sweet and lovely. John even finds himself sighing into it.
John knew he wouldn’t be sleeping in that other room anymore while he was here.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 38
Notes:
Happy Sunday!
The last scene of this chapter is one of my favorite scenes I have literally ever written
Loveyoubye!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Try again.” Dumbledore says.
John clenches his jaw. He was starting to feel exhausted. He wasn’t sure how any of this was actually going to help him destroy The Grimoire but he decided he just needed to trust the process.
Dumbledore had him concentrating hard on levitating a pebble non-verbally and without his wand. It was nearly impossible, and it was royally pissing John off that he couldn’t achieve it.
It was only a fucking pebble.
He shakes out his arms and takes a deep breath before trying yet again. He stares strongly at the tiny piece of sediment, repeatedly speaking the incantation in his head.
But nothing happens, still.
John groans, “This is fucking ridiculous! How is this going to help me?” He asks, finally breaking down. “We’ve been at this for hours and I’ve made no progress!” It was their first day of training and John couldn't lift a pebble.
He speaks up again, “At this rate, I’ll never destroy that book.” He clenches his fist.
Dumbledore stands there, looking completely still and serene. Unphased by John’s outburst. He nods, “I understand why you’re frustrated.”
John moves to sit on the stairs of the back porch of the Potter’s house, resting his head in hands, feeling a little embarrassed for getting so worked up over a rock.
Dumbledore glides over to John, “Non-verbal magic is very advanced-”
“And I know how to do it.” John says sharply. “I don’t know why I’m struggling so badly.”
“Wandless magic is considerably more difficult. Not usually taught until your seventh year at Hogwarts at the N.E.W.T level.” Dumbledore spoke with great calmness. He wasn’t as old as Dippet, in fact he still seemed rather young and spry. His hair wasn’t even totally gray yet. He reminded John of an older, wiser and stranger Whittaker. “I know I am asking something very challenging of you.” Dumbledore then sits down next to John, “But I would not ask it of you if I did not wholeheartedly believe you could handle it.” He spoke with great honesty and persuasion.
John sighs, “What does this have to do with the spell that will destroy it ?” John’s struggled to even call the book by its name as of recent.
Dumbledore hums, “The curse you will learn is incredibly unpredictable. It takes great discipline and concentration to not only cast it, but to control it.”
He supposes that made sense, he was just terribly frustrated by it. John knew what he was capable of. He could cast the killing curse but not this?
“For what it’s worth, Mr. Lennon, I appreciate seeing you get so frustrated.” Dumbledore says with a light chuckle.
John glares at him, thinking perhaps he was teasing John, “You want to see me in pain?”
Dumbledore laughs now, “No. Seeing you frustrated shows me that you care . You can train any wizard in highly advanced magic, but they will never succeed at it unless they really care .” He explains, John softens at it, “You may be confused about a very small pebble. But that’s all you are to Tom Riddle. A pebble in the roaring river of his power. But all it takes is one unassuming pebble to completely tip the scales, to alter the flow.”
He looked at John now with his wise eyes.
John takes a cleansing breath, “Let’s try it again.” He stands up, feeling much better.
John stands square to the pebble, staring at it. He clears his mind, relaxes his muscles and on his first try after his outburst, he gets the pebble to shoot straight up into the sky with great force before falling down a few moments later.
He feels a wash of relief and accomplishment run over his body, even cracking a little smile at the accomplishment. He looks over to Dumbledore, who just smiled and nodded a few times.
Just then, the back door of the Potter’s swings open, “Lunch is ready for you two!” Paul calls out, Gully standing by his side.
It was three days later when they all sat at breakfast and Fleamont brought in today’s Daily Prophet , “Is Albus here yet?” He asks. The trio of healing Hogwarts students didn't know where Dumbledore went off to when he wasn’t here training John. He never slept here, and yesterday he didn’t show up for training until after Lunch.
Training was hard work for John. Dumbledore was an intense tutor, and John’s experience with private lessons were limited to his time with Paul before his O.W.Ls (where they usually got distracted, and did much more fun things than practice spells). It was long hours of incredibly taxing work. Physically, mentally and emotionally John was drained by the time they would break for the day. He found himself sleeping like a log every night because his magic was so exhausted. He and Paul have been sleeping in the same bed still, but they haven’t gotten up to any of their antics from the other night since then. John was always asleep by the time Paul finished washing his face and brushing his teeth.
What John didn’t know was that Paul didn’t mind. He really enjoyed the domesticity of their schedule. Of course he wanted to keep John awake, make him feel good and have them both sighing from the other’s touch. But when he walked into their room and saw John serenely sleeping, he couldn’t want it any other way. Paul was happy to snuggle up to John, holding him close and breathing in his scent until he fell asleep every night. It helped with his nightmares and guilt, too. Paul realizes he doesn’t know what he’d do if it weren’t for John being here.
Collette’s leg was still healing, but she could walk on it again with assistance. She had taken an interest in medical potions and droughts since being here, and Effie had taken her up as her personal protege. Although anytime Collette and Fleamont could talk about Quidditch they would take it. Fleamont offered to put up some of his old rings in the backyard for her after her leg finished healing.
But that kind of thinking secretly concerned Paul. Sentiments like that made him feel like they were going to be here at the Potter’s much longer than expected.
As for Paul, he was learning a lot from Fleamont. He had given Paul several of his own personal books, and Paul was thrilled to sit on the porch while Dumbledore and John worked and just read. Reading for leisure or personal gain was so much more fun than constant studying, but Paul truly didn’t mind either way. He loved reading, and he couldn’t actually use any magic still, since he still had the trace.
That was a whole other issue at hand. Fleamont had been privately researching how to remove Paul’s trace for him. If that was how the Dark Wizards were tracking John, they needed to get rid of it. Collette and John were both of age, and so Paul was the only issue. Plus, Fleamont had fleetingly mentioned that they’ll ‘need all the help they can get’ when it’s time to destroy the book.
Fleamont and Effie both have to go to work in the middle of the day. Fleamont to the ministry and Euphemia to St. Mungos, but they’re always back for dinner.
Gully makes their meals, and they eat all three together every day. Sometimes Dumbledore joins them, usually he doesn’t. Regardless, it was a lovely readjustment to life. Paul was admittedly enjoying it, despite his constant distress over his father’s health.
He still hasn’t heard anything. And he has no idea what’s going on with Michael. Although Paul could assume he was still at the institution in London. That’s where he hoped his brother was, at least. It was the safest place for him.
The Potter’s house must have many safety measures put in place on it, because no one came to visit them, and no one bothered them. Not even the mail. Fleamont promised he’d tell Paul if he got any news on his father while he was away at work, but so far there was nothing.
Until today.
“He hasn’t been in yet, no.” Effie says as she refills the water pitcher with a simple wave of her hands.
Fleamont places the newspaper down on the table, “Paul, I thought you’d like to read today’s news.”
Paul looks up at Fleamont hesitantly, and then reaches over for the paper.
Ministry Judge Attacked by Dark Wizards
Two dead. Three on the run.
Who is the identity of the attacker?
Paul feels his blood go cold when he reads the headline. John leans over to read it, seeing that the picture is of Jim McCartney’s official ministry identification photo.
“Is he alive?” Collette asks.
Paul keeps reading, and then nods with a sigh, “An Auror and a Dark Wizard both died in the battle. But not Dad. Mum’s cousin at the bookstore was interviewed about it all. The Dark Wizards killed Hortensia Finnigan, Auror, with the killing curse…” That earns a shudder around the table. “The identity of the murderous Dark Wizard hasn’t been revealed yet. However, the criminal was hit with a curse which injured his ear, potentially leaving it mangled.” Paul reads right off the page for the next bit, “Judge at Law James ‘Jim’ McCartney was severely wounded in the battle in Diagon Alley. He was hit with a powerful curse, but after a few days in private care he’s been declared as stable and recovering.”
“I’m so glad to hear!” Effie says, “We never got him at St. Mungo’s and I worried for the worst. But hearing he’s in private care is good news.”
“This is good, isn’t it?” John asks Paul, who still looked a bit numb and in shock from everything.
Paul nods slowly, he wouldn’t say anything now, but John knew he’d talk to him about the guilt tonight when they were alone and John was struggling to keep his eyes open.
“That’s not the part I need Albus to see though.” Fleamont says, “Read the next part.”
Paul looks back at the paper, reading aloud, “Three unidentified wizards were seen fleeing the scene.” He turns the paper around, where there’s a moving picture of undoubtedly the three of them on their janky brooms falling out of the sky. John and Collette both lean over to look. Paul continues, “It’s unclear if these wizards are dark or not, and their intentions are unknown. The Ministry is putting out a fifty-galleon reward for anyone who can offer information regarding the whereabouts of these three wizards. They were last seen in Knockturn Alley and are labeled armed and dangerous. Do not engage and inform the Auror’s office of any sightings.”
“Damn.” John says quietly under his breath.
“ John .” Effie raises an eyebrow. He keeps forgetting that she hates swearing.
“Sorry, Effie.”
“So now The Ministry and Tom Riddle is after us?” Paul asks.
Fleamont nods, “You three must listen to me very carefully. You cannot leave this house. Don’t get ambitious or reckless while you’re here. The only place you’ll be safer than here is at Hogwarts. We’re happy to put you up while this blows over, but do not get caught up with The Ministry. No jaunts into town. No sneaking off. And especially nothing while Paul still has his trace.” Fleamont could be very intimidating when he spoke like that. The three teens just nod in response. John knew how disagreeable it was to be tied up with The Ministry.
Effie tuts, “You’re putting your career at risk by hiding this from The Ministry.”
“And I will never hesitate to do so for the right cause.” Fleamont says matter-of-factly. John admired how good Fleamont Potter was. He always seemed to know what to say and do, and his moral compass was more righteously aligned than anyone John has ever met in his life. The world needs more Fleamont Potters.
He thinks it’s a shame Fleamont and Effie didn’t have any kids, because John knew they would be good human beings. Committed to the cause of goodness and the spirit of fairness.
They both leave for work a bit after that, and the three teens are on their own until Dumbledore shows up for training. They sit on the back porch, enjoying the early-April weather. There wasn’t any snow left here, and John wondered how much had melted at Hogwarts.
“We’re going to miss the Ravenclaw match.” Collette says, her leg propped up on a foot stool. Effie’s cat Gizmo was sleeping on her lap. Gizmo was missing an ear, and he and Collette had taken a definite liking towards each other.
“It isn’t for another two weeks!” John says.
Collette gives John a very somber look.
They were going to be here for a long time.
“I never told Flo where I was going.” Collette says. Florence was the Ravenclaw girl she’s been secretly going out with since Valentine’s Day.
“I’d like to think Dippet privately told our friend’s what’s going on.” John says. “I can’t imagine how Arthur is handling it.” They’ve been gone for almost a week already.
“I’m worried about George and Ringo.” Paul says, looking up from his book of the day. “I mean, they already knew I was gone… but I’m always worried about them.”
The three of them sat rather numbly, trying to feel optimistic. But the news in The Daily Prophet was really getting them all down.
They hear the crack of Dumbledore apparating into the backyard, breaking up their bleak conversation. They all turn their heads to him.
“Ah, an audience today.” He says, licking his lips. “Perfect, John could use some pressure from you two.”
John yawns widely, basically unhinging his jaw as he lay back in his pillow. It was the end of their first week at the Potter’s, and tomorrow would mark day seven since he’s been at Hogwarts.
Paul comes into the room not long after, and John had willed his eyes to stay open so he could spend some alone time with Paul.
That was something he wasn’t expecting: he and Paul were rarely alone together other than at the end of the night. John was always with Dumbledore, and Collette was always with Paul. Usually Gizmo and Gully were involved, too, and the two of them didn’t get to have deep conversations or fleeting looks like they wanted.
But at night, they would manage to talk and whisper and laugh together. And snog, and jerk the other off, and give the other sloppy blowjobs, and kiss each other with their sloppy mouths.
That is if John can keep his eyes open long enough.
Paul gets under the covers, laying on his side to face John. They don’t say anything at first, both of them just sleepily looking at one another.
“Gryffindor is going to lose to Ravenclaw since Collette and I are here.” John says. It comes out more pathetic than he expected or intended. But he knew Paul understood how important quidditch was. Especially to Collette. She seems to have entered a depression since getting to the Potters.
He can’t blame her. She breaks her leg and loses the normalcy in her life, getting roped into the fate of the wizarding world in the process. John supposes it really isn’t fair to Collette in any way, and he suddenly feels like a very bad friend.
“Maybe you won’t.” Paul shrugs, “Maybe your alternates are secretly really good.”
John huffs out a breath of amusement. That seemed unlikely. But he appreciated Paul trying to make him feel better.
“I know how you feel, for what it’s worth.” Paul says. “I’ve lost my entire second term of sixth year.”
John felt like a right ass for complaining about quidditch now, “Fuck Paul, I’m sorry I didn’t mean-”
“It’s alright, John. Really.” Paul interrupts him.
John smiles and then leans forward to kiss Paul gently.
When they pull away, Paul speaks up, “Let’s not talk about it all. The book, the attack, what we’re losing from going through all of this… let’s pretend it’s October again and our biggest problems are each other.” He says and they both chuckle at it.
John hums, “Okay. Tell me a secret.”
Paul smiles, “Hmm… the first time I kissed a girl I cried in the bathroom about it.”
John actually snorts at that, “You’re joking.”
“No! Don’t tease me.” Paul covers his face.
“Why did you cry!?”
“Because I didn’t like it! And I was afraid all kisses would be like that.” Paul groans.
“Was it because she was a girl ?” John sneers jokingly, giving Paul an extra hard time for it.
“Maybe.” Paul shrugs.
“Who was it?”
“Margot.” Paul groans. “I regret it so bad. Her breath smelled like olives.” They both grimace at that.
But then John smirks and then kisses Paul, “How was that?” He asks.
Paul hums in consideration, his eyes wandering, “It was alright.” He shrugs.
“Just alright!?” John scoffs and Paul bites his bottom lip as he grins wide. John leans over and kisses Paul longer and fuller this time, they both get a little lost in it, and it becomes a quick little snog. When John pulls away, Paul’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek, and he takes a moment before opening his eyes again.
“How was that ?” John asks again, this time softer and gentler.
Paul grins, “I can’t tell you.”
“What!?” John jibes. “That was a bloody good snog and you know it.” He grabs one of the many extra pillows on their giant, shared bed and hits Paul in the face playfully with it.
“I can’t tell you because your head is already big enough!”
“Oh!” John says pleasantly. “Well in that case-” He leans down to kiss Paul again, but Paul dodges it. John frowns, and Paul giggles again. John leans in to kiss him once more, but Paul is playing hard to get and it’s so delightfully frustrating.
Before he knows it, John is practically chasing Paul around the room, trying to get his lips on him. But Paul dodges in any way he can, throwing pillows at John, spinning around the bedpost, jumping over the footboard, juking out John.
Eventually, when Paul is jumping on the mattress, John grabs his ankle and pulls it out from underneath him, making Paul fall hard on his back onto the fluffy mattress.
“Ha!” He laughs and then straddles Paul, pinning him in place at the hips. But Paul keeps up his fight, squirming and fighting under John in any way he can to keep his mouth from him.
But eventually, John grabs Paul’s wrists and pins them above his head, keeping Paul right where he wanted him. As Paul’s giggling finally subsides, they’re staring at one another’s lips.
The air shifts, their breath hitches, and suddenly it feels all so overwhelmingly intimate.
John leans down so his lips ghost over Paul’s lips, their breath mixing and hearts racing.
“Can I kiss you?” John asks in nearly a whisper.
Paul just nods once, his eyes glued to John’s face. And then John closes the space between them, capturing Paul’s lips in a faithful, open-mouthed kiss. And everything feels as easy as it was in mid-January again.
Time passes. They share a few more secrets, Paul turns out the light, and John is playing the little spoon tonight (it was his turn).
Paul could tell that John was teetering closer and closer to slumber, but he felt wound-up himself from their impromptu wrestling. But he knew how badly John needed to rest. He’d be more than okay if they didn’t fool around tonight like they have been.
“Okay, tell me another.” Paul whispers.
John sighs, his voice sleepy and eyes closed, “I’m…maybe reconsidering staying at Hogwarts next year.” He mutters.
It makes Paul’s heart swell with joy. This is exactly what he wanted to hear from John. Their last real fight had been about John’s choice to drop out of Hogwarts, and even though this wasn’t John changing his mind yet, it was a step in the right direction.
John was owed one more normal year at Hogwarts. One more year as the Gryffindor Quidditch MVP. One more year of pranks and jokes and Hogsmeade trips. One more year of lake of bonfires and greenhouse makeouts. He deserved it because he’s been robbed of the end of his sixth year, in house arrest at the Potter’s and forced to train every day for something he’s too young to face. It wasn’t fair.
John was forced to grow up much too fast. He’d be happy he got one more year of the simplicity of Hogwarts.
“Paullll.” John groans out, barely awake. “”S your turnnn.” He sounds like a toddler desperately trying to stay awake, but Paul knew John was practically asleep now. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been quiet after John’s most recent secret, he needed more time to process it than he initially expected.
So Paul thought good and hard about what he would say. What his last secret of the night would be. John was warm in his arms, his back flush to Paul’s chest and his breathing getting heavy and dreamy.
“Are you still awake?” Paul whispers after a minute. He gets no response from John, and so he decides to gently press his lips to John’s temple, mustering up some courage.
“I think I’m falling in love with you.” Is what Paul whispers as his final secret of the night, punctuating it with a kiss to John’s temple. John replies with a deep snore, which makes Paul chuckle to himself.
Yes. Yes I mean that.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 39
Notes:
Well helloooooo
Before you get this surprise chapter I have something I’ve been prompted to address:
Someone has been using one of my pseuds (one I don’t use anymore and have actually been trying to get rid of— Syndxlla) to send hate and accusations to other fan fiction writers on this site. They are a guest using my name, and they’ve accused another writer of using AI to write their work. This is absolutely not me. For starters, I barely read any fan fiction these days, I never comment on fan fiction, I solely use the pseud Buttahpie now, and I would never intentionally harm or slander another fan fiction author. Even if they were using AI (which is shameful in and of itself) it’s none of my business. And respectfully I am a grown ass adult with a Bachelor’s degree and a career… I don’t have any interest in causing drama or issues on a fan fiction website. I’ve got bills to pay. Get a hobby.
Regardless, I wanted to thank the person who brought this to my attention. I wanted to make a very public and clear statement that this is not me, but I apologize to that author for being accused of using AI under my name. And if you’re the sad sack who’s using my pseud to send hate… please go touch some grass and get a grip. Thx XOXO please never read one of my fics again <3Anyways, sorry about that. But it needed to be addressed.
Without further ado…
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It had rained the night before. The April showers had started in the evenings, and rolling thunderstorms were punctuating the days during dusk. John and Paul would fall asleep in each other's arms, listening to the comforting sound of rain on the rooftop. John loved a rainstorm, but it meant the Potter’s backyard was often very muddy in the mornings.
He was covered in said mud today because of Dumbledore’s training, who was not going easy on John.
They’ve been engaging in what Dumbledore calls ‘Sentient-methods’. Some spells are sentient when they’re conjured (like a fully formed Patronus charm), and John’s mentor has taken it upon him to show John just how dangerous sentient spells really are.
John was getting his ass kicked, caked in dirt and feeling exhausted as Dumbledore cast spell after spell. John knew the necessary counter-curses, but he was feeling worn-down with every flick of Dumbeldore’s wand.
Paul sat on the porch, reading whatever book Fleamont gave him for the week and not really noticing the action in front of him. Occasionally, Dumbledore would cast a particularly impressive bit of magic—always assuring John wouldn’t get hurt—that would draw Paul’s gaze from his book.
“Alright.” Dumbledore eventually says, once he’s decided John was exhausted enough, “Your turn.”
“What?” John asks, feeling ready for a break.
“Cast a sentient spell. I believe you know how to cast a Patronus charm , don’t you?” He asks.
John swallowed thickly, Dumbledore didn’t know that John hadn’t yet succeeded in casting his patronus yet. Everything with the dark wizards began just as the sixth years began learning these complex spells. That was a huge distraction, and John hadn’t realized how complicated a Patronus really was. Plus, it didn’t help him that the source of his happy memory had been taken away from him, the two of them completely isolated for weeks.
He looks over at Paul with that thought, looking completely enthralled in what he was reading. At night, sometimes Paul would tell John about his books, but John almost always fell asleep while Paul spoke. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested, it’s just that Paul’s voice was so comforting, and he always spoke to John with such a softness as he held him in his arms that made John lull into the heaviest of sleeps.
He was embarrassed, he couldn’t admit to Dumbledore that he was incapable of performing a bit of magic that was entirely expected of him and his skill level.
Luckily, Albus Dumbledore is an incredibly tuned-in man, and he notices how John’s body language changes, how he looks at Paul, how his grip on his wand changes. “Or perhaps we should be finished for the day?” He asks, cocking his head politely.
John looks back at his mentor, “Are you sure? I’m really alright to keep going. The sooner I learn, the better. Right?” John asks. “The sooner we can all go back to Hogwarts.”
John had this suffocating guilt that he was the reason his friends have been forced to go into hiding with him. He felt terrible for Collette, who’s entire life revolved around Quidditch, and likely felt incredibly lonely here with nothing to do but pet the cat. And Paul’s been in his own little world the entire time they’ve been with the Potter’s, dealing with the grief of his father and the confusion of his position in the blood-war. Paul hasn’t been able to do magic while he’s been here, either. His trace still threatening to give up their position to anyone in the ministry or on Tom Riddle’s side. He was forced to just read and think all day every day.
Not to mention, the sooner The Grimoire was destroyed, the better for everyone.
John was starting to doubt he could do it at all. They’ve already been training for well over a week and he still wasn’t ready. How much longer was this going to take?
“Of course.” Dumbledore says, adjusting his robes, “I think I’ll have Gully make us some chips.” And he heads into the house without another word, smiling at Paul as he goes inside.
John shuffles over to Paul, feeling inexplicably sheepish.
“Is everything alright?” Paul asks.
John just nods, ignoring the flush in his face, and the overwhelming feelings of inadequacy.
The rain was heavy tonight, the sun had just set, and Effie had opened up a window to let in the fresh scent of petrichor into the dining room.
Everyone was very quiet, it all felt very serious suddenly. Dinner had been cleaned up, and the Potters sat with the students, Gizmo purring in Collette’s lap.
John had never seen this type of magic before. He watched intently as Fleamont stood above Paul, holding his wand out in front of him with his eyes tightly closed.
“Stay very still.” Fleamont says to Paul. Paul was scared, understandably so. He reaches his hand out to John, who takes it without question so Paul can have something to hold onto while this incredibly complex type of magic is performed on him.
John reminds himself that he wanted to look into mood-altering charms sometime. They would be incredibly helpful for times like these, his anxieties through the roof these days.
Fleamont has been studying for ages on how to remove Paul’s trace, and now he was putting everything at risk by finally performing the spell on Paul. This was a highly illegal type of magic, and Fleamont could lose his job for even trying it, but Paul wasn’t going to be seventeen for another two-months almost, and they had no more time to wait.
It really goes to show just how good Fleamont was. He would risk everything to help a total stranger. John admired that. He wanted to be more like that in time.
He utters the incantation, thick words that sounded Russian coming off his lips as he pressed his wand directly to Paul’s sternum. Paul held his breath, and as soon as it began, the spell was complete.
“Well, did it work?” John asks after Potter opens his eyes again.
Fleamont chuckles, “There’s no way of knowing, actually. Paul, would you like to cast a spell?” He asks.
“But if your spell didn’t work-” Paul knits his eyebrows together.
Fleamont holds up a hand, “Just try it.”
Paul swallows, “I left my wand upstairs. I haven’t needed it.” He stands up, heading to his room without another word.
When Paul is out of ear-shot, Effie speaks up, “If it doesn’t work, Monty-”
“The protective spells Dumbledore has placed on our home are more complex than those at Hogwarts.” He interrupts his wife, coming off more flustered than John had ever seen him. For the first time, John entertains the notion that maybe Fleamont wasn’t as sure of the spell as he initially came off to be.
Euphemia just nods, not pushing any harder. Collette and John share a look, and Paul is back by then.
He stands before them all, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. His wand was loose in his hands. “Well.” He says, looking at the wand. “Here goes… Lumos .” A soft light emits from the end of his wand. Everyone looks at it, but no one says anything.
“That spell isn’t nearly strong enough. The ministry won’t pick up on a simple spell like that. Especially not with the safety precautions we’ve taken.” Fleamont eventually says. “What’s the most powerful spell you know?”
Technically it was Imperio , but Paul didn’t have any interest in conjuring such a power at this time. There’s a very gentle rumble of thunder as Paul changes his stance, and lifts his wand for a second time.
“ Expecto Patronum. ”
Soft, blue-light illuminates the room. John’s never seen Paul’s patronus, and he remembers what Whittaker once said about an individual’s Patronus being a very intimate piece of their soul.
Out of Paul’s wand shone a magnificent and regal Stallion. One with great stature and presence. Stallions were loyal and spirited. Ambitious and hardworking. Reliable and steadfast.
It was a beautiful patronus. Of course it was. Everything Paul did was beautiful. Everyone in the room was entranced by the dancing horse as it moved around them.
The stallion prances around the room once, and then finishes his trot behind Paul, snorting and whining once before slowly fading away.
Everyone then held their breath, waiting for a howler or a knock on the door. Paul looked sheepish and small as he held his wand in both hands, rocking back and forth on either foot, his weight shifting anxiously.
A minute goes by, and nothing happens. All that can be heard is the rain picking up outside.
“We’ll monitor you through the night. If the coast is still clear in the morning, we’ll assume it’s safe.” Fleamont says, getting up to the window to pull it closed, muffling the sound of the downpour.
“Alright.” Effie stands up, “Off to bed, all of us.” She couldn’t stand the tension in the room, and it was getting rather late.
Fleamont and Effie seemed to be lurking around upstairs as they got ready for bed, both trying to look nonchalant about what they were doing. But all three of the teenagers knew they were trying to stay close to Paul in case anything happened.
Effie pretended to rearrange towels in the linen closet, and Fleamont straightened out the same picture frame about four times.
It didn’t seem to bother Collette, who had finally quit limping on her broken leg. She and the cat sat in the bathroom with the door open as she braided her hair. Gizmo meowed at her ankles as Collette walked into her own room, giving John a contemplative look before closing the door behind her.
Paul was the next to get ready for bed, and all of his movements seemed to be methodical and carefully calculated, like he was afraid he could fall through the floor at any moment.
The worst part of Fleamont and Euphemia lurking was that it would be much harder to slip into Paul’s room and spend the night with him tonight. John couldn’t imagine the Potter’s being thrilled about them and their escapades, even if they were the least judgmental people John knew. Still, he and Paul knew they’d have to sleep in separate rooms tonight if Fleamont would be monitoring the situation.
John stood against his door frame, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Fleamont pretend to dust a sconce again.
“What’s your job at the ministry?” John eventually asks. He couldn’t watch Fleamont try to look casual anymore.
Monty turns, smiling, “You know all about the ministry, don’t you?”
John shrugs, “A thing or two.”
Fleamont moves to John, “I recall your case. It came across my desk, and I remember thinking it was quite peculiar.”
“Boys.” Effie says, her lips pressed into a line. She didn’t want any more stress.
“Let’s chat in my study, shall we?”
John hasn’t been in Monty’s study since he met here with Dumbledore almost two weeks ago. Paul was in here all the time, however. Exchanging books, discussing them with Fleamont. John could often hear great laughter coming from the two of them behind the closed door. He figures that Paul will search for a loving father in any man willing to give it to him.
He sits in the same seat in front of the fireplace, sipping the tea Fleamont poured.
“I’m a private investigator for cases of Dark Magic-related crime.” He eventually explains to John.
“Like an Auror?”
“Not quite.” Monty sits across from John, looking inviting but strong. “Rather the boss of the Aurors… I believe my muggle-equivalent is close to a Detective, of sorts.”
“And you had my case?”
Monty nods, “I must be honest, John. It never sat right with me.”
That did nothing for John’s nerves.
“What d’you mean?” John asks, hoping Fleamont can’t hear the uncertainty in his voice.
“Well… The Grimoire has been in Hogwarts for centuries, and it’s usually dormant. The Ministry hasn’t had any problems with it since 1479. And there wasn’t really a clear answer for why it became active again.”
“I just assumed I woke it up.” John shrugs.
“Perhaps, but that’s not quite how Dark Magic works. Dark Magic has to be created. It doesn’t just exist in the same way the good things of the world do.” Fleamont sets his tea down, feeling very paternal suddenly, “It has to be created.”
“I’m not sure I-”
”Do you want to know why your case took so long? If you had just played with some Dark Magic we would have just given you a slap on the hand and a few extra hours of ministry service. It happens to students all the time. But with you, John, I had reason to believe the book was placed for you to find.” Fleamont explains.
“You mean someone set me up?”
Monty nods, “That’s what I thought. I started investigating it, but I didn’t have a strong enough lead. I eventually had to drop the theory so we could get you back to Hogwarts, but I’ve continued researching it in my private work.”
Fleamont stands and walks to his desk, pulling out some rolls of parchment.
He continues, “I have reason to believe the book was woken up by another individual just before you came to Hogwarts. And this individual made sure you found it when you were ready. This would have had to be someone who could wait for the right victim, someone who could watch for the signs the book looked for in a master. Someone skilled with the dark arts. Someone incredibly well hidden. Someone who knew many people in the school, perhaps a professor. Someone patient and trustworthy…”
“Ignatius Whittaker.”
John stands. It came as a disappointment, of course it did. He didn't want to believe it could be him, but it made perfect sense. It wasn’t all too shocking. Whittaker getting hold of the book himself, his obsession with John and his skill, his strange, off-handed comments.
But John struggled to accept that someone he looked up to and admired—someone he trusted—would do such a thing.
“How can he still be a professor?” John asks after Fleamont nods, confirming John’s theory.
“Well—as I said— I didn’t have a strong enough lead to prove it. While you were still on trial, I didn’t even know who it could be, if it was anyone. I haven’t told a soul of my findings yet, because I’ve just gotten the evidence I needed.”
“What is that?”
Fleamont picks up what he went to his desk for: The Daily Prophet from the other day which read of Paul’s father. He hands it to John, “Second page, I underlined it.”
John opens up the paper to read one of the same lines Paul read just a few days ago at breakfast, “The Dark Wizard’s killed Hortensia Finnigan, Auror, with the killing curse. The identity of the murderous Dark Wizard hasn’t been revealed yet. However, the criminal was hit with a curse which injured his ear, potentially leaving it mangled.”
“Two days after the Diagon Alley incident, Ignatius Whittaker showed up to class with a bandage around his ear.” Fleamont says, “My correspondent in Hogwarts informed me.”
“Bloody hell.” John sighs, setting the paper down. He wondered who this correspondent may be. He assumed Dippet, or maybe even McGonagall.
“It’s not hard-evidence, but it’s the strong lead I’ve needed to reopen your case.” Fleamont says. “With your permission. It will be a private investigation. I won’t involve the Ministry until I have to.”
John nods, feeling a strange sense of rebellion and desire for revenge settle in his chest. “Do it. We have to protect anyone we can.”
Fleamont nods, agreeing. “Good lad.” And he holds his hand out for John to shake. “Now, let's get to bed before Effie grounds both of us.”
Two more days had passed and no one had come to collect Paul or attack anyone staying at the Potters, and it was then that John and Paul deemed it safe to sleep in the same room again. John had been itching to tell Paul about his conversation with Fleamont the other night, but the moment never felt right.
John couldn’t imagine how Paul would handle losing two father figures in just one week.
But he had a right to know, and John was dying to speak to someone about it.
“Paul?” He asks quietly, the two of them tangled up in the other person. John wasn’t even sure if Paul was still awake.
Paul stirs in John’s arms slightly, turning his head to look up at John.
“Did I wake you?” John asks.
The younger boy shakes his head, “What’s the matter?”
John sighs, unsure of how to really navigate this conversation. He swallows thickly, “I talked with Fleamont a bit ago.”
Paul adjusts so he’s eye level with John, their noses nearly touching. “Okay.”
“And he… well he had a theory.”
“What about?” Paul asks.
John sighs again, dancing around the topic.
“John, tell me.” Paul presses.
“Well… he thinks someone set me up.”
“What?”
John nods, “He told me that The Grimoire is typically dormant. And he thinks that it was placed intentionally for me to find.”
Paul’s quiet for a moment, no doubt processing just what John was suggesting. “By who?” He eventually asks.
He decides to rip the bandaid off, “Whittaker.”
The boy in John’s arms doesn’t reply for a long time. Anxiety settles low in John’s stomach, and he debates speaking up to explain more. But Paul just grips John tighter, burying his face in John’s neck and sighing. “I know.”
“What?”
“I knew he was up to something. I knew he couldn’t be trusted-”
“Paul it’s alright if you’re upset-”
“I’m not.” Paul shakes his head, “Really. I lost my faith in him a long time ago.”
John nods, “Alright… I’m probably gonna have to fight him. When I destroy the book. He’s probably a follower of Riddle. But I’m prepared to take him on. I want to do it.”
“You don’t have to do it alone.” Paul says, pulling away to look at John, their eyes locking together. “I’m gonna fight with you.”
“You are?”
Paul nods, “You think I’d let you have all that glory for yourself?” He smirks and John chuckles, tilting his head to give Paul a sweet kiss. Paul obliges, returning the kiss with a similar pace.
“You’re amazing.” John says when he pulls away from the kiss, just to smash his mouth against Paul’s again. Paul chuckles into the kiss.
Paul pulls away this time, “Hey, I know we aren’t supposed to leave the house but now that the trace is gone…”
John raises his eyebrows in disbelief, “Who are you and what have you done with Paul McCartney.” Paul rolls his eyes. John adds, “Look at you breaking the rules.” He gives Paul another wet kiss.
“You’re a terrible influence on me.” Paul says against John’s mouth, and that shifts the mood, both of them feeling the tension grow between them.
“What did you have in mind?” He asks, and kisses Paul again.
Paul has to move away from John to get another word in, looking drunk with affection as he finally can formulate a coherent thought. “There’s a band… a skiffle group or something. They’ve got a gig down in the village in a few nights.” He explains.
John’s face lights up. He hasn’t gotten to unwind with music in ages now. “Really!?”
Paul nods, “I figured we could sneak out after bed. We can get Collette to cover for us.”
“You think she’ll do it?”
“Of course she will. Plus, you need a break from all of that Dumbledore business. It’ll be good for you.” Paul leans in and kisses John, not letting him protest anymore. He presses their bodies together as he snogs John good and right.
The kiss deepens, and Paul rolls himself up onto John, straddling his hips and kissing down into him. John groans, and Paul nips at his bottom lip. John’s hands find Paul’s hips and hold him there, pushing their cores together and creating an electric friction between both of their hardening cocks.
Paul’s hands tangle in John’s hair, tugging at his auburn locks and needily pulling John's mouth into his own.
That’s when Paul starts to grind against John, rolling his hips in a practiced motion that makes both of them sigh into their mouths. Paul starts to attack John’s neck with kisses, licking at his soft skin there.
Paul’s hips rub at a faster pace, and John’s eyebrows knit together.
“Off.” John tugs at Paul’s waistband, and the younger of the two pulls off of John to pull his pajama pants off. John does, too, and the both of them quickly tug off their boxers as well, leaving both of them exposed and aching for the other’s touch.
Paul quickly hops back onto John’s hips, slinging his long legs around John’s hips and returning his mouth to John’s swollen lips. They each groan and lick into one another’s mouths, doing anything they can to just taste the other person.
John moves his hand from Paul’s bare hip and snakes it between their sweaty bodies. He wraps his hand around Paul’s hard cock and gives it a few tugs, earning a high-pitched moan from him. John smirks into Paul’s mouth and picks up his pace, twisting his wrist and expertly jacking him off.
“Fuck.” Paul says with a strain.
John gets brave and then grabs his own cock in the same hand, wrapping his fingers around both of their hard lengths simultaneously stroking each one. It creates an overwhelming sense of pleasure and sensitivity for them both, and John arches his back up as he groans.
Paul can’t keep kissing John, the pleasure being too much to handle. Instead, he just drops his forehead down to John's, the two of them moaning into one another and looking down at the sight of their leaking cocks rubbing up against one another.
Paul takes his left hand and adds it to the friction, holding John’s hand and pumping them both. Paul starts to let out a series of short, weak little ‘ah’s’ and John thinks he might just black out. It’s all too much.
“Gonna-” John chokes out.
“Mhm.” Paul nods against his forehead, “Together.” He bites John’s lips and that sends the both of them over the edge, hot cum shooting out of both of their flushed cocks. Their tips rub against one another, creating an obscene mess of fluid and cum that mixes together in a filthy mess of sex.
John catches Paul’s lips in a sloppy kiss as they cum together, the two of them frantically licking into one another’s mouths and eliciting the sweetest sighs and moans from each other.
Their hands are covered in cum, and there’s no way of knowing who’s is who’s. It’s dirty in the best way, and when they both come down from it, Paul collapses onto John’s chest, catching his breath, their hands still sandwiched between their sticky bodies. John’s chest heaves against Paul, and he kisses sweetly against Paul’s sweaty neck.
Paul giggles, “Already want another round? You’re insatiable.”
John chuckles, “Can’t help myself around you.” And he takes his free hand and grabs a fistful of Paul’s ass, squeezing it roughly and earning another gasp from the younger boy.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 40
Notes:
Hey sorry I’ve been MIA. No excuse this time. No pneumonia or Grandfather passing away or Bachelor’s degree earned. I’ve literally just been lazy lol.
I call this chapter “the calm before the storm”…. After this we’re pretty much in the endgame.
Anyways, enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
John swallowed thickly, feeling sweatier than usual as he gripped his wand.
“Concentrate.” Dumbledore says from across the yard.
Concentrating is all John’s been doing for bloody ages now. He felt to urge snap at the older wizard, but he kept his focus.
It’s only a Patronus Charm. John says to himself. He’s still yet to conjure a proper Patronus yet, and it was starting to get seriously debilitating for everyone. Dumbledore questioned John’s ability to conjure any kind of sentient magic if he couldn’t succeed at a Patronus.
John thinks of his happy memory: Paul in his bed back in the Gryffindor common room back in January. He’s never felt more content than how he did at that moment, in that place. And yet, he was still failing miserably at something he should be able to do in his sleep.
The feeling of inadequacy was almost too much to handle.
“ Expecto Patronum! ” John casts after another moment of focused consideration on his memory.
Nothing.
He hears how Dumbledore sighs from behind him.
“I don’t know what’s wrong.” John says. “I seem to have hit some kind of block.”
“It’s common for Patronus charms to be stubborn until the witch or wizard casting it is in any real danger.” Dumbledore suggests.
John shrugs and glances over at Paul who sat on the porch in his usual spot, reading whatever book Fleamont had lent him for the day. “It wasn’t so hard for him.” John purses his lips.
Dumbledore looks between the two boys, his hands clasped together behind his back, “You and Paul are very different wizards, you mustn’t compare yourselves. Comparison is the thief of joy.” He says wistfully, “Come now, let’s duel.”
At least John was good at dueling. It was usually the way Dumbledore liked to finish their sessions together because it made John feel good about himself. He could hold his own against one of the most powerful wizards in the world, and that always gave him a confidence boost.
That is if Dumbledore wasn’t going easy on John… which was probably likely. But John didn’t want to consider that.
John also tends to perform better when he knows Paul is watching. The need to impress the Slytherin boy would never really go away.
Dumbledore picked up on that, as well.
“How do I look?” Paul stands before John in his best attempt at muggle-clothes.
John miraculously keeps it together. Paul looked nothing like a muggle, and would stick out like a sore thumb if he looked like that.
“Don’t you take muggle studies?” John decides to reply with. It felt vague enough that it wasn’t totally rude.
Paul’s face still drops, “Hey! I tried!”
John chuckles, “Muggles don’t wear purple trousers, usually.”
Paul huffs, “Okay well, what are you wearing?” He asks.
John takes a moment to change into a pair of old drainies and a simple white t-shirt. He then grabs his leather jacket, he was happy he chose to wear it all those days ago when they went to Diagon Alley and ended up at the Potter’s.
John then walks into the bathroom and wets his hands before running them through his hair and reshaping it into more of a quiff, like the greasers in America wear.
Paul looks practically dumbstruck when John laces up his trainers, looking like a proper muggle teenager ready for a night on the town.
“Have something you’d like to share with the class?” John asks when he notices Paul’s mouth slack-open.
Paul clears his throat, “No.” He says confidently, “Just ‘aven’t seen you look so…”
“So what?”
He swallows, “So… badass is all.”
John smirks and stands up, walking over to Paul and placing his hands on the skinnier-boy’s hips, pulling him in and laying a sloppy kiss against Paul’s pouty lips. John was so happy he could do that whenever he wanted, now. Paul giggles like a fool into the kiss.
They eventually pull apart, but not until after Paul slings his arms around John’s shoulders and John slips his thigh between Paul’s.
“We’re going to be late.” Paul says with a grin against John’s mouth.
John scoffs, and rolls his eyes, pulling away from the sweetness of his boy. “Fine. But really you can’t wear that.”
“Alright, make me look like you, then.”
It took a few transfiguration attempts, and a minute to convince Paul’s black hair to stay in place, but eventually the two of them looked like proper teddy-boys.
“I like this look on you.” John says with his arms crossed, checking Paul out. “You look good in those clothes.” John couldn’t deny that the sight of Paul in muggle clothes was really doing it for him.
“Do I?” Paul asks flirtatiously. He moves over to John as he leaned up against the bedpost.
“Mhm.” John says, trying to suppress the blush that comes to his face. Paul gets closer to him, not touching him but letting their bodies and faces be just inches apart.
They breathe the same air, and John feels just as intoxicated with Paul as ever.
“I bet I’d look better with it all off, though?” Paul suggests, and John’s stomach coils. He bites his lip. “Bent over this bed? With nothing on?”
“Fuck.” John whispers. “Let’s stay.” He leans into Paul, but just before their lips can touch, Paul pulls away, leaving John to catch his own weight, the carrot dangled just in front of him.
“Come on! Collette said she’d only cover for us until midnight!” And he walks to their bedroom door. “Let’s play muggle for the night!”
John should be irritated, frustrated maybe. But he’s just enamored with Paul, happy to be teased.
He still pockets his wand, just to be extra careful.
The muggle neighborhood is similar to the one John grew up in back in Liverpool. The streets were lined with modest homes, many of them having a little gate in the front and a soft amber lamp in the front room.
It made John feel overwhelmingly homesick for the first time in a long time.
The word ‘home’ had such an interesting connotation for John. He never really felt at ‘home’ before. Growing up with Aunt Mimi was nice, but John always felt this strange, empty feeling regarding the parents who didn’t want him.
Then of course he had Hogwarts, which always felt more like a home the older he grew. But it wasn’t home the way home was for most other people. It was vast and full of secrets, not the place with mis-matched mugs and crocheted blankets on the arm of an old rocking chair he longed for. The place with a distinct smell that you forgot about until you came back, or a cat who slept on the porch on those warm July nights. Of course Hogwarts had its own charm, but the intimacy of home was not one of them for John. And ever since the Grimoire loomed over John and his humanity, he hasn’t been able to feel like Hogwarts was the home it was supposed to be. It felt as if the walls themselves risked tattling on him, the tapestries might spill his secrets, and the stone parapets could mock his fears.
John realizes that he’s homesick for a place that he doesn’t even know. A place he’s not even sure exists.
He quietly thinks to himself that he hopes he can find wherever his ‘home’ is soon, and he’s gently pulled out of his trance by Paul slipping his skinnier hand into John’s, lacing their fingers together as they walked through the streets which reflected the streetlights from the seven o’clock rain that could still be smelled in the air.
“You’re doing that thing again.” Paul says.
“What thing?” John asks, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
“That thing you do when you’re sad but you won’t tell me why.”
John can’t help the smile that cracks on his lips when Paul says that. He knows John so well . Better than anyone else who knew John.
“What gave me away?”
Paul hums before replying, giving John’s hand a gentle squeeze, “It’s in your eyes. You look like you see the world in a different way… a sadder way. It’s how you looked when they separated us back at Hogwarts.”
John sighs, “I’m alright, really.”
And of course Paul knows John well enough not to pry even further, knowing that John—stubborn as ever—would just deflect harder, and likely take longer to open up about whatever was bothering him, than if Paul just waited until John was ready to tell him himself.
And John was thankful for that.
It doesn’t take much longer for them to end up at the venue for the muggle band, which John’s as thankful for because his drainies were a bit tighter than they were last summer. Which he supposed was probably a good thing, considering how malnourished he had gotten from the trial. Effie fed all of them well… a little too well.
Paul eventually drops John’s hand when they start to notice other people. It wasn’t worth it to risk anything, especially in a muggle town where being queer was still very illegal.
The club was in an alley closer to the downtown section of the town, and the misty road reflected the neon signs and lights that illuminated the surrounding pubs, shops and the clubs.
The Gray Nymph’s Club and Pub read big red, neon lights above the entrance in an alley between a music store and a trad pub.
The surrounding walls of the alley were weathered brick, covered in old gig posters that had been practically plastered to the masonry at this point. Various patrons smoked cigarettes outside, and a couple kissed messily against one another in the shadow of the building.
John and Paul could already hear the music from outside, and John can feel the immediate effects good music has on his mood and energy. He can barely contain his excitement.
They have to wait outside for a little while before letting in, Paul constantly whispering questions about a muggle’s shoes, or the way they wore their hair. John was happy to answer Paul’s questions, often with a sly or exaggerated remark just to see how Paul’s eyes would light up. It was like taking a puppy out to explore the world for the first time. And John realizes that Paul’s probably never truly experienced the Muggle world before, at least not like this. With the common folk.
The inside of the club is dim and smoky, but the room is full of laughter and contentment. There are a few couples swing dancing in the center of the room, more groups of people sitting at the tables around the perimeter. There’s a bar, full of muggles smoking and enjoying libations.
Paul takes in the entire room, not sure where to look first, his eyes frantically moving around to see every texture, light and color. It was so different from anything that was normal in the wizard world. It felt more… human. As if the mundanity of it all was its own special kind of magic.
“Drinks first?” John suggests. He goes into pubs like this back in Liverpool all the time. He has since he was about fourteen with his lads back home, Stu and Ivan. He felt comfortable, like he could forget all about his wizard-responsibilities while he’s here. Not Grimoire, no sentient spells, no Dumbledore.
It was satisfyingly liberating.
Paul nods and lets John lead him to the bar, where he orders them each a scotch, knowing that Paul wouldn’t know how to order at a muggle bar, and the longer they could go without blowing their cover, the better.
The next band playing starts up, and it’s just the right type of skiffle that John liked. It’s more mellow than some of the stuff in Liverpool, but John can feel his muscles relax at the sound. Like he was finally able to think clearly again.
Music had that effect on John, especially rock music.
After another round of drinks and some banter with a pair of pretty girls, they all agree to get up and dance to the next few songs.
John didn’t know how to properly dance, that was abundantly clear. But he did know how to swing a girl around him like he’s been doing it his whole life.
For once, John looked better dancing than Paul did. He spun her around him and practiced all the steps he learned back home all those summers ago. She was a good partner, too, and was able to make John look even better than he really was.
The band plays “Susie Q” by Dale Hawkins and John feels alive with the sharp sound of the high hat, moving seamlessly to the beat.
Paul held his own, but he had to make up some moves. But with Paul’s years of experience, it wasn’t too hard for him. He was a natural at everything, everyone knew that.
The two of them longed to dance with the other person, however. Both stole glances and soft smiles at one another as they spun each girl around.
The environment was so different from the vibe in The Three Broomsticks back in Hogsmeade. There, there was an element of folky-mysticism and warm bellies. But here in this pub, the underbelly of an emerging pop-cultural phenomenon was brewing. The light was dim, the alcohol was strong, the smoke was thick, the music was loud and the laughter was louder.
Eventually John feels too hot and sweaty to keep going, and he and Paul saunter over to an empty table with a top that felt a little too sticky to really trust. They each catch their breath.
“Skiffle, you call it?” Paul asks.
John nods, “It’s an American thing. I love it, though.” He sets down the beers he grabbed for the two of them.
Paul takes his, taking a big gulp, “How’d you find it?”
“It’s a big thing in Liverpool, believe it or not.”
“We grew up in very different Liverpools.” Paul chuckles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
John smiles softly, “We grew up worlds apart and yet here we are.”
They look at one another deeply, like the other person is the only one in the whole world. John feels like he can peer into Paul’s soul, the two of them close enough to the other that you could count the eyelashes on each eye.
Paul chuckles and is the first to look away, watching the musicians on the small stage.
John notices how Paul watches the guitarist, closely and ambitiously. The way Paul looked at anything he wanted to try. If Paul McCartney set his mind to something, he would achieve it. John’s learned to pick up on that look of his when he would get his ideas, start crafting his master plans. Paul really was a jack of all trades. He had a light and fire in his gaze that John always admired. Like Paul looked at everything in the world as something he could be enriched by.
“You want to learn?” John asks.
“Hm?” Paul snaps to look at John, as if he just got caught wishing for something he shouldn’t.
“The guitar.” John nods to the player. “You want to play.” He says it as more of a statement than a question.
Paul shrugs, turning to the stage in a failed attempt at nonchalance. But John can see as the corners of his mouth turn up into a slight smirk, “Well…”
“I could teach you.” John says a little too eagerly. “I mean… If you’d like.”
Paul looks back at John with that same fiery light in his round eyes. “Really?”
John nods, “‘Course.”
“Yeah.” Paul nods resolutely. “I would like to play. I know George plays. He’s been wanting me to learn for ages but I never thought my Dad would approve. Not really.”
“Isn’t your dad a musician?” John asks, remembering from a conversation long ago, probably back on the Astronomy tower before shit hit the fan.
Paul nods, “Yeah and me too. Mike as well. But we play the piano.” He flexes his fingers, “Classical. The muggle and wizard greats. Debussy. Chopin. Mozart. Jesper. Ulrich.” John figures the names he doesn’t recognize are the ‘great wizard composers’. “I never thought dad would approve of an instrument as pedestrian as the guitar.”
“How scandalous.” John raises his eyebrows. “Going against everything daddy says?”
Paul shrugs playfully, “I think he’d be a bit more shocked by the queerness than a guitar.”
John chuckles, “Well, if you’re already going to disappoint him, may as well go all the way.” He sits back in his chair, “As soon as we’re back at Hogwarts, lessons will start. We’ll get George in on it, too. Although we’ll have to find you a lefty. You’d be no good on my guitar.”
Paul smiles, “It’s settled then.”
They’re sloppy walking home, both of them more drunk than they’d like to admit. Even John—who was famous in Gryffindor house for holding his alcohol—was stumbling up against Paul.
“So you want to play music?” Paul asks with a hiccup.
John nods, “Better than an office job at the ministry.”
“Music was always a hobby to my family… didn’t know it could be a profession.” Paul sighs. There’s a low rumble of thunder somewhere overhead, and the two boys are too giddy and drunk to care.
“You still want to go into the ministry?” John asks, feeling a little more sober with each step.
Paul sighs heavily. John can tell it’s been weighing on his mind. There’s a subtle sprinkling of rain on them now, one of those fresh, spring rains. It’s light, and Paul tits his head back to feel it on his flushed face.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Paul shrugs. “You know what I want?”
“Tell me.” John says. He’d do anything for Paul.
Paul chuckles, “I want to kiss in the rain.” And he tilts his head down, looking at John with something sultry and dangerous. It was. A look John knew all too well.
John stepped into Paul, the street was empty. It was late. Collette would be going to bed and quit covering them any time now.
Like muscle memory, John places his hands on Paul’s hips, holding him tight and pulling him in close. Paul slings his arms over John’s shoulder sloppily, and the two of them hold their faces close to one another, teasing the other with the feeling of their breath and the tension of their heat.
The rain picks up, falling into a heavier storm, and with another crack of thunder, John decides to close the space between them.
Their lips move together the way they were perfectly rehearsed to. A dynamic dance of the two, perfected over hours of practice together. And yet, neither of them were even sick about it. They never would be.
It all seemed so simple when they were like this. Together.
John wonders why it hasn’t always been like this. He wonders why it took seventeen years for the two of them to find each other, and he can’t help but feel like they’ve already lost time together.
But he supposes this is better than thirty years apart, or fifty.
Regardless, John knew he wanted to be with Paul forever. He never wanted these moments to end, he never wanted to be apart from him.
Because Paul was everything to John. Loving him was like air.
And John did.
Love him.
It was so simple, like breathing.
“I want to go home. I want to fuck you. For real.” John whispers against Paul’s ear, and his spine tingles at the way Paul’s fingers grip him harder, gasping at the words coming from the other’s mouth.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 41
Notes:
Sorry I went MIA. No excuse.
This is filth. I wrote it today. Bye.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Intimacy was the most complicated feeling in the world, John thought.
But only because when you’re being truly intimate with another person, you’re painfully reminded of how hard it is to be away from them. The feeling of being separated after being truly, completely and wholly intimate with another person—a person you love—had to be the most painful emotion in the human index.
Before now, John had simply been obsessed with the nakedness of Paul’s body. The nakedness of every body that he’s ever seen, ever touched, ever held. He’s developed an admiration for the accomplishment of making another person feel good. In these recent weeks at the Potter’s, John truly understood the power of one’s partner's pleasure. Before now, he was only motivated by sexual gratification for himself. But here, with Paul, he finally understands the real meaning of intimacy.
It’s the nakedness of the soul, rather than the nakedness of the body. Nakedness of the heart.
They were nervous, that much was clear. They’ve gotten one another off countless times, and yet they sat across from one another on the bed, hearts racing but breathing uncharacteristically slow. They blink slowly at one another, unsure of what to really do.
It’s Paul who bites the bullet and makes the first move, finally. Paul was always ambitious like that.
They don’t say anything, they don’t need to. He just leans forward, and places his shaky hand to John’s cheek.
John’s breath hitches as soon as their skin touches. It’s like ice and fire, all at the same time. Like he was being touched by Paul for the first time again.
Paul kisses him, slow and lazy. Tongue gets introduced far too quickly, and before they know it, Paul is pulling John into his lap.
It was different from what they were used to, but John was alright with it. Paul was typically the one being pulled into laps and grinding down into John. But this was the opposite. John actually liked it far more than he was anticipating.
Paul holds his hips in place, and they’re both getting harder and harder as they snog deeper and longer. Their breath picks up, and wandering hands mess with hair and tug at collars.
Paul sighs, John licks inside of his mouth, and Paul bites down on John’s lip, sucking it into his mouth.
John’s hand wanders down Paul’s torso, and he hikes the bottom of his white t-shirt up, his nails scraping just slightly on his abdomen. Paul’s muscles contract at the touch, and John feels just high enough from Paul’s touch that he believes he can do anything in the world.
John pulls Paul’s shirt up over his head, and they pull apart for just a moment, looking at one another through hooded and hazy eyes. They examine one another’s faces, Paul’s flushed cheeks, John’s clumped eyelashes, the little glimmer in each of their eyes.
Then, all in a moment they’re kissing passionately again, teeth clashing and breathing hot.
John’s hard, and Paul’s grabbing his bulge, wrapping his slender fingers around whatever he can grab on to and John throws his head back, gasping. Paul attacks John’s neck with that, sucking bruises and leaving bites that will only cause them problems in the morning.
Luckily Paul knew a good charm to help with that.
It’s not much longer before John’s shirt is off, and Paul pushes him back, their legs still slotted together but John’s back against the mattress.
The younger of the two straddles John’s hips, returning to attacking his mouth like it’s his life support. Paul grabs John’s jaw, holding his head in place. John liked when Paul was a little more controlling and aggressive like this. It was who Paul really was, the ambition, the power, the need to be in charge.
But John particularly loved when he overpowered those traits in Paul. When he took control of Paul, put him in place.
Sure, Paul liked being in charge. But he would always be quick to submit to John.
It was intoxicating for both of them, and John takes his hand and presses it down Paul’s abdomen until his fingertips tease the waistband of his pants.
John unbuttons his drainies, his fingers feeling the coarse hair against Paul’s core as his hand slips into his boxers, his fingers wrapping around his cock. Paul was already hard, but John could feel him stiffen even more with his touch.
He started soft and gentle, fighting against the confines of his unbuttoned trousers and boxers. But he picks up his pace, and with their sticky foreheads pressed to one another, John starts jerking Paul off hard and fast, fisting his cock until his precum is slicking up the cotton of his boxers.
Paul moans against John’s temple, but has to reach his own hand down to stop John.
“Wait, wait.” Paul says, his voice wrecked, “I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that.” He’s out of breath, and John can’t stop the smirk that spreads across his lips.
John lifts up his head to give Paul a sweet kiss on his cheek. They pause for a moment, catching their breath and giggling like boys at one another.
John starts to ask, “So… how are we gonna-”
“I want you to put your cock inside me.” Paul says very matter-of-factly.
John chokes on his own air, and his cheeks turn bright red as his cock starts to leak with want.
“Can you do that for me?” Paul asks coyly. He kisses John’s jawline as he speaks, “Can you fuck me, John?”
John thinks he might die, and he’s struck dumb, unsure of how to properly respond. He’s so turned on he thinks he might die, and his head feels dizzy as Paul’s lips move further down until he’s kissing his clavicle.
Paul sucks hickeys into John’s chest, which were always John’s favorites because it means they don’t have to cover them up.
He could admire them. Admire being marked as Paul’s Property.
John bites his lip and sets in for a good time when Paul starts fumbling with his own drainies, pulling them down along with his boxers in one well-practiced move.
Paul’s mouth was saintly to John, and his cock is well acquainted with the hot, velvety touch of his lips.
Paul loved giving John blowies as much as John enjoyed receiving them. Paul enjoyed the feeling of John’s length filling his mouth, the pronounced vein on his under-side, the foreskin, the taste of John’s pre-cum. Paul sucked and bobbed his head, flattening his tongue and holding the base with his hand.
He was getting quite good at this, John thought. Paul could get most of John in his mouth now. After all, they’ve had a lot of practice over the last week or so.
It was John’s turn to be too close to finishing, and he pulls Paul up to give him a sloppy and dangerous kiss, tasting himself on Paul’s lips. Paul happily kisses back, even smiling into John’s lips as they roll onto their side, holding one another in a tangle of limbs and needy kisses.
Their hips are slotted, and it’s John who starts to rub up against Paul, desperately humping against him. Paul joins in, the two of them humping and frotting against one another desperately.
Their cocks rub and slip against one another obscenely. The touch was light but was good because it felt so forbidden. Dirty in their own way. Their cocks leaking on one another, sensitive and throbbing, aching for more.
They were both getting quite sweaty now, and Paul’s black hair was sticking to his forehead. John reaches his hand down and wraps his hand around both of their cocks, holding them tightly together and twisting his wrist.
“Fuck, fuck.” Paul says out of breath. He buries his face in John’s neck and does everything he can not to let loose. He has to sink his teeth into John’s shoulder, which forces John to instinctively pull away.
“Christ, Paul.” John says, “that was a bit more than a love bite, hm?”
“Sorry.” Paul says, falling on his back with his glistening chest heaving. His cock was stiff against his stomach and it looked like it hurt. “It’s too much.”
But John isn’t ready to be done. They both were eagerly chasing the release they deserved, and Paul asked him so sweetly to fuck him.
So John is pushing through. Of course he’d like to cum already, but he owed it to Paul. Paul needed it. John needed it, too.
He gets on his knees, and he didn’t know much about how to do this. But he’s fucked a girl before, and he knew it couldn’t be too different.
John remembers hearing about this in a muggle pub two summers ago. He was smart, he could figure it out.
So he starts kissing Paul’s stomach and his hips. Soft, sweet and relentless. He moves down to Paul’s thighs, just like he would do with a bird, and he bites and sucks everywhere except for where he knows Paul needs it.
He’s a bit nervous, but when he looks up at Paul’s knitted eyebrows and his parted lips, he gets the courage he needs.
John carefully spreads Paul’s legs apart, rubbing his thighs and kissing the inside of one his knees. Paul’s hands grip the comforter, his knuckles nearly white as he waits in anticipation for what was sure to come.
And John wants to stay in this moment forever. He wants to keep this memory locked inside just for him and Paul. He doesn’t ever want this to end. Paul was a nymph, an absolute picture of beauty like this. John couldn’t believe he was the reason for it. The reason for the heaving chest and the pretty sweat and the dark eyebrows which were begging.
“Johnny.” Paul whines, breaking John out of his daze.
He leans down, holding Paul’s thighs apart as far as they can go. And he breathes against his puckered hole, admiring the tight ring of muscle. Virginal, begging.
John licks a flat stripe against the entrance, and Paul gasps. That only encourages John further, and so he wastes no time licking harder, wetter and deeper.
Paul tries to squeeze his thighs together, but John holds them in place, closing his eyes and savoring the sensation of eating out the younger of the two.
After a good minute of that, John pulls his right hand in. He licks his finger, and carefully traces the tight muscle with the pad of his fingertip. Paul shudders at the feeling, and John feels how he tenses.
“Breathe, baby.” John says against Paul’s skin, “I gotta get you ready.” He punctuates his sentence with a kiss to Paul’s hip.
Paul nods, gripping onto the sheets and trying his best not to squirm. He takes a deep breath, biting his lip as John starts to press into him.
He’s so tight, so much tighter than a girl, and John almost wonders if he should stop.
“Are you okay?” John asks, looking up at Paul as he checks in.
Paul nods, “Mhm.”
John breathes deeply, and spits on the base of his finger, trying to add any extra slick that he can. Paul’s cock was leaking, red and angry, and John’s wasn’t much different.
John pushes further in, and it takes a moment for Paul to adjust to him, but he does start to relax and loosen up.
John gets his finger to the base, “Are you okay still?”
“Yes.” Paul says with more confidence.
So John starts pumping the finger in and out. It doesn’t feel much different from a girl, and Paul starts to relax and enjoy it. He starts to sigh and moan with each thrust, and John can pick up his pace.
Paul starts to clutch John, and John kisses his temple. He starts going harder and faster, and when he feels that Paul is looser, he leans down to spit on his ring finger.
He introduces a second finger, and Paul takes it almost immediately.
It’s hard and fast now, and Paul pants and whines with every single thrust. He’s probably prepared enough now, but John was curious, and he wanted to try something.
He curls his fingers up, and he searches for something—anything. He fingers Paul in a beckoning motion, his fingers opening him up even more.
He finds it when Paul cries out loudly, and they’re both thankful they had the sense to cast a silencing spell before this.
“Fuck me!” Paul cries, covering his face with his hands. John chuckles, and he starts to massage that part of Paul’s hole, rubbing against it in tight circles and in a beckoning motion.
“That’s it, Paul.” John coos.
“John, John I’m gonna cum. Fuck!” Paul’s voice is wrecked.
John knows the signs, and right before he knows that Paul is going to spill, he pulls his fingers out entirely.
Paul whines, arching his back and nearly crying.
John shouldn’t like it so much. He shouldn’t like the power he has over Paul, the fact that he can control him like this. It sets something off in his head, and John feels this primal instinct to keep going. To keep pushing Paul right up to the edge but not letting him fall.
“Paul?” He asks.
Paul swallows thickly, opening his eyes in a daze
“Are you alright?” John asks, almost afraid he pushed it too far.
Paul doesn’t answer instantly, and John feels the anxiety start to settle in his stomach. But then Paul nods once, “Yes. Just fuck me, please.”
John nods, and he spits on his palm before giving himself a few tugs. He needed that extra touch, and he’s dangerously close to the edge himself.
John breathes deliberately through his nose, and he positions himself, slotted between Paul’s legs with each hand on either side of Paul’s head, holding him up.
He looks deeply into Paul’s eyes, purposely looking at him. “Paul, listen to me.”
“Hm?” Paul asks, his eyebrows pushed up and eyes innocent.
“It’s going to hurt.” John says sternly, he didn’t want to sugar coat it. “Do you understand me?”
Paul nods.
“Say it outloud.”
“Yes John, I understand.”
“If you want me to stop you tell me, alright?”
“Alright.” Paul says. “I-I understand. Just do it, please John. I need it. I need you. Please, please, please fuck me.” Paul starts grabbing at John desperately. “Please.” His voice cracks and John thinks he might cry.
So he does it.
He leans down and kisses Paul deep and hard, trying to distract him any way that he can as he pushes the head of his leaking cock into the younger boy.
John goes slow, he takes his time so that Paul can not only adjust to the size and the intrusion, but so he can feel every last inch of John’s thick cock.
It’s euphoric for both of them. And while Paul does groan in discomfort, he clutches to John and breathes heavily against his mouth as he takes it all.
John gets into the hilt, his wiry hair flush against Paul’s pert ass. Paul’s legs start to shake and John readjusts himself, leaning back so he can hold Paul’s thighs up.
“I’m gonna move, alright?”
“Mhm.” Paul nods.
John starts slow, he doesn’t want to overwhelm Paul, and he doesn’t know how long it will take for the pain to turn into pleasure.
But it takes everything in John not to lose control and start fucking Paul hard and fast. He holds himself back, using every bit of self-control he has.
When Paul’s face starts to relax, that’s when John starts to pick up the pace. He lets his hips start moving with more force and deliberation, and the two of them start to pant and gasp with every single thrust.
Every single nerve in John’s body feels alive, and from the top of his head down to the bottom of his feet he feels the ecstasy of sex.
This was far better than anything you can do with a girl.
The feeling of Paul’s tight balls against John’s core when he’s pressed all the way into him was delicious, the way Paul clenches around his cock was addictive, and Paul’s aching cock slapping against his own stomach with each hard thrust was mesmerizing.
John started to move faster when Paul’s sighs turned into moans, snapping his hips back and forth with a great and powerful force. He starts ramming into Paul, pressing his thighs back as far as they go so John can get at and angle that allows him to fuck down into Paul.
Paul’s so vocal, and of course his voice was pretty when he was taking it up the ass. Everything about Paul seemed to be pretty. Even now.
Especially now.
When Paul was folded in half like this, John slipped into that same primal headspace.
John didn’t just want to fuck Paul… he wanted to cum in him. John’s desire to fill Paul up with his cum was intoxicating.
The room fills with the filthy sounds of skin slapping skin. Paul grabs at anything he can hold onto, and his back arched in pleasure.
John needs to change their position, his arms getting tired. So he drops Paul’s legs, and he pushes his hips to the side, so his body is twisted. Both legs pushed to one side but his back remained against the bed.
This new position gave a different sensation for both of them, but especially Paul. This gave him enough friction on his cock that he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.
So Paul reaches his hand down, and starts to fist himself hard and fast.
Just the sight of Paul getting himself to the finish line was enough for John, and with one particularly hard thrust, he’s cumming hard inside of Paul.
“Holy fuck.” John groans. He was a bit star struck that he just did that. He came inside of Paul.
It felt so good, and was without a doubt the hardest orgasm of his life. He had several aftershocks, his muscles convulsing with pleasure and exhaustion.
Almost instantly after, Paul cums. Paul bites his arm as he does, tears squeezing out of his eyes as white hot ropes shoot out of his swollen and spent cock. He covers the sheets, his hand, his thighs. It’s messy, but it’s so hot.
John is delirious. He didn’t know sex could get any better.
He groans out, putting Paul’s legs back into position so he can collapse onto him.
They’re covered in their own sweat, cum and spit. The two of them hold one another as they catch their breath. Chests heaving together, hearts slowing, eyes heavy with sleep.
“Fuck.” Paul says eventually, his voice still wrecked and ruined.
John chuckles against Paul’s neck, “Yeah.” He was still inside of him, softening and growing incredibly sensitive. John was afraid it would hurt if he pulled out.
Paul’s hand comes up and draws lazy shapes against John’s back. It makes John shiver. It felt lovely though, and he was so comfortable like this.
John kisses Paul’s shoulder.
“You did so good.” John says gently to Paul, knowing how important praise and reassurance was to him.
Paul smiles, “Thank you.” He pets John’s sweaty hair.
“So good.” John whispers and kisses Paul on the mouth.
This kiss was innocent. It was sweet.
They lay like that for a long time, not saying much. They don’t need to.
And John understands that this is intimacy.
Not the moaning, or the fucking, or the sucking.
It’s the breathing. The gentle words. The sweet kisses. The heart beats falling in sync with one another.
When they’re teetering too close to sleep, John painfully pulls out of Paul with a hiss.
He pulls on a robe that Gully laid out earlier in the day and grabs two hot towels from the loo before coming back.
He uses it to first wipe up Paul’s cum off of his stomach and legs. He then wipes up his own cum that was dripping obscenely out of Paul’s spent hole. Paul shivers at the touch, and John was sure he’d be sore tomorrow.
Luckily John knows a charm for that.
The second towel then goes over both of their bodies, cleaning up any sweat and unwanted fluids.
They kiss languidly at will with every touch. And eventually they’re pulling on a clean set of the silk pajamas each and holding one another as they fall into a deep, lazy sleep.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 42
Notes:
Hey besties! Happy summer! Before I know it this fic will have taken a full year of my life lol.
Sorry my updates have been sporadic and unpredictable. I really have no excuse this time. No ao3 authors note stereotype (i figured the hospitalization from pneumonia followed by my grandfathers death would be enough)
Regardless, here’s another chapter. I wanted to really emphasize to you all that this story has been completely written. I have not abandoned it nor do i ever plan to. I’m just editing and posting as I have the time and energy right now!
Also, we really are nearing the end of this. There are only a few more updates left. I’ll try not ot drag them out! For everyone’s sake!
Additionally… IF i set up a means of tipping me for my works in order to help me pay for my study abroad… would that be beneficial? As you all know, I’ve been accepted into my dream study abroad program. A very prestigious and expensive one. And if you didn’t know, I’ll be living in London (in a very posh place) this fall studying English myth, lore and fantasy as well as adolescence as a literary device……… the fan fiction that I’m going to produce from this is going to be insane. I’m looking for any and all ways to pay for this, including selling feet pics. I might be completely delusional to even suggest this… but I thought it was worth a try. Let me know what you think.
Okay sorry that’s enough yapping. Love you guys. Bye
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
His whole body felt heavy, it was the best night's sleep he had ever gotten. Paul feels like he might’ve even slept off his hangover.
He rolls over, the warm sunlight pouring into their room and bathing the down bed sheets in a cozy light. Small flecks of dust floated around in the rays of sunlight, and the soft twittering of birds could be heard outside, their window just slightly cracked. Cool, fresh air cooled down the room, the smell of petrichor bathing the bedroom.
John slept on his stomach, head turned from Pauland bare back facing up, speckled with freckles and light scars. John’s shoulders raised and fell with each heavy breath, his arms sprawled under his pillow and his hair a mess.
Paul picked up his hand and lightly traced the scratch marks left over from last night, feeling a twinge of embarrassment rise on his cheeks.
He leaned down and kissed John’s shoulder, burying his face in the crook of the older boy’s neck, breathing his scent and warmth deeply in. Paul could stay here like this forever. He never wanted to get out of bed, not when it was like this.
John stirred awake, turning his head to face Paul, craning his neck around and smiling weakly.
“Morning.” He says in a raspy voice that makes Paul want to simply melt.
John rolls onto his side, facing Paul and wrapping his arms and legs around the other boy.
“How did you sleep?” Paul asks gently.
John hums, “Like a rock. I’ve a headache, though.”
Paul chuckles, “All those drinks.”
John smirks, exhaling in amusement before closing his eyes again.
Paul props himself up on an elbow and just looked at him, studying his face, admiring how beautiful he was when he slept. John was so serene. The only time he ever looked truly peaceful was like this, when he was sleeping.
“I can feel you staring.” He mumbles, making both of them smile.
“Beautiful things are meant to be looked at.” Paul replies.
John cracks his eyes open, looking up at Paul, engaging in an unspoken staring contest.
“Is this your way of calling me beautiful, Lennon? Staring at me?” Paul asks, cocking an eyebrow.
John rolls his eyes, “Beautiful? No.”
“No?” Paul asks, feigning hurt.
John shakes his head, “No. Beautiful is an understatement.” He leans up, leaving a sickly tender kiss on Paul’s lips, “more like irresistible.” And they kiss again.
As they kiss, though, their lovely morning comes to a quick halt when a loud crash is heard downstairs, followed by a shrill scream.
It startles them both, naturally. They pull away from one another, feeling their heart rate rise and eyes wide with concern and confusion.
For a split second, Paul doesn’t want to believe he actually heard it. He tries convincing himself it wasn’t real. He didn’t want this lazy dream to end.
But the second scream is all they need to shoot out of bed, rushing to pull some clothes on and see what the commotion was.
Paul feels shaky, he can’t seem to button his drainies, his hands were too unpredictable, and he found himself wishing he had an ounce of the bravery John had, who was grabbing his wand without a second thought.
“Sounded like Effie.” John says when Paul finally pulls his shirt over his bed head. He pulls the door open, “Let’s stay together.”
Paul nods, feeling like he could handle anything with John by his side.
They creep down the hall, listening downstairs for what may have caused the commotion.
Typically the silence would ease some of Paul’s concerns, but this time they just heighten them. He grips his wand.
Collette is peaking her head out of her room now, looking equally sleepy and disoriented. Paul holds his index finger to his lips, encouraging her to stay quiet. She nods, bypassing any questions. Her leg was doing better, practically healed now. But she still had a bit of a limp that slowed her down. Regardless, she has her wand at the ready.
John leads them downstairs, all of the young wizards feeling braver in numbers.
Downstairs is eerily empty, Effie and Fleamont are nowhere to be seen. Not even Gully seems to be preparing breakfast like usual. John’s jaw tenses at the sight.
“Where are they?” Collette asks in a voice barely above a whisper.
The three cautiously look around, splitting up to investigate. John starts to wonder if this is a cruel prank.
John breaks off from the group, feeling a pull into the backyard. He swallows thickly, letting his reckless abandon lead him again.
It was a clear, blue-sky day. The first in ages. But the yard was still caked in mud from the previous rainstorms. The soil squelches under John’s feet uncomfortably.
He feels sick to his stomach, he couldn’t understand where the Potter’s could be. As far as he was concerned, their house was the safest place in the wizarding world. Other than possibly Hogwarts, but not even that was safe for John anymore.
He hears a crack from behind him, and he whips around to come face-to-face with a recently apparated figure. The dark wizard with the club from the forbidden forest all those months ago.
John’s mouth goes dry.
Nothing is said, they just instantly start dueling.
John was stronger and smarter than he was last time he came toe-to-toe with this enemy. His work with Dumbledore has paid off, despite his ever-still failure to produce the curse needed to destroy the Grimoire.
The Duel is on.
Collette finds herself in the dining room, holding her wand tightly, “ Revelio. ”
Effie and Gully’s silhouettes are crouched under the table. Collette carefully kneels down, slowly pulling the tablecloth up. It startles them both, making both of the dainty creatures to pull away from Collette. Collette quickly hushes them, and they relax when they see it’s her.
Effie looked absolutely beside herself, shaking and holding her hand to her mouth.
Collette quickly casts a silencing charm.
“Where’s Fleamont?” She asks.
In many ways, James Paul McCartney was a coward.
He was impatient with others, he was selfish, he was quick to judge. It was in his nature. However, these flaws are balanced with his work ethic, his relentless ambition, and his love for knowledge.
But at the end of day, Paul was afraid of many things. He wasn’t as brave or as confident as he pretended to be. Not like John.
And everything in him told him to run away. To go find help, to avert his eyes.
He didn’t want to find the scene he did. His heart races and his sinuses fill with the scent of iron as he creeps down the hallways to Fleamont’s study.
And Paul has lost so much. He’s lost so many father figures. Whittaker. His actual father.
The last thing he wanted was to lose Fleamont, the last real father he could rely on. Who supported him rather than berated him. Who believed that Paul really truly could change the world because of who he was, not because of who he had the potential to be.
So he wants to panic when he opens the blood-stained door to see Fleamont’s motionless body laying in a pool of his own blood.
“Fuck.” Paul gasps out, running to him. “Fuck Monty. Don’t do this. Anything but this.” His voice settles into panic, and he instantly goes into “fix it” mode. He feels for a pulse, and it’s weak, but there. Paul quickly starts casting healing spells. Fleamont’s body was covered in endless deep cuts, everywhere sliced up and stained a scarlet red.
It was just like the spell cast on John back in the Forbidden Forest. Paul had seen how Merriweather healed John, and he was quick to start working on Fleamont.
Paul was so eager to help Fleamont, he didn’t notice the towering man in the corner of the room.
“Shame to see a fine, pure blood boy like yourself to be on the wrong side of history.” He says, scaring Paul out of his skin. Paul looks up, and his jaw tenses.
“R-Riddle.”
Tom Riddle smirks, his eyes looking more yellow than they did a few months ago when Paul first met him.
Riddle slams the door shut behind Paul, and Paul can’t decide what to do: save Fleamont, or defend himself. Riddle was an incredibly clever wizard. No matter what Paul decided, he was sure he’d be in a bind.
But as for now, the foe didn’t seem interested in a fight.
Instead, Riddle walked around the study with his hands behind his back, like a vulture circling its meal.
“The Potters.” He examined Fleamont’s books as he spoke. “I’ve heard so… little about them.”
“They are innocent people.” Paul says, glancing down at Monty who was still incapacitated at his feet.
“I believe hiding wanted enemies of the Ministry is quite… illegal.” Riddle almost chuckles, but not quite. Every time he speaks, Paul feels his blood go a degree colder.
“How did you find us?” Paul asks.
Riddle pulls something out of his pocket, opening up to show the last thing Paul wanted to see: the poster from the muggle skiffle group he and John went to last night.
He blew it. He took a risk and he’s ruined everything. It was all his fault. He feels overwhelmingly selfish.
“What do you want?” Paul asks, trying to stay as level-headed and focused as he could, praying that Collette or John would come to his aid soon.
Riddle turns to look at Paul, “I hear you have a friend.”
Paul swallows, trying desperately to stay upright.
“He has something I want.”
“You’ll never get it.” Paul bites.
Riddle does chuckle this time, “You children are so naive.”
“I’m not that much younger than you.” Paul purses his lips. “Us ‘children’ are stronger than you think.”
“I’m not interested in playing games with children. I want a real challenge. I expected more from this Mr. Potter.” Riddle cocks his head, looking down at Fleamont. “I’d like to make a proposition.”
“What.” Paul grinds his teeth.
Riddle smirks, taking a harrowing step towards Paul. It makes Paul flinch back, which only amuses the enemy more. “Don’t throw away your status… you’re the heir to one of the purest families in our world. You hand over this… ‘John’ of yours, and I’ll make sure the McCartney line has a long and prosperous fortune. I’ll make sure you all stay protected in the coming events.”
“Never!” Paul quickly replies.
“Ah ah ah.” Riddle raises his eyebrows, “You silly boy. I hear your father is doing worse. I’ll save him, too.” Riddle starts to circle Paul again, sending chills down his spine with every whisper of his words. “I’ll even make sure you get Headboy for your final year at Hogwarts. A high-profile Ministry position afterwards. Any estate you’d like. Women from anywhere in the world.” He whispers it behind Paul. “All you could ever want.” Paul can feel his sick breath on his neck. “All you have to do is pledge your allegiance to me.” Riddle hisses in Paul’s ear.
Paul shudders, feeling like a mouse in a cage, hunted by a python.
But Riddle was terribly enticing.
Paul was sure this wasn’t his first time negotiating. He was awfully convincing, and of course Paul would love for his life to be handed to him on a silver platter.
“And Fleamont?” Paul asks.
Riddle nearly scoffs, but when he realizes that Paul might actually be considering his offer, he waves his hand and Monty’s blood is absorbed back into his body. Paul hears Monty suck in a stuttering breath, and Paul feels like he might actually make it out of this.
Riddle circles back in front of Paul, holding his hand out for the boy to shake, taking him up on the offer.
“From one Slytherin to another?” Riddle asks, feigning sincerity and camaraderie.
Paul’s right arm lifts, ready to meet Riddle’s own right.
And while the silver platter sounded nice, that's never who Paul was. It’s never who Paul will be.
He’s the boy who takes on four extra classes than permitted. Who captains the quidditch team. The president of the dueling club. The teacher’s aid. The perfect prefect. Polishing his pin every morning.
He was a tutor. Students looked up to him, they trusted him. Professors revered him. People admired him.
He was Hogwarts’ golden boy.
Paul never took the easy route. Because where’s the gain in that?
Not even Dorian ensuring Paul would be headboy could Paul follow simple orders.
Destroy John Lennon and Paul fell in love with him instead.
It was just in Paul’s nature.
With great force, Paul raises his left hand. His dominant hand having held his wand tightly this whole time.
“ Petrificus Totalus! ” He casts with more power than anything in his life, and Riddle is actually rendered paralyzed.
Paul uses the short amount of time to quickly and frantically bend down to pick up Fleamont. He couldn’t think of any weight-lifting spells right now. All that mattered was getting Fleamont out of there, and getting more help.
With every bit of strength Paul didn’t know he had, he pulls Monty’s torso over his shoulders, grunting as he stands up with the grown man on his back. Paul holds on tight, and non-verbally uses a spell to slam the door open.
“Collette!” He screams, wobbles down the hall, his blood coursing and nervous system on fire. Truthfully, he was terrified. “John!” He yells.
Paul makes it to the kitchen, dropping Fleamont with little ritual onto the counter, panting from the exertion of the action.
Collette runs into the room, “ Merlin .” She gasps.
Effie follows, who then cries out and runs to her husband, instantly practicing her masterful medicine on him.
“It’s not safe here.” Paul says, “We must all get out of here now .” He says. “Effie, can you apparate us?” He asks, but Effie was shaking and trying to revive her dying husband.
“I can.” Collette says.
“What?” Paul asks.
“I’ve been practicing. Gully started teaching me when we got here a few weeks ago.”
“Shit.” Paul nods, “Do it.” He holds his arm out. “Where’s John?”
“I can’t do it with all of us. That takes great power.” Collette shakes her head.
Paul hears a yell from the study and knows his spell has broken. Tom Riddle would be coming for them at any moment.
“I’ll take Monty!” Effie yells.
“Where is John?!” Paul asks again as everyone starts running around, trying to figure out how to get out of the house.
“Gully can take someone, too.” Collette says, “I’ll take you, Paul.”
“WHERE IS JOHN?” Paul yells, running out of the kitchen and around the house, horrified for where his boy might be. John was who Riddle was looking for, and there was no time.
He hears a crack of apparition. Effie and Fleamont are gone. Paul runs out to the backyard, where he sees John fighting another wizard.
“John!” He yells.
John looks up, and can tell something bad has happened just from the look on Paul’s face.
Paul hears another crack, and when he expects to turn around and see Gully and Collette gone, he instead sees Albus Dumbeldore, to his relief. With him are two other men, neither of whom John or Paul recognized.
“Take my arm, gentlemen.” Dumbeldore says with great calmness and control. John runs to him, taking the opposite arm as Paul, looking at his partner with great fear and concern in his eyes.
In a moment, they’re cutting rapidly through space and time, making their stomachs twist, turn and curl into unnatural shapes and places.
But it’s over as soon as it begins, and they’re landing inside of a dark room. It’s completely quiet, unlike the chaos of the Potter’s residence moments before apparating. All that can be heard is the calculated ticking of a grandfather clock.
A man who looked eerily similar to Dumbledore sat at the table, and turned to see the commotion.
“I’ll be back with the others.” Dumbeldore says, and then Apparates away instantly.
Paul was numb, clearly in shock and unable to process everything that just happened.
So instead he just fell into John’s arms, shaking and weeping. Not knowing what else to do.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 43
Notes:
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Chapter Text
“The name’s Aberforth.” The older man holds his hand out. Paul was finally sitting down, drinking some tea and looking a little less pale. Collette rubbed his back, looking just as sickly.
John takes his hand, “John.”
“I know.” He says. “Albus is my older brother.” He looked younger than Dumbledore but not by much.
“He’s said a lot about me, then?” John asks, not sure how to feel. They hear another noise from upstairs, where Gully and Effie were currently working on Fleamont still. Dumbledore was gone, he hasn’t been back since he brought the Potters here. John assumed he was dealing with the situation back at the Potter residence.
Paul looks up, his eyes red and puffy from crying.
“No.” Aberforth replies. “Only your name. And that you’re wanted.” He hands John his cup of tea, “It’s not my business to know anything else.”
“How do we know we can trust you?” John asks, in shock a bit himself.
Aberforth chuckles, sitting down at the kitchen table gruffly, “You trust my brother, don’t you?”
John cautiously nods.
Aberforth shrugs, “There you go.”
“Where are we?” Paul asks.
Aberforth shakes his head, “Can’t tell you. That’s how they’ll find us next. It’s best if you stay curious.”
There’s a long, uncomfortable drone of silence.
Effie comes downstairs after about five minutes, breaking the tension. Paul stands up, eager to hear how Fleamont was.
“Is he-”
Effie holds up her hand, stopping him, “He’s stable, but in a lot of pain. No doubt an unforgivable was used on him.” Effie looked like she was barely holding it together.
Paul sighs, relieved to hear Monty was better. “I’m so sorry… I should have helped him more.”
Effie then walks over to Paul and gives him the biggest hug he’s ever received, squeezing the skinny boy tightly and then crying softly into his shoulder. A glass of water finally spilling over. John felt terrible for her. The amount of stress she must be under would be unbearable for anyone.
“Never apologize again.” Effie says into Paul’s shoulder. She pulls away, “You saved his life.”
Paul hugs her back.
“I need a drink.” Effie says when she pulls away. Aberforth offers her some tea, but she shakes her head, “I need something stronger.”
They didn't sleep that night. How could they?
Aberforth’s house was small, which meant John and Paul were left bunking together in the living room. Not that they were complaining. Even if they had been separated they would have found a way to spend the night together. They needed the comfort found in the other more than anything.
Collette got the extra room with Gully. Effie helped put together a bed on the floor of the sitting room for one of the boys, the other could sleep on the couch.
They had a few drinks of whisky with Aberforth and Effie. Aberforth was very similar to his brother, but he seemed more analytical. Less whimsical and more practical. The left brain to Albus’ right. Two sides of the same coin. He knew just what to say to relax everyone. But after Effie had started to cry without control, Aberforth decided it was time for everyone to get some much needed rest.
Now, John and Paul instead were just both tangled in one another on the sofa, clinging desperately to one another after such a distressing day.
“What was he like?” John asks, the two having spoken for hours already. It was well into the night.
Paul sighs, “He has this presence. Your nervous system knows he’s bad. And you desperately want to flee or fight… but you freeze instead. It’s like my blood went cold as he spoke.”
“What did he look like?”
“Normal. Well…” Paul second guesses himself, “He looks like a man. Maybe Whittaker’s age-or-so. But he had yellow eyes.”
“Were they yellow when you first met him?” John asks, his fingers drawing lazy shapes in Paul’s back.
Paul shakes his head, “No.”
John shudders. Riddle seemed terrifying in a very pedestrian type of way. Like you wouldn’t recognize him if you saw him on the street. You could be standing next to him on the train and have no idea he was one of the most evil men in the world. Unaware of what type of horror he was capable of.
“I’m happy it was me and not you.” Paul says to John eventually. “Who faced him.”
“What?” John asks, “Why?” He’s been feeling awful all day that Paul was forced to deal with him, he was the one to find Fleamont.
Although maybe it’s for the best. John didn’t know any healing spells, and Effie herself stated that Paul’s quick healing spells are precisely what kept Fleamont alive long enough for her to work on him.
“He would have taken you as soon as he saw you. But he had to negotiate with me.” Paul explains.
“Negotiate?” John asks. Paul explains Riddle’s offer, his request. It makes a pit settle in John’s stomach.
“I’m just happy we’re both alright.” John says after Paul describes the entire conversation, kissing the top of Paul’s head.
“Me too.” Paul says with a sigh.
Before they can speak any more, however, they’re hearing a crack of an apparition and they both pull away from one another rapidly, looking to the noise.
“No need. I know you two fancy one another.” Dumbledore says to them, calmly, as if it didn’t even phase him. He didn’t even bother to look at them, and by his calm demeanor7 and rather put-together appearance, one would never guess the day he had.
John and Paul give each other a shifty look.
“What?” Paul says, trying to play dumb.
Dumbledore chuckles warmly, “I have no concerns. Believe me, I’ve had my fair share of romances.” And he winks.
John swallowed thickly, feeling his cheeks heat up.
Dumbledore takes off his outer robe, looking utterly exhausted. “Aberforth didn’t give you any trouble, did he?” He asks.
They shake their heads, still feeling embarrassed.
Dumbledore hums, “Well.” He pours himself a cup of tea, but then sees the half-empty bottle of whisky on the table. “Ooh!” He reaches for it and pours a generous shot into his teacup. “You two must return to Hogwarts. Tomorrow.”
“ Tomorrow ?” Paul asks, eyes wide, moving to the table. John joins him, the three sitting together.
Dumbledore nods, “The book must be destroyed at the soonest convenience. Riddle knows where it is.”
“How?” John asks.
“Riddle is a Leglimens. I had my suspicions before today, but I know for certain now.” Dumbledore explains, taking a hearty drink of his whisky-tea. “He peered deep into your mind McCartney, and knows it’s in the care of Whittaker.”
“So he’s headed to Hogwarts?” Paul asks, feeling inadequate and weak for letting something like that happen. He felt like the weakest link of this whole operation suddenly.
“Unsure.” Dumbledore replies. “Regardless, John must destroy the Grimoire as soon as possible.”
John tenses, “I’m not ready. I don’t know the spell.”
Dumbledore nods, “Indeed. But we have no other choice. It’s now or never. If it doesn’t happen now, who knows what could come of the consequences.”
John feels queasy. He doubted himself so greatly. And now he would have even more pressure to complete the task. He felt as though he could break under all the pressure.
“How will I do it?” John asks.
There’s a beat of silence, John feels his neck heat up. If Dumbledore didn’t know, then it was certainly a lost cause.
But he eventually speaks up, “You are a very talented wizard. I have no doubt you’ll succeed.”
Those words coming from one of the most powerful wizards of all time would typically ease the fears of any other witch or wizard in John’s shoes, but John can’t ignore the endless pit in his stomach that threatened to swallow him whole.
“How will we get back to Hogwarts?” Paul asks.
Dumbledore has that playful twinkle in his eye he was known for, “I have that all sorted out.”
He turns over his shoulder, looking at a lovely portrait of a young girl. She swayed gently in the scene, her dress blue and the location a warm summer's day. She smiled back at Dumbledore.
“My sister is full of secrets.” He says back to John and Paul.
“Drink this before any combat, it will help prevent sore muscles.” Collette hands two small vials of the elixir to John and Paul. Her medicine practice with Effie over the last few weeks has clearly paid off.
“I relaced your boots with new lace, Master Lennon!” Gully says warmly as John ties up his shoes.
“This will give you both a bit of extra protection.” Effie hands them each a pair of leather gloves. “They were Monty’s quidditch gloves.”
Paul feels honored to wear them at all.
“Can I speak with him?” Paul asks. Effie sighs and nods, leading Paul up to their room.
“He’s doing a bit better today. Responding well, but I can see he isn’t quite himself.” She opens the door to reveal her husband laying on the bed, looking very pale and still. Paul swallows thickly, feeling a bit sheepish suddenly.
“I’ll leave you two alone.” Effie says, leaving the door open but heading downstairs.
Paul trepidatiously walks towards the bed, examining Monty carefully. He sits on a stool next to the bed, looking at the man.
Monty taught Paul so much. He’s been so supportive, so kind, so trustworthy. Monty was everything Paul wished his father was, and all that Whittaker would never be.
“Hey.” Paul says softly, reaching out to touch Monty’s hand. “It’s me.”
Fleamont opens his eyes, turning his head slightly to look at Paul. He feigns a weak smile, and with little strength, squeezes Paul’s hand back.
“Water.” Fleamont requests.
Paul grabs the cup on the nightstand, holding it to Monty’s lips and helping him take a sip. The man takes long, big gulps, and when he’s done the cup is half-empty. Paul sets the glass back down.
“I’m so, so sorry, Fleamont.” Paul says, holding back tears.
Fleamont tries to chuckle, but it just comes out as a strained groan. “Why?”
“I’m so sorry this happened to you. I’m so sorry I couldn’t prevent it.”
Monty cracks a smile, “It’s nothing. I’ve looked worse.” He tries lightening the mood but Paul knows he was just trying to cheer him up. No one looked worse than this, steps away from death’s door. “You saved me, Paul.”
Paul sighs, “I tried.”
“You did.” Monty insists, squeezing Paul’s hand again. “I am here today because of you. I am forever in debt to you.”
He smiles, “Don’t mention it.”
“I will.” Monty adds, “I am here… because of you.” Paul could tell he was getting tired, and he didn’t want to keep him from his rest. But Monty keeps saying, “And I am so… proud of you.”
The poetic justice of the single tear that rolls down Paul’s cheek was something he remembered well into his old age.
His whole life he’s needed to hear that. He needed a father figure to say he was proud of him.
Suddenly, Paul doesn’t feel the need to overwork himself so much, or try to persistently. The overextend himself, or to force himself to care.
Maybe he was enough.
“Thank you.” Paul whispers.
Monty takes a deep breath, and then says one more thing. “When I get better… I am going to have a kid.”
“Oh?” Paul asks. He and Effie were getting a bit older. Not that Paul knew the age you should stop having kids.
Monty is able to nod a bit, “This has made me realize that I can’t die before having a kid. I want to be a father. I want Effie to be a mother. I want to see her carry my child. I want to raise one with her before I’m too old and beat-up.”
Paul smiles, “That’s lovely. You’ll be a wonderful father. The best.”
“A boy I hope. A son.” Monty was starting to fade in and out of sleep. Paul knew he and John needed to get going.
“I can’t wait to meet him.” Paul says, and he holds Monty’s hand up to his lips to press a humble kiss to his bruised knuckles. Fleamont falls asleep.
“James Paul McCartney, are we going to go save the wizarding world or what?” John asks in a playful tone at the door. Paul turns to look at him, smiling. He wondered how long John was standing there for. Paul stands up, adjusting his coat.
“Arrogant Prick.” He walks to John.
“Cocky overachiever.” John sticks his tongue out.
The tunnel behind the portrait of Ariana Dumbledore was dark, damp and very cramped. Both boys cast Lumos as they walked through it single file trying more quietly than they would have preferred.
With every step John felt more dread, like he was going to his execution.
Maybe he was.
But he tried not to think about it too hard. He tried to focus on his breathing, and ran through his tried-and-true list:
My name is John Winston Lennon. I’m seventeen years-old. I’m from Liverpool. My birthday is October 9th. I am a student at Hogwarts. I’m in Gryffindor House. I am alive. These are my thoughts. I am safe. I am safe. I am safe.
It all should all be that simple. But it wasn’t, and it never would be again, would it?
Why am I even doing this? He asks himself silently.
John desperately wishes he could go back. He wished he could return to the youthful and safe days of his fifth year of Hogwarts before finding the book. The playful laughter of his friends in his fourth-year. The days when his biggest problem was winning the next quidditch match and staying awake in History of Magic.
John finds himself thinking he would give anything to be a normal kid again. To worry about his grades and his relationships instead of the weight of the entire wizarding world.
But then he remembers that if it were that way, he probably wouldn’t have Paul in his life. At least not like this.
Waking up with Paul in his arms, kissing Paul, laughing with Paul. The gift of staying up until the wee hours of the morning talking to Paul about anything and everything: the meaning of life, the philosophy of religion, the stats of the Chudley Cannons, skiffle music, the theory of arithmancy, dirty jokes, muggle celebrities. He never got sick of talking to Paul.
Knowing Paul.
It’s a privilege to know someone. And really know them. To recognize the deeply intimate parts of their heart and soul.
To love is to know.
Would John have sacrificed that if he got to be a normal kid?
Perhaps being normal really was overrated, then. Because John realizes he wouldn’t trade his relationship with Paul for anything. Not even the weight of the wizarding world.
John answers his own question for himself.
We risk and fight and suffer for those we love. We sacrifice because we love. Love is precisely what makes the world turn. If there was no love, there would simply be no life. The world functions because of love.
It’s worth it because we do it for someone we love. John has someone worth fighting for.
He turns around, looking at Paul.
Paul stops, looking up from his gaze at his feet. “Is everything okay?” Paul asks.
John cracks a slight smile, and then moves towards Paul, cupping his face with his hand. He leans in and gives Paul a tender kiss.
“What’s this about?” Paul asks.
John kisses him again, “Thank you. For coming with me.”
Paul smiles, “Well we can’t have you dying. Don’t know what I’d do with myself.” He chuckles. “Plus, you need my help.”
“Oh do I?”
Paul nods, “Yeah, we both know who’s the better dueler.”
John rolls his eyes, playfully shoving Paul back by his shoulder. “Tosser.” He turns to continue down the tunnel.
“You love it.”
John sighs, “I do.”
John wasn’t expecting the exit of the tunnel in the slightest. The room was small, looking like a storage room of sorts. They crawl out of the tunnel, pushing the portrait open and hopping onto the cobblestone floor. It smelled dusty and strange, and John didn’t recognize it. The small room had a cabinet in the back full of vials and bottles. And Paul crosses to it, examining the contents.
“John?” He asks, taking a vial. “This is Wiggenweld potion.”
“What?” John asks, moving to look for himself. Sure enough, the vials were full of the healing draught. “Should we take some?” Paul asks.
John nods, “It would be wise.” They each pocket two vials. “Where do you think we are?” John asks after a moment, both of them keeping their voices hushed out of caution.
Paul looks around, seeing the door out. “I can’t believe it.”
“Hm?” John cocks his head.
“We’re home.” Paul says as they move to the door to exit the storage room.
Dumbledore vaguely suggested it would lead to a place they knew well, and while John assumed that would be Hogwarts, he didn’t actually expect to access the Room of Requirement by painting.
Sure enough, they opened the door into the corridor the Room of Requirement could be found in. The one near the Astronomy Tower.
It was mid-afternoon, and the light that washed the castle was warm and soft, an amber glow that enticed nostalgia and comfort. Specs of dust shimmered in the rays of sun coming through each of the ornate windows in this corridor, and the hallway was filled with the scent of new parchment, wet stone and the smoky smell of a crackling fireplace.
It was Hogwarts just as it should be: quietly awaiting for the boys’ return with open arms. Like the castle had a life of its own, just waiting for the excited minds and spirits of the next generation to come through.
John didn’t think he would miss it so much, and yet here he was, taking deep breaths to try and fill his lungs with as much of the castle air as possible. His entire nervous system seemed to know it was back where it felt the most comfortable, the safest.
John remembered telling Paul back in the hospital all those months ago that he didn’t really feel like Hogwarts was his home, that he never felt he fit in.
But John now realizes that isn’t the case at all. He loved Hogwarts. He did belong here. It was his home.
“I’ve been gone for so long.” Paul says quietly. Paul really has been gone a very long time. Since early February, when the castle was still covered in thick icicles and sprinkled with frost.
Now it was filled with the energy of spring and the end of the term. The castle felt alive, and everything seemed to be cleaner and fresher than it did a fe months ago.
Paul takes a deep breath, “Let’s find that book.”
Never did John think Hogwarts would feel so different. Not even after going through the Ministry trials and the night in Azkaban did it feel as different as this. But after leaving weeks ago and finally coming back, he can feel a definite shift.
It isn’t in the castle, the castle is just as it should be. But it was in him.
John has changed. And for once he thinks maybe it’s for the better.
They agreed they were going to need some extra help before jumping in head-first into destroying the Grimoire. There’s strength in numbers, and so they went to their most loyal friends first.
Luckily John had a bit of experience sneaking in and out of common rooms from all of those quidditch parties, and the Hufflepuff common room was exactly the one he was the most confident of getting in and out of.
“Are you sure he’s going to be here?” John asks as they climb out of a trapdoor into the cozy common room of Hufflepuff house.
Paul nods, “It’s a Thursday, he’ll be here.”
John follows Paul out of the trap door, and the common room is mostly empty. It was a beautiful spring afternoon, and no doubt the students were all enjoying the weather outside.
But sure enough, there was a short boy sprawled out across the sofa in the corner of the room, his arm draped over his eyes and he snored away.
John’s chest filled with a comforting glow of seeing his friend again, happy to see that he was unbothered and rested.
Paul crosses over to him, “Well well well, if it isn’t the laziest bum I know!” He tosses a throw pillow at Ringo’s face, waking him up with a shock.
Ringo shoots up, disoriented and delirious. “Huh?” He rubs some sleep out of his icy eyes, and when they readjust to the light and he recognizes Paul and Jong standing before him, his entire face lights up. “Bugger off!” He jumps up, grabbing Paul by the shoulders and looking at him with shock. “You bastard!” And he pulls Paul into the tightest hug. Paul chuckles out before hugging the guy back.
“Missed me that much?” Paul asks as they pull away.
Ringo playfully punches Paul’s shoulder, “Nah, I was just getting sick of only having George to hang out with.” Ringo then moves to John, giving him a less enthusiastic but equally sincere hug. “I was beginnin’ to think you two were never going to come back.” Ringo’s accent exuded comfort and nostalgia, making John miss Liverpool.
“Well here we are. And we need your help.”
They try filling him in as they head to the Ancient Runes classroom, where George has been dutifully preparing for his own O.W.L.s exams coming up just next week. But Ringo was never the most ambitious when it came to issues like this. He was happy to help, and was an asset, but wasn’t concerned in getting caught up in the nitty-gritty details, much to John’s relief.
George on the other hand was far more speculative.
After their own joyous reunion, which mostly consisted of George asking Paul about what’s happened in the last few months, the four boys sat in an empty classroom, preparing for whatever they were about to put themselves through.
“So the book is… evil?”
“More or less. Evil people want it.” John explains.
“Why?” George asks for about the tenth time.
“It can teach someone how to create multiple horcruxes out of themselves.” Paul adds, “Riddle wants it for that very reason.”
“Even though there's some speculation he’s already succeeded at making two.” John interjects.
“But he wants to make seven.”
“Seven?” Ringo’s eyes go big. “Why?”
“Immortality.” John states.
“What he doesn’t understand is that every time you split your soul, it gets less and less like yourself. He keeps killing parts of himself in order to continue living. He’ll be but a shell of himself if he keeps this up.” Paul explains in his best tutor-voice.
“Then why do it?” George asks, swinging his legs as they hang off the desk he sat on.
“Power. Control. He wants people to fear him.” John shrugs.
“And it’s working.” Paul nods, “He’s already gaining followers. Who knows how it might be in ten years… or twenty.” There’s an uncomfortable shift in the energy at that. If they don’t succeed at this, who knows what could happen to the wizarding world.
“So where is the book?” George asks.
“We believe Whittaker has it.” John replies.
“And we have reason to believe Whittaker is a dark wizard working for Riddle.”
“Fuck.” Ringo says, for lack of a better word. “How’d you figure that out?”
“Fleamont Potter helped mostly. But I’ve had my concerns since January.” Paul folds his arms across his chest.
“Fleamont Potter? Who is that?” Ringo asks.
“He works with my dad.” George interjects. “Dad says he’s a brilliant wizard.”
“He is. And he’s a good man.” Paul says with the deepest sincerity. “I would trust him with my life. He trusted me with his.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then Ringo speaks up “You two have lived so much life since we saw you last.” He says with a chuckle. Succeeding at lightening the mood. His best skill.
“It’s good to have you back.” George shrugs. “Although I really can’t handle any more stress on top of my O.W.L.s.”
“You’ll do great. I don’t doubt it.” Paul winks at George, ever his older brother by choice.
“I missed you.” Ringo sighs.
“We missed you guys.” John nods, “I thought I was going to go crazy cooped up in that house.”
“Yeah… but we made the most of it, didn’t we?” Paul asks with a flirty glint in his eye and John’s stomach does a few flips. He’d never stop feeling giddy around Paul.
“So how do we even destroy the book?” George asks, completely oblivious to the innuendo.
“A powerful, sentient curse.” John sighs, “I have to do it, but I haven’t perfected it yet.”
“But it must be done today.” Paul throws in.
“Sounds impossible.” George sighs.
“Maybe. But when has that ever stopped us?” Ringo says, hopping off of the desk he was sitting criss-cross on. “I’m ready to do it! I want to leave Hogwarts with at least one accomplishment.”
“So what’s the plan?” George asks.
“I think Whittaker must be keeping the book in his private office. But luckily, I’ve been his teacher's aid for two years, and I know just how to get in there.” Paul smiles.
“Brilliant.” John says, happy that Paul has been at least thinking this through when John’s been too anxious he was going to mess something up.
“But when? He practically lives in there.” George frowns.
Ringo adds, “He’s also looking terrible these days. Says he has the whomping flu. He really needs a vacation.”
“He goes to dinner every night at seven. As long as he doesn’t know we’re here, we should be able to slip right in and get it done with no hiccups.” Paul explains.
“Sounds simple enough.” Ringo drums on his leg with his wand.
George shakes his head, “Well as soon as anyone else sees you two, the whole school will hear about it. You two disappearing around the same time did nothing to stop the rumors.”
“That’s true.” Ringo nods, “It’s been quite the gossip.”
“Great.” John groans. He’s always be the hot topic for gossip in this place, no matter what he did.
“So no one can see us?” Paul asks.
“It would be wise. If you don’t want a big scene. All it takes is one student to say something at Whittaker will be guarding his study himself.” George explains.
“Unless the portraits have already started blabbing.” Ringo adds.
“Shit.” John folds his arms, his lips in a thin line.
“I have a plan for this.” Paul says, digging in his bag for something. “I knew this would come in handy.”
They all watch intently as Paul pulls out a silvery piece of fabric. It was embroiled with moons and stars which seemed to shimmer in the light, and the way the fabric caught the light around it was spectacular and whimsical.
“Is that what I think it is?” George asks with awe.
Paul smiles with delight, “Mhm.”
“What is it?” John asks.
“An invisibility cloak. Monty lent it to me.” Paul says.
“No!” Ringo reaches out to touch it.
“What! When?” John asks.
“Just before the attack…” Paul referred to Riddle attacking Fleamont. “He must have sensed something bad was going to happen. It’s actually how I found out about the muggle group we saw… I snuck out to find the poster.” Paul explains. There’s a tinge of guilt in his tone. John knew that he blamed himself for the attack, even though it really wasn’t Paul’s fault. It was only a matter of time. They couldn’t stay at the Potter’s forever.
“Brilliant.” John says. “You’re brilliant, Paul.”
“Those are incredibly rare!” George exclaims with fascination. “For him to trust you with it is huge! This looks like a real one, too. Not just a travel cloak with charms on it.”
“Will it fit all four of us?” Ringo asks.
Paul shakes his head, “Only two of us. If John and I use this around the castle and in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, then you two can stand guard for us. Distract anyone who comes by.”
“Hogwarts student or not.” John throws in. “Dumbledore made it clear that it’s a very real possibility Dark Wizards might show up today.”
“You got it.” Ringo salutes, “We’ll protect you two.”
“That’s what our secret society is all about, isn’t it?” George asks, “Us Liverpudlians have to stick together.”
The four of them look around at one another, feeling content and complete. That sense that they've known each other all their lives comes back, and John knows they’re in good hands.
They might actually pull this off.
Notes:
Tumblr: @Buttahpie
Chapter 44
Notes:
Absolutely no excuse for how long this update took. I sorta fell in love with a guy, pretty sure I’m gonna marry him. It’s cool. No big deal. Anyways. Enjoy love you bye.
Chapter Text
John knew there was one more stop he needed to make before the jumped head-first into the mission.
Just before John left for Diagon Alley all those weeks ago, the Gryffindor students promised him they would look out for him. They all agreed they’d do whatever it took to assist John in his task.
And he was ready to take them up on that offer.
Starting with his oldest and closest friend at Hogwarts before this year.
Being back in the Gryffindor common room was surreal. The windows were cracked open, letting in the warm, spring air, and John realizes he hasn’t been at Hogwarts in the late spring for two years now.
Maybe he really wasn’t ready to leave.
He and Paul pull off the invisibility cloak when they get into John’s dormitory, the velvet of the fabric reappearing as they remove it.
John’s room was just as he left it all those weeks ago. Even his bed was still unmade.
“I thought I’d be back that night.” John says almost wistfully, picking up the little Valentine box Paul gifted him in February which he had kept on his nightstand all this time.
Paul comes up behind John, wrapping his arms around the older boy’s waist and hugging him. He rests his chin on John’s shoulder, “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if Whittaker never paired us up at the beginning of last term?” Paul asks.
John lets out something between a chuckle and a sigh, “None of this probably.”
“Plenty of bad things could have been avoided.” Paul says.
“Yes.” John shrugs and turns around, cupping Paul’s face with his hand, “But a lot of good things, too.” And he kisses Paul tenderly. He wonders if now is the time to do it. If John should say it now or wait.
The choice is made for him when the door to the dormitory is opening and interrupting them. They pull away, unsure of who they would run into.
“I heard a rumor you were back.” Elliot said, looking a bit out of breath. Like he came here in a hurry.
The childhood best friends waste no time giving one another the hug they’ve each needed for weeks.
“Rumors?” Paul asks after the Gryffindor boys pull away.
Elliot nods, “Don’t worry, it’s not spreading yet. At least I don’t think so. But come on! Come to quidditch practice with me!” Elliot starts to tug on John’s wrist, but stops when he feels the resistance from John. Elliot turns around, looking at John inquisitively.
The air shifts.
“What’s wrong?” Elliot asks.
John and Paul share a look, “We need your help.”
They debrief Elliot on the entire situation, it’s met with far less questions than George, who was currently with Ringo making sure no first through third years would wander into the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower in case of things going awry (a little lie that a very serious N.E.W.T prep meeting was happening there that evening would scare most of them off, anyways).
“So why do you need my help?” Elliot asks.
“We’re going to need a quick escape if something goes wrong.”
At that moment, another familiar face walks in. “Artie!” John says, jumping up and embracing his close friend. Arthur is quick to hug back, clinging to John.
“I thought surely you’d be gone for good.” Arthur says with all the brotherly love John needs. ”How can I help?” He asks without missing a beat.
“Anything… everything.” Paul says.
“Where’s Collette?” Arthur asks, his dark eyebrows knitted together.
“She’s safe. She’s alright.” John reassures. “She’s brilliant. Saved us more times that’s one.”
The unfortunate truth was that word was starting to get out, and John and Paul’s already limited time was getting less and less.
In theory, there’s no reason to delay any longer. Time was rapidly running out. But there was still one major issue:
John still hadn’t successfully performed the curse.
He knew being frustrated and in a time crunch would only hinder his ability more, but he wasn’t able to do anything else.
Really, it was his fault this wasn’t taken care of sooner. But it wasn’t from a lack of trying.
Because god, how he tried.
John always knew he was a powerful wizard. He always knew he was capable of great things. And he’s achieved many those great things.
But everyone had their limits. Even the best of wizards.
And even though John was powerful, he had his weaknesses. He had his shortcomings.
And the Grimoire was the worst of all.
Any time he was near it, he was affected, weakened, changed, he was lost.
But there was no time for that now. There was no chance for it. It was now or never. And he wished it was that simple.
Despite this, John knows he also had the best tutor in the entire school at his expense. If Paul could get John to pass his O.W.Ls, he could get John to do anything.
The only wizard at Hogwarts more powerful than John, was Paul.
And what better place to perfect a final spell than the very place their relationship really began?
The Spring made the sun set much later in the Astronomy Tower than it would in the winter. It was warmer, too. The light was brighter, and there was a pleasant breeze which softly blew through the open-air room as John and Paul faced one another.
“Try again.” Paul says, “Really get your shoulder into it this time.”
John nods, taking a deeply and filling breath before winding his arm back and casting the curse.
“ Fiendfyre! ” He yells, aiming it at an old textbook they had grabbed to practice on.
Nothing but a few measly little sparks fly out of the end of John’s wand.
John groans, “It’s not my incantation, is it?” He asks, running a hand through his start hair.
Paul shakes his head. He watched so many practices with Dumbledore that he was confident he could coach John. And knowing Paul and his ambition, John was confident, too.
“Your incantation sounds identical to Dumbledore’s.” Paul confirms. “I’m not sure what it is…”
“I’ve never had a problem conjuring dark magic before.” John sighs. “I wonder if it has to do with this new wand. I could do anything with my old one…”
Paul chuckles lightly, “Well, maybe just think of it as just like a patronus.” He suggests.
“But I haven’t even succeeded at that.” John says, discouraged. They had already been trying for a while.
Paul looks at John, his lips caught between his teeth as he thought.
“You must have some kind of block with sentient spells.” Paul folds his arms, his sleeves pushed up. “If we had more time I could maybe research what causes-”
“Well we don’t have time!” John sighs. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t even yelling. But he was short and dismissive. It’s how he used to always speak with Paul.
But Paul was used to it. He’s learned not to let it set him off, anymore. There was no use. Sometimes John just had to be angry to get it out of his system. Then he would get over it and be alright.
Paul walked over to John, the sun was starting to set behind the mountains.
The only thing that made John weaker than the Grimoire was Paul. And all it takes is for Paul to wrap his arm around John’s waist and give him a simple, tender kiss on the lips for him to feel like he can calm down again.
Paul holds John around the waist, their faces just inches apart.
“Dumbledore said so himself he had no doubt you would rise to the challenge.” He reassures in a tender voice.
“I just wish he would do it. Or you.” John sighs, holding Paul back. “It wouldn't have taken so long if it were you casting the spell.”
Paul rolls his eyes, “Oh please .” He aisles an eyebrow, “You’ve mastered plenty of spells before me.”
John can’t help but crack a small smile at that, and bask in any remaining normalcy before jumping headfirst into the fire.
Paul rests his forehead on John’s, the two of them closing their eyes for a beat.
John wonders if now was the time to say it.
Instead, he decides to say, “I’m scared.” In a voice barely above a whisper.
“Me too.” Paul whispers back. “Let’s be scared together.”
The walk to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom feels like a walk to the gallows. John wonders if it really is. With every step his heart gets heavier, his soul feels darker, and his head starts throbbing.
As he walks, he swears he can hear the voice of the Sorting Hat muttering in his ears when he was merely an eleven-year-old boy.
“You’ve got spirit. Yes. Great spirit and passion. That lends itself to many qualities. Hm. Many challenges.” The hat hums, John felt like he was shaking under it, terrified for what it all meant, his future hinging on some old, tattered leather. “But you are afraid… such fear in such a small body… But I sense you have strength you hardly know. A fire for brilliance I rarely see in such an age. Your courage will come. No better place to find than… GRYFFINDOR!”
The Great Hall rings with joy and delight, the Gryffindor table welcoming him in with open arms and toothy grins. John’s able to finally stop shaking when he takes his seat, across from a girl with red hair and bandaid on her nose.
“Collette.” She holds her hand out confidently. John shakes it, suddenly feeling a bit clammy as a girl holds his hand.
“John.”
John swore he must be the most terrified Gryffindor of all time.
But if the hat believed he’d find his courage, then maybe he would.
It was worth waiting for.
“John?” Paul asks, pulling him out of his flashback. “Are you alright?”
John blinks a few times, the haze of his memory fading away as he makes eye contact with Paul.
He nods.
“We’re here.” Paul says, pushing open the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
The room was just as it should be. Desks sat quietly waiting for students to return to classes the next day, books and parchment were lined against the walls, cool light shone through the arched-windows. The sun had gone down but there was still just enough light left to bathe the world in a pale blue hue, like a filter to cover up the horrors that waited behind closed doors and locked chests.
It was quiet. There was no sign of Whittaker or anyone else, just as John and Paul had anticipated. Whittaker had to be down at the Great Hall. At least they both hoped he was.
“Come on.” Paul says, leading John through the desks and up towards the private study. They walk past the desk they unraveled the rope together back in Detention last term, and then past the desk they sat at together for countless class periods, slowly falling in love with one another.
Eventually they make it up the stairs to the study, and Paul pulls out his wand. He flicks his wrist and whispers an incantation, and the door unlocks with little resistance.
“I knew being the teacher's aide would come in handy one day.” He says with a glimmer in his eye, desperately trying to be the rock John could lean on at such an uncertain time. John feigns a smile, but it isn’t worth much. He guessed he would just fake it until he made it. He didn’t have much of a choice.
The inside of the study is just how they both expect it to be. The last bits of daylight bathed the room in a cool, blue light. There was a single lantern burning, and Paul waved his wand in such a way that made all the lights in the room illuminate.
Whittaker’s desk was covered in various papers for the finals of the term. Paul was secretly relieved he got out of grading all of that.
“Any idea where it might be?” John asks, closing the door behind them and locking it. There was no way of knowing how much time they’d have.
Paul shakes his head, “No clue, honestly.” He moves around to Whittaker’s desk, pulling open drawers and chests, peeking inside. “There’s no way of really knowing if it’s even in here.”
“Or if he even has it anymore.” John says pessimistically, feeling the pressure only grow.
John moves over to one of the various bookshelves in the room, examining each individual book.
“I can’t imagine he’d keep it among other books.” John says after getting to the third shelf. “I’m sure he has it hidden.”
The two search for a few more minutes, digging among Whittaker’s belongings, only finding endless textbooks, past essays and extra parchment. Paul gets quite a scare when he accidentally comes across a pixie in a jar under an old cloak.
Paul sighs, “John?” He asks, hesitant to even bring it up, “Do you… you wouldn’t happen to sense it, would you?”
John turns to look at Paul, blinking slowly. He then closes his eyes, not having thought of that. He takes a deep breath, and tries succumbing to the immense power the book possesses.
He shakes his head, “I don’t think it wants to be found.”
John opens his eyes slowly, allowing them to adjust to the light. Paul stood before him, looking tense.
“What if I can’t do it?” John asks, his tongue feeling heavy as he speaks.
Paul purses his lips and walks over to John, placing his hands on either of John’s shoulders. “Do you remember when we had detention together?”
John nods.
“ You came up with the way to untangle the rope.” Paul says, looking at John intently. “And it made me so mad that you did it before me.” Paul says with a smirk. John chuckles. Paul continues, “Your doubt is the book influencing you. Use it.”
That ignites the fire in John. It was time for him to finally take control of this wretched book.
It was just a book.
He was ready to take ownership. The book would no longer do this to him. He was stronger.
John feels his body tingle, he can hear the whispers of the book, and as the hair stands up on the back of his neck, he knows exactly where it was.
“Under that floorboard.” He points to it, certain of the whereabouts.
Paul nods, moving over to the spot John pointed out. He tries to pry up the wood, but he can’t get it. Paul pulls out his wand and flicks it at the board, making it pop up with ease.
John gets a splitting headache at that moment, feeling his skull throb. He grasps his head with his hands, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yup, that’s it.” John nods.
Paul reaches into the crawl space, pulling out a small wooden box. It was heavy, and Paul wondered if the heat he felt emitting from it was really there, or if he was only imagining it.
John opens his eyes again, pulling out his wand. He could taste the iron in his blood, and he suddenly felt uncomfortably warm.
“Resist. Resist, John.” Paul says. “Don’t let it control you.”
John takes a deep breath, biting his lip and rolling up his sleeve. “Open it. I’m ready.” He declares, feeling every vein in his body flood with adrenaline. This was it.
Paul nods, pulling open the wooden box that stored the Grimoire.
As the lid it pulled open, John swears he can hear his mother’s voice.
Julia.
She was soft, and patient. But she had a fire about her, and a zest for life that everyone around her couldn’t help but smile about. She was contagious.
And she was dead.
John suddenly feels like a little child waking up from a nightmare, desperate to be cradled by the loving arms of his mother.
Paul reaches into the box, and pulls out the book.
Thick, bound in dried and cracked skin of innocent muggles. It was sloppily sewn together with a sinew that had been stained a nasty black. The book was hot, Paul decides, feeling like his skin could burn if he held onto it for too long.
So much pain and suffering, so much evil, so much hatred. All bound together and begging to be revealed.
At that moment, they hear a series of shouts from the classroom.
They were running out of time.
Whether it was Whittaker or Riddle himself, they needed to do this right now.
Hurriedly, Paul sets it on the stone floor close to the window, pulling out his own wand and pointing it to the book, threatening it himself. It was outnumbered for once.
John swallowed thickly, his eyes never moving from it.
John reels back his shoulder, prepared to cast the curse. But as he parts his lips to say the incantation, he can’t bring himself to say it.
He wants to run over to the book, pull it open and let it consume him.
He wanted to give in, to submit to it.
To relapse.
“Come on John!” Paul yells when the voices are on the other side of the door, shouting at them.
John tries to lift his arm again, but it feels too heavy, too overwhelming. As if his own arm weighed a ton.
“John, I know you’re scared!” Paul says, “But it’s now or never!”
With great force and mighty growl, John pulls up his arm, draws it back, and with perfect precision flicks his wrist and casts “ Fiendfyre! ”
At that very moment, the door is being slammed open.
Whittaker bursts into the room.
Paul turns around, “ Expelliarmus!”
“Stupefy!”
“Bombarda!”
Paul was quickly dueling his own professor, the very man who acted as a father figure to him. He did it with a brave face and a fire in his eyes.
Meanwhile, out of John’s wand burst powerful, angry and clever flames of fire, burning quickly towards the book with the roar of a serpent.
The Grimoire is engulfed in magical flames, and with screams of agony and cries of despair the skin on it begins to melt inside of the fire, and the pages start to burn into ash.
The candles go out in the room and the glass breaks in each window as the book is hit, and all of the men cover their ears from the high-pitched shriek the book initially makes when it’s hit.
As soon as it happens, John feels overwhelmingly liberated. As if he was chained for all this time, and finally he was free. He breathes deeper than he has in nearly two years.
“No!” Whittaker screams, running towards John.
“John, look out!” Paul yells, trying to intercept him, but Ignatius is too powerful. He was a fully grown man, and Paul’s youthful physique was forcibly pushed out of the path of the corrupt professor before he tackled John at the waist, bringing him to floor hard and fast with a fury of dark magic.
John cries out in pain, but mostly shock when he’s hit.
Whittaker pins the boy to the ground, holding the tip of his wand to the throat of his student.
“Bastard!” John bites and Whittaker presses the wand into John’s skin, pushing hard against the hollow about his collarbone.
“I should have known!” Whittaker says through his rotting teeth, “I thought I could break you! Turn you into what you were supposed to be! Who you are destined to become!”
“And what is that?” John asks, “A coward?”
Whittaker growls and then grabs John’s neck with his own hands, barbarically strangling John the muggle way.
This is when Paul runs over to Whittaker, first grabbing the Professor's wand which had been discarded on the floor and pocketing it. Paul then is pulling at his shoulders to try and pry the grown man off of John.
“Get off!” Paul yells. “ Levioso !” Paul casts on Whittaker, pulling him off of John.
“And you!” Whittaker says after Paul throws him across the room, making the man slide across his own desk, covered in parchment. “You’re the biggest disappointment of all!”
“Fuck you!” Paul snarls, standing between the professor and John. He pulls out his wand, and in a powerful wash of anger, Paul desires to be violent . His knuckles go white, and his memories unlock to just a few months ago, in this very room, when Whittaker unfairly went harder on him during their Imperio exam.
Whittaker hadn’t only given Paul simple commands, he had used it as an opportunity to torture him. Whittaker had been controlling Paul’s blood in his veins.
It was the most painful thing Paul had ever experienced, and at the time he was too insecure and brainwashed by Whittaker to think anything evil had been behind it. He was miserable over John, and desperate for the validation he craved. Paul would have let Whittaker do anything to him—including brutal blood-magic. It resulted in Paul’s dire humiliation in front of John, someone he desperately wanted camaraderie with. The moment has haunted Paul ever since.
So now Paul had the upper hand. He had Whittaker’s wand, and the pathetic man was helplessly placed before Paul, at the mercy of the monster of his own creation.
It would be so easy. It’s just a curse.
“Do it.” Whittaker says with a sickening grin. He knew precisely what Paul was considering. It was written on Paul’s face. “Go on, boy. Show me how good you really are.”
Paul could give Whittaker a taste of his own medicine. And Paul would finally get even with Whittaker.
“What’s stopping you? Are you afraid ?” Whittaker asks, clearly trying to get a rise out of his once-star-pupil. His wonder-boy. Paul feels the heat rise on his neck, and he raises his wand, aiming it directly at their professor.
“Paul.” John says with a cough, holding his own neck as he catches his breath. “This isn’t you.” John finally stands up.
“Don’t listen to him!” Whittaker yells, “He got you into this mess!” He bites.
“Paul, you‘ll only feel good for a moment after. But it’s not worth the trouble.” John comes up behind Paul, setting his hand on the younger boy’s shoulder. “You don’t want to face your father in court.” John says barely above a whisper, and that’s what does it. Paul slowly drops his arm, looking away from the pathetic man before him he once respected.
Paul was better than that. He was never one to stoop to the level of those inferior to him. It was his nature.
Ignatius Whittaker laughs maniacally. “You boy! You were never meant to be a great wizard! If you showed true talent, I would have planted the book for you to find instead of John!” He stands atop his desk, wand in hand.
“It was you!” John says with realization, holding his neck.
Whittaker smirks, “From one chosen by the book to another.” He looks John’s sad in the eyes.
“What?” Paul asks.
“The book had chosen you, too?” John stands up, still feeling a little shaken from being strangled. Paul looks around, where was George and Ringo? Whittaker must have stupefied them when he came to the door.
Whittaker nods and coughs that wretched, barking cough again, “When I was your age, the book chose me.”
“Then why did you need me?” John asks.
“I didn’t need you!” Whittaker says, “ Voldemort needed you. He needed your youth. I was too old for his… cause.”
John didn’t know who that was, but he could guess.
“Youth?” Paul looks at John.
“The younger the soul, the stronger the horcrux.” Whittaker said with a chilling grin. After Riddle studies the magic needed to create multiple horcruxes, he’d be taking John as his next victim.
“It’s over, Whittaker.” Paul says, his jaw tense, “The book has been destroyed.”
“It’s never too late.” Whittaker laughs, “What do you think I’ve been doing all this time while you two have been off playing games with Dumbledore?” He asks them, an eyebrow raised, “I’ve been studying it myself. Prepared to teach it to the Dark Lord myself.” He was deranged. Both of the boy’s stomach sank. It was too late.
It makes John’s spine shiver, and as Whittaker says it, they hear a crack in the flames which engulfed the book. All three of them snapped their heads to see the fire had stoked, and the serpentine flames formed back into the slithering snake the curse was developed as.
The heat of the flames was almost too much to handle, and the snake roared, gliding through the air of the room as it bared its fangs.
“What’s the counter-curse?!” Paul asks John, shouting over the roaring of the fire.
“I don’t know!” John says, the two of them backing away in a search for some shelter from the heat. Whittaker laughed uncontrollably as he looked up at the flames.
“Paul!?” John yells, looking through the smoke for where his friend was. Paul had sought shelter behind a trunk, John ran behind the chest to join him.
John realizes after further inspection that it was the very trunk which held the rope that John and Paul were tasked to unravel together by Whittaker in detention last fall. The irony isn’t lost on John.
Whittaker looks around the room, seeing he was in real danger. He was mentally unwell, that much was clear, and the fire and the threat of his students painted real fear onto his face.
Paul notices it, “Don’t let him get away!” He yells, standing up from behind the chest. But John pulls him back down.
“It’s too dangerous!” John yells back, the flames growing more and more powerful. They needed to get out of the room, but all of the exits were blocked by flames now. Everyone in the room began to cough from the thick smoke. One can’t apparate out of Hogwarts, and they didn’t know how, anyways.
The heat of the fire shatters the windows, and it startles the two boys who crouched behind the chest.
“Where’s Elliot and Arthur!?” Paul asks, he and John instinctively cling to one another out of fear.
“I’m sorry, Paul!” John says, covering his mouth and nose with his hand in an attempt to keep the smoke out of his lungs.
“Why?” Paul asks.
“This is all my fault! I never should have roped you into this!” John says.
Paul looks at him with a weak smile, “You daft idiot! I never would have let you do it alone!” They embrace. If John was to die in Paul’s arms, he would be content. He has to tell Paul now, or it will never happen.
“Paul!”
“Yes?”
“I have to tell you! I lo-” But before John can finish saying it, they hear banging at the door.
They turn to look at the door, which can’t even be seen by the flames and smoke anymore.
“Sentient magic is too unpredictable!” Paul says with a groan. “Help!” He yells, looking away from John.
But that’s when John gets an idea.
Sentient Magic.
John only knew one other Sentient spell, and he hadn’t even gotten close to perfecting it yet.
But it was his only choice. It was his only idea. It was meant to protect him after all.
John shakily stands up, feeling his skin burn from the heat.
“John?” Paul asks, trying to pull him down. But John doesn’t let him.
He had to do at least one thing right. Even if it killed him, he had to go out having done at least one good thing in his miserable life.
So with a breath, he closes his eyes and thinks.
The Grimoire brought John so much pain and suffering. So much fear and anger. It shackled itself to him, a parasite in need of a host who would thrive off of it. It was the worst thing to ever happen to John.
So John thinks of the best thing to ever happen to him in order to finally overcome it.
He thinks of the laughter of Collette, loud and confident and contagious. Full of light and wonder. A love so childlike it makes those around her feel younger.
He thinks of the banter between Elliot and Arthur, quick and witty and rooted in brotherhood. A love so grounded in camaraderie it brought a deep and dignified connection.
John thinks of the gentleness of Cynthia, her patience and kindness. A love so simple it touches the souls of all those around her.
He thinks of the playful nature of Ringo, the creative spirit he possesses and the desire to make everyone around him smile. His grit, his determination, his desire to be the best version of himself. A love so inspired it makes those around him remember why they need love in the first place.
He thinks of George and his humble fingers, intelligent philosophy and quiet contemplation. A steady friend who isn’t afraid to make you laugh. A young man full of more wisdom than some of the oldest and most respected philosophers in the world. A love so purposeful one can’t help but feel like George was placed on this very earth to love and be loved.
He thinks of the love between Fleamont and Euphemia. Even, fair, kind, patient, steadfast. Unfaltering, even in times of fear. A love so practiced it’s as simple as breathing.
And John thinks of Paul.
Paul’s hair when that one perfect strand falls in front of his forehead. The green in his hazel eyes, the mole on his left shoulder, the birthmark on his thigh. Paul’s round eyes and dark eyelashes, his slender hands and the little scar above his lip. Paul’s laughter, when he throws his head back and belly laughs. Paul soft snoring with his head tucked under the covers. When Paul’s feet get cold at night he puts them in between John’s legs, and when Paul gets too hot in bed he sleeps with both arms swung over his head.
Paul’s hard work, his charisma, the way he bites his lip when he reads something he doesn’t quite understand yet. The way he has a carved quill, and when his dad tried to force him to be right-handed, Paul rebelled and stayed a lefty.
Paul’s conversations. Deep and philosophical, or simple and full of laughter. The two of them could stay up every night just talking . And they have.
When John kisses Paul, his breathing hitches, and Paul likes to drag the tip of his tongue along the edge of John’s top teeth. Paul liked being the big spoon as much as being the little spoon, and sometimes he’ll gently tickle and scratch John’s back when he thinks he’s fallen asleep.
Paul was the best thing to ever happen to John.
Loving Paul was the best thing to ever happen to John.
A love so pure and complete it’s hard to imagine John ever lived without it.
Love . That’s all it was. That was the counter curse, the antithesis of any hatred or evil in the world. The world bows before the power of love in awe and wonder. Both the muggle and the wizarding world.
There was nothing more powerful than the ability to love and be loved. It was the only thing worth living for.
The most powerful kind of magic is love.
And so John thinks of love.
And with great strength and a mighty power, and a notion as simple as love, John lifts up his wants.
“ Expecto Patronum! ” He yells at the hot orange flames.
Instantly, a powerful, cool light fires out of his wand. It’s so strong that John has to grab his wand with his other hand to stabilize the spell. The misty blue force that emits from his wand engulfs the full room, cutting through the flames and clearing the smoke. It cleanses the air, it lowers the heat, and it wraps itself around John and Paul in a protective cover of safety and comfort.
Through the shield his patronus charm creates, John can see the animal which reflects his soul.
She danced around beautifully, stomping out the flames and whinnying.
She was a beautiful mare. Majestic and pure. Mares stood up for what they believed in. They represented literal moral uprightness.
And she was the perfect mirror of Paul’s own patronus: the Stallion.
Of course she was.
John looks at Paul, the light completely blue now, smiling wide.
“I knew you could do it.” Paul says with a grin.
But John feels horribly dizzy, and suddenly his vision starts to go out. John stumbles, his legs feeling weak and soon it all goes black. All he can hear is the concerned voice of Paul, asking if he’s alright.
Chapter 45
Notes:
Well folks… this is it. The end.
Please enjoy, I have a rather lengthy note at the end of the chapter if you would like to read it.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“He looks terrible.”
“Oh that’s rich.”
“I’m just saying! We would too if we went through what he did!” The first voice argues. There’s some scattered chuckles.
John furrows his eyebrows, the light bleeding red and orange through his closed eyelids. Despite how tired he still was, John blinked his eyes open, he didn’t feel like he was really ready to wake up. But with how bloody loud everyone was talking he didn’t feel he had much of a choice.
He was in the Hospital wing, and as he rubs the exhaustion out of his eyes, he can see who all was looking down at him.
George, Ringo, Arthur, Elliot.
Those were some beautiful faces to wake up to.
“He’s waking up!” George says.
“Mornin’ Johnny.” Ringo says warmly.
John sighs, “P-Paul.” He says, his mouth dry. “Is Paul alright?” He asks.
“Ah, ah, ah!” Merriweather tuts all the other students away before any of them could reply. “Leave Mr. Lennon to be! He needs to rest. You all go to class now!” She was always one to ruin the fun.
They start to disperse away, but George slips a note into John’s hand before he leaves.
“Drink this.” Merriweather says, handing John a vial of a purple potion. John crumples up the note and tucks it under his thigh, not wanting her to take it away from him. His friends wave goodbye, and he throws back the awful tasting elixir. He had no idea how long he had been asleep for.
Madam Merriweather dotes on him for a little while longer—when he finds out he’s been asleep for four days—but eventually he’s left alone and can read the note George left him.
Tonight. You know where to find me.
J.P.M
John smiles at the note. Oh how he loved Paul.
He loves him.
It’s a long day, and John knows that Merriweather has kept any visitors from him, including the Headmaster. John had so many questions, and Merriweather wouldn’t answer any of them. Of course she wouldn’t.
But she does finally let him go around eight, giving him strict orders to go directly to bed and that she’d be sending a house elf to check on him later that night. John lied ad he promised her he’d go to bed.
Of course he wasn’t going to bed. He was going to the Astronomy Tower.
It was the beginning of May, and there were only a few more weeks of the term left. The sun was still peaking just behind the mountains, and John missed how the spring evenings felt here at Hogwarts.
John would really miss Hogwarts.
He thinks he will stay for his seventh year. He needs a normal year to end it all. He deserves it.
He gets up to the tower, and sure enough, there he is.
“We really are lucky no other students come up here for secret meetings.” John says with a playfulness to his tone.
Paul turns around, smiling wide and sprinting to John. He bear hugs him, wrapping his arms tightly around John, burying his face in the crook of his neck. John happily hugs him back, holding his boy tightly.
“Are you alright?” John asks him, kissing Paul’s hair.
Paul nods, “Better now.” He’s crying just a little, his tears wetting John’s soft skin and clean shirt.
They embrace for a long time, but eventually pull away, looking into one another’s eyes. They were both so clean, like they hadn’t gone through something so life-altering just a few days ago.
They kiss and then walk to their usual spot, making themselves comfortable.
“No one will answer any of my questions.” John says.
“Well I’m ready to.” Paul says.
“Is the book destroyed?”
“To dust. There were no remains but ashes. Dippet took the ashes and sent them away. I don’t know where to.” John really feels a weight off of his chest. And now that he knows it, his soul really feels cleaner. The book was gone. It was finally over. He was finally free.
He did it.
“Where is Whittaker?”
“After the flames went out, there was no sign of him. It’s unclear if he was taken by the flames or escaped.” Paul says dejectedly. “I shouldn’t have let him get away.” He shakes his head. “Everyone keeps telling me it isn’t my fault, but I could have done more.”
“You did so much.” John reassures. “It never would have happened without you.” This was true, and Paul needed to believe it for himself.
John asks a hundred more questions, and the sun is gone in no time. There was still a bit of left-over light, but night was quickly coming.
“George and Ringo?”
“Petrified by Whittaker. They each were in the Hospital for a day before they unfroze. Turns out they held off Whittaker for a long time, we wouldn’t have succeeded without them.”
“Elliot and Arthur?”
“Couldn’t fly in with the brooms because of the fire.”
“Riddle never showed up?”
Paul shakes his head, “Dumbledore warned the ministry, there were Aurors stationed at every entrance to the castle.”
John hums, tracing the lines on Paul’s palm as they spoke.
“He’s proud of you.” Paul says after a beat of silence.
“Dumbledore?” John looks up.
Paul nods, “He was here yesterday. He’s coming back next year to take Whittaker’s position. Then I’m sure he’ll be Headmaster. He wanted me to tell you.”
John can’t ignore the warm-fuzzy feeling he feels in his chest when Paul says that. John really did work so hard to cast both of those spells. He was so happy it was over. He felt like crying.
But not yet, not now.
“I’m headboy.” Paul says softly.
“What!?” John says, sitting up and lighting up. “Paul, that’s fucking amazing!” He grabs Paul’s face and kisses him. “How did that happen?!” He asks, the two of them grinning like idiots at one another.
“Well not for this year. But next year. Dippet and Dumbeldore agreed, they’ve already sent my letter of recommendation to the Minister and so far all the other faculty have agreed.”
“I’m so proud of you!” He kisses Paul again. He knew that was one of Paul’s major goals. “And you got it fair and square!”
Paul chuckles, “Well after Dorian was expelled, they needed an interim Headboy. And you’ll never guess who it was.”
“Who?”
“Arthur.”
John’s jaw drops. “He never mentioned it when we saw him!”
Paul shakes his head, “But he recommended me, and since he’s leaving it’s really perfect.”
“It is!” John says, feeling like this win for Paul was a win for himself, too. “Who will be your headgirl?”
“I don’t know… I’m honestly hoping for Cynthia. It would be awkward with Jane.” Paul says with a chuckle.
“Cyn would be perfect.” John says.
“I agree.” Paul nods, and they get comfortable again. “She’s doing much better. Her hair is brown now.”
John hums. Cynthia would always hold a special place in his heart. He wanted to talk to her, clear up everything once and for all. He would later this week.
“So your father-”
“He’s letting me stay.” Paul sighs. “He’s made a full recovery, too. I saw him just yesterday.”
“But the engagement?” John hadn’t forgotten about Luciana Rosier and the fact that Paul’s father had given him an ultimatum.
Paul groans, “Getting Headboy certainly gives me some brownie points. Maybe he’ll still let me get out of it.”
That wasn’t a comforting enough answer for John, but he’d take it for now. Paul was typically very good at getting what he wants.
“Collette?”
“Came back two days ago. She still has a bit of a limp but she’s intending on playing in the house cup.” Paul explains.
John’s face lights up, “Gryffindor is playing in the house cup!?” He asks.
Paul nods with a smile.
“Who!?” John asks, pointing at Paul.
Paul sighs, shaking his head, “Graham butchered my team.” He rolls his eyes, “You’re playing Hufflepuff again.”
“Wow.” John says, feeling far more excited than he had expected to. “Go go Gryffindor.”
The two shift, John now laying in Paul’s lap while Paul played with his hair which was getting quite long and very curly, especially because it had just been cleaned. They talk until the light is long gone, and Paul came prepared with his blanket, wrapping it around them. Although the May evening air was far warmer than the November and January evening air they typically experienced up.
Paul looks up at the clear night sky, staring at the stars. “Do you think Sputnik is up there?” He asks.
John smiles, “No. It finished its orbit.”
“Oh.” Paul says, trying not to sound a little disappointed. “So it gets to rest now?”
John nods, “Yes, I suppose it’s resting. Finally.” He sighs. “It did it’s job.”
They sit in quiet contemplation for a long time.
“I’m scared for the future.” Paul says softly. “Riddle is still gaining power and followers. And if Whittaker escaped there’s no telling what havoc he could wreak.”
John sighs, Paul was right to be concerned. John was scared, too. But it felt a little less scary with Paul by his side.
“I’m terrified.” John honestly admits. “My dream foretold a long and tiring battle ahead. I’m afraid this is only the beginning.”
“What matters now is that the book is destroyed. Which means you’re off the hook. They have no need for you now.” Paul reassures.
“Maybe, but they still have a need for you. You’re an heir to the sacred twenty-eight.” John bites his nail.
Paul shrugs, “Where there is darkness, there will always be light. I know where my loyalties lie.” Paul looks down at John.
“Me?” John says coyly.
Paul rolls his eyes, he can’t help but be charmed by John. “Yes, you.” He bends down and kisses John tenderly.
John smiles up at Paul when they pull away, the two staring at one another like fools.
“Paul?”
“Yes John?”
“I love you.”
Paul smiles wide, kissing John again, “I love you, too.”
It’s gentle, the most gentle it’s ever been.
After the house elf sees that John is in fact in bed, he leaves them alone, and Paul comes out from hiding under the covers, and casts a silencing charm on the bed, the curtains tightly closed.
Paul kisses every inch of John’s body. He drags his dull fingertips along each plane and contour of John’s skin, and he worships John like the piece of art he was.
Flawed, broken, and still worthy of all the love Paul was able to give. Every ounce of beauty he could provide as he loved John like John had never been loved before.
It was so tender as John held Paul’s hands, their fingers laced tightly together as they moved together, their bodies and souls tied as they indulged in the intimacy of one another.
Soft sighs and gentle moans, hitches of breath and eye contact. Their bodies sweat together, they hold one another as they finish together, and they kiss indulgently through the whole thing.
They went on for hours like that, giggling and enjoying it, sharing their bodies and their souls with pure intent and emotional connection. It was better than anything either of them had ever experienced before, and it's extra special because they shared it with one another. Everything seemed to be for the other person. John’s sole purpose was to pleasure Paul rather than himself, and vice versa.
The intimacy of being known, of being held, and of being loved.
John’s truly never slept better, the raven-haired boy wrapped up his arms as they dreamed together, knowing they could face anything if they had each other.
They could because they have.
Life has a funny way of unraveling.
If someone had told John a year ago what all he would go through he would have laughed square in their face.
But John’s heart had been softened. He had been made whole and complete, miraculously. And it happened in a way he never would have expected.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
John would always resent Whittaker, he would always hate him for what he did to John and Paul. For years, he would wake up in sweat, breathing heavy and terrified that Whittaker was nearby, or that he was hunting John and Paul.
Not knowing whether or not he escaped always haunted the two boys. But deep down, John knew that Whittaker had escaped. He felt it in his soul, and in the dark alleyways of life was John able to hear that wretched coughing. Often feeling like prey hiding from a hunter.
The trauma caused by Ignatius Whittaker was deep and haunting. For both boys. John would truly never forgive Whittaker for that.
However, Whittaker was directly responsible for John and Paul finding one another.
It never made sense. What Whittaker’s true motives for pairing them up were unclear. Whether it was just for a class experiment, or if it was for a deeper purpose would never be known. Which John secretly was thankful for.
All that mattered was that John and Paul had one another. They were able to walk through the adversaries of their life because they were once partners in a class in their youth.
John finds himself in the quiet moments remembering it all.
The clock tower, the Slug Club, the Yule Ball, the dancing in Hogsmeade, those lazy days together at Fleamont and Euphemia’s.
He finds himself looking at Paul as he prepares for his next term of teaching, quill in hand and tea getting cold at their kitchen table, feeling as in love with him at thirty as he was at seventeen.
Paul had taken a private tutoring position at that same school he and Michael were sent to in their sixth year of school. John always knew Paul would be a good professor, and Paul loved doing it. He had a few special-needs witches and wizards who he taught charms to, and then a few older students who either took private classes away from Hogwarts year round there, or would take summer sessions with Paul.
Paul loved his students. He was good with them, and he was a brilliant teacher. Dumbledore had asked him to join the Hogwarts staff twice now, but Paul didn’t want the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. He knew how unstable and unpredictable it was.
He really wanted to teach Charms or Muggle studies, but those positions were rarely open. So he was more than happy to teach in London, living in the perfect flat with John.
He was just happy he hadn’t ended up at the Ministry afterall, and even his father had been alright with it. Softening in his old age.
John had opened a muggle music shop, just like he wanted. He sold records and guitars, and the back of his shop had an entrance into Diagon Alley, so he was able to sell to both worlds he had grown to love. That’s what mattered to John. He wanted to foster a love of true music for wizards and muggles alike, and he particularly liked when wizard boys came into the record store to pick up the newest album of the Stones, or that new fellow Bowie.
Some days went by where he wouldn’t even think of the Grimoire. Those were the good days.
Other days he itched to relapse.
So Paul held him on those days, and reminded him of what really mattered.
They hadn’t even heard much about the Dark Lord anymore. But they also sheltered themselves from it intentionally. John couldn’t shake the feeling that it was only a matter of time before it was a problem again.
John hands Paul a fresh cup of tea. “You always let it get cold.” He says, pushing his round glasses back up the bridge of his nose.
Paul smiles, “Thank you, love.” He sips the hot drink, reading over his lesson plan.
“You got a letter.” John says, setting the stack of mail on the table.
“From who?”
“Effie.” John says, using his wand to clean some dishes. He was starting to get really good at domestic magic. “Also, Collette has a match this Saturday in Dublin. I’d love to go.”
Paul tears the letter open, “Holyhead Harpies versus Ireland? That’ll be exciting. Maybe we can take James. That boy is going to be one hell of a quidditch player one day.” Paul says. He reads over the letter while John lights a cigarette. ”Speaking of.” Paul reads out loud,
“ John and Paul, hope you are both well and staying out of trouble. I know letters are a bit old fashioned these days, but the shield around our house makes other forms of communication difficult. James is starting Hogwarts this year. We asked if he would like to take a few summer prep classes from you and he’s interested in it. He is hoping to be sorted into Gryffindor like his dad. Come for Sunday dinner soon, we miss you both.
With love, Effie. ”
John smiles, “He can’t already be eleven?!”
Paul nods, “Sounds like it. He looks just like Monty, look.” Paul shows John the moving photograph Effie sent with the letter of the three of them in their yard, James holding their very old cat Gizmo which Collette once loved very much. Gizmo looked less than amused.
“Another letter from Arthur, if you’d like to read it.” Paul holds out one of the letters.
“You read it.” John says, taking a drag.
“ McCartney-Lennon’s… Lennon-McCartney’s, whatever you are. Loved reading your last letter about Elliot and Lila’s new baby. Can’t believe they have three tots now! Things are good across the pond. My most recent endeavor as Ministry Ambassador has been totally consumed by the magic school here. I’ve been working with Ilvermony to implement more diversity and integration into their school. America is still very far behind the rest of the Wizarding World. There has been great civil unrest recently about race. The Muggles here have been working for more civil rights, and I’ve been protesting alongside them. I am safe, and I am happy. How is the shop? How is teaching? I’ll be coming to visit for the summer holidays this year. Keep your spare room clean for me!
Be good, Artie.”
“America sounds like a drag.” John chuckles.
Paul hums in agreement. “We should get going.” He stands up, finishing off his cup, “George and Ringo hate when we’re late.”
“Pattie and Liv hate when we’re late. Those two gits couldn’t care less.” John scoffs.
“John, I’m serious! We need to pick up extra ink while we’re out, too.”
“We can be a little late.” John taunts, walking over to Paul and placing his hands on Paul’s hips, kissing neck from behind as Paul tries to organize his papers on his table.
“John.” Paul says in a warning tone. “Last time we were late you couldn’t walk straight and George knew exactly what was going on.”
John chuckles, “I can top this time, then.” He kisses Paul’s jaw, “Then I’ll walk straight as a board.”
Paul giggles, feeling like a teenager again with John’s lips on his neck, “That’s not how this works, you git.”
John turns Paul around, kissing him on the lips tenderly, “I love when you talk dirty to me.” John teases and Paul grins into each kiss, hopelessly in love.
“You exhaust me.”
“You love me.” John pulls Paul’s shirt up over his head.
Paul sighs but gives in. “You’re right, I do love you. Delinquent.”
“Wonder boy.”
Notes:
I started this fic early last October. It is now the middle of August, and this story has consumed 11 months of my life.
It is far longer than I ever anticipated, more convoluted, deeper, more complex and more meaningful to me than I ever thought it would be. I wrote this over the entire final year of my bachelor’s degree, and it feels like a randomly sweet little thing to have of this chapter of my life. Thank you for reading it, I hope you enjoyed it.I have already started writing my next McLennon fic (although I have not started publishing it), and I leave for my study abroad in less than two weeks. I intend to write throughout that entire experience, and I look forward to how the city of London will inspire and inform my work.
I love you guys. My readers give me such a purpose and so much motivation. When you guys reach out to me to tell me what you thought of the story, or how it’s influenced you (some of you working harder in school, getting back into Harry Potter, getting into the Beatles for the first time, etc) it is so meaningful to me. thank you all.
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notsing (Guest) on Chapter 2 Mon 16 Dec 2024 12:40PM UTC
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Ohmygod (Guest) on Chapter 2 Tue 18 Mar 2025 05:26AM UTC
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Starfood on Chapter 2 Sun 13 Apr 2025 10:21PM UTC
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UnburstedBubble on Chapter 3 Thu 12 Dec 2024 11:44AM UTC
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raeluvsmoon on Chapter 3 Thu 12 Dec 2024 02:33PM UTC
Last Edited Mon 16 Dec 2024 02:29AM UTC
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