Chapter Text
The seemingly ordinary train station was bustling one crisp autumn day. Everywhere, people were gathering around, normally with a briefcase in hand and looking as brisk as can be, preparing for a productive day at work. Or, there were those visiting loved ones, and helping their little children aboard the train. Whatever the case, today King’s Cross Station was much busier than usual.
A clean, crisp breeze flew through the air, entering through the open of a door; in its arms, it carried something nobody could deny was in the atmosphere: magic.
Nobody knew why, but it just always felt really quite special on September 1st—it always did, and inexplicably so. A giddy, cheerfulness flitted through the crowds, one by one, giving hearts something special and exhilarating. Yet people have questioned why it was always on that specific day. After all, there was almost nothing too special about a train station.
Although there were some that had started to grow suspicious. Why were there always at the same time of day people dressed in such strange clothing from out of the blue, and why were there always a particular group of youngsters asking where a Platform 9 ¾ was? Honestly, as if such a thing existed! And why were they all carrying trolleys, of all things?
What these people, or muggles, didn’t know was these strange people were wizards, all preparing for the first day of the term at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Quite a distance away from this Platform 9 ¾ was a tall young wizard in his seventh year, named Paul McCartney, sporting a scarlet and gold scarf wrapped firmly around his neck, chatting quietly with his father and his younger brother Michael, who was in his fifth year, farther away from everyone else. Paul was itching to get away and into the train, never minding his father, and not wanting to be late. He was always on time.
The oldest McCartney was speaking patronizingly. “…And make sure you have all your things—we don’t want to forget a textbook like last year, eh, Mike?” The youngest McCartney hung his head in shame with flushed cheeks as the embarrassing memory was mentioned. Their father chuckled good-naturedly, eyes crinkling at the corners and a pipe dangling from his mouth. “And don’t get into too much trouble, alright? Although if it’s necessary—well, don’t hesitate.”
Paul laughed shakily, only half listening, and then looked back once more to see the occasional student running into the brick column. His father was still oblivious to his anxiousness to get to school already.
Jim McCartney finally stopped his monologue, and exhaled heavily, his gaze intensely fixed on his two sons. Paul tapped his fingers wildly against the side his thigh, heart pounding in anticipation. Hogwarts was all that was on his mind.
A sad smile stretched upon Jim’s lips. “I’ll miss you boys. Send me an owl once every week, alright? Or twice.”
“Alright, Dad,” agreed the two boys.
He pulled them into a hug that had the brothers wondering if he would ever release, and then he finally pulled back to say, “Are you sure you don’t want me to go there with you?”
“Dad!”
“Oh, alright.”
He hugged them both once again, and before they knew it, they were suddenly walking quickly away with their trolleys and into Platform 9 ¾.
Paul grinned at his brother, anxiety quickly melting away. His chest rose and fell rapidly, adrenaline rushing through the two McCartney brothers.
They, with their things, hurriedly approached the train—the Hogwarts Express. Within their first step, the noisiness of the wind outside whooshed to an end. Replacing it was the sound of quiet chattering among students.
They were finally inside. They were one of the first few inside, actually, beside a couple of familiar faces. Paul sighed in relief, feeling his cheeks warm with anticipation. He was so close to home.
He pulled his younger brother to the side, away from everyone else, to an empty corner. At this, Michael showed no confusion. After all, he was used to Paul’s need to be in control of situations.
“Okay, Mike,” the eldest brother was saying, “make sure you have all your things with you, your quills, parchment—all that stuff, okay? And don’t forget to work hard; it’ll be a busy year for you…” He went on, and Michael sort of blocked him out, nodding occasionally as if he was listening.
“I know,” he replied at the end of Paul’s long speech.
Paul patted him once on the back and wished him a quick, “Good luck on your O.W.Ls!” and then strolled off to the loo to change into his robes.
Once inside, he began stripping his regular everyday clothes off. Being a Muggle-born, he was one of the wizards attending here who actually knew what looked normal in muggle attire. Seeing other wizards try to pull off “normalcy” was probably the most amusing thing for him. He pulled the scarf from his neck and pushed it to the side, gingerly taking the dark flowing robe and clothes out of his bag. Soon, he was adjusting his Gryffindor tie, the arms of his robes flouncing as he worked. Once finished, he wrapped his red and gold scarf around his neck to protect him from the chilliness inside. Then, he pulled his wand from his pocket, murmuring a quick spell under his breath, his muggle clothes neatly folding themselves and placing themselves into his bag. Paul smiled with satisfaction, and left to join his usual compartment.
While on his way, he saw his mate George Harrison, another seventh year in Ravenclaw, entering the train. Paul grinned, and greeted his friend cheerfully. “George!” Like Paul, he was also a Muggle-born. They grew up together as kids in Liverpool, as well as his two other mates, only they weren’t Muggle-born like them—they were Half-Bloods. But that didn’t separate them as friends. No, in actuality, they were all very close-knit.
George was crouching down, grunting, with his face strained. “Oi,” said George weakly, “can I get some help here?”
Paul blinked, and then noticed his friend’s many bags trying to board, and he automatically felt a pang of guilt. “Oh, yeah, sure.” And he hurried to help him. He lifted one of the several cases George had, and grunted, almost plummeting to the floor.
“Christ, Geo, what have you got in there?” Paul panted as he tried carrying the bags once again, grasping as many as he can without giving out, and moving them to their compartment, George right behind him.
“Ah, nothing. Just textbooks and the like,” his friend replied. Paul grunted, wondering how textbooks could be this heavy. “And...anewbroomandsomeQuidditchgear,” he added quickly as Paul opened the door and practically threw them onto the seats. His muscles screamed their thanks as he regained his breath.
“What kind of broom?” asked Paul, who had collapsed and was now splayed out on his seat, chest heaving as he tried to recover from the heavy weights. His mate did the same.
“Nimbus 1000,” George grinned. “’s really cool. Wait until John sees it.”
“Yeah,” said Paul absently. Another one of his friends was John Lennon, who played Quidditch with George. John was a Chaser on the Slytherin Quidditch team, and the George was a Keeper for Ravenclaw. Because they were friends, they weren’t competitive. Only jokingly so. Whenever their teams played against each other, the two of them would joke on who was the better team, but they were always good sports about it all. Paul himself didn’t play on a team, but at least he enjoyed watching games and playing it with his friends over the summer.
For the millionth time this year, Paul slipped into recounting Gryffindor’s delicious victory against Hufflepuff last year in the Quidditch Cup, sighing blissfully as he remembered how goals were continuously scored, how a Bludger accidentally slammed into Hufflepuff’s Seeker Chuck Davis, and how Gryffindor’s Seeker gracefully soared after the Snitch that was just right next to Davis, ha…
“I’ll be back, just gotta change into my robes.” Paul looked up to see the thin Ravenclaw lifting up his least heavy bag. Paul nodded, going back to think about his beloved sport as George left.
He closed his eyes, and soon all he could see was a bright grassy green field, an excited cheering audience surrounding it, chanting for their favorite team as players drifted - no, glided - through the air quickly as though they were blurred figures. A Quaffle was speeding past, its target the goal...
“Gettin’ comfy, I see.”
Paul opened his eyes and saw that the person opening the compartment door was another one of his friends from Hufflepuff, already in his robes, Richard Starkey—or as everyone called him, Ringo Starr.
Paul grinned, pleased to see another mate of his. “Rings! How have you been?”
“All’s been well, I s’ppose. A bit lonely.” Ringo shrugged. Ringo was cool because he was generally really easy-going and compassionate, as well as funny and quick-witted. He was a good pal. “So how’s your summer been?”
“Good, overall. How’s Maureen?”
Ringo brightened at the mention of his girlfriend’s name. “Very well, actually! I haven’t seen her here yet, but she’ll come soon, I’m guessing. How’s Jane?”
Paul reacted differently when it came to Jane recently. He frowned and scratched his dark mop of a head. His blue-eyed friend noticed this, and concern etched his features. “She’s alright, I guess. I dunno. We’ve gotten into more fights lately.”
“Why don’t you break up with her, then?” asked Ringo, though not unkindly. “If you don’t make each other happy, then what’s the point?”
Paul sighed, hazel eyes downcast. He’d been wondering this himself over the summer. “I don’t know, Ritchie. I guess I just don’t want her to be all upset and brokenhearted, y’know?”
He’d been dating Jane Asher, a fellow Gryffindor, since fourth year, and things had been well between the two of them at first, only now they just seemed to be growing apart. Although there were still moments where they seemed like they could be happy together again like before. Maybe if they worked it out, they’d be alright, only Paul didn’t know if he still wanted to be with her anymore.
The atmosphere in their compartment had gotten kind of depressing at that point, so they decided to just drop the topic. George had joined them once again in his robes now, a blue and white tie resting under the collar of his shirt.
It wasn’t until George and Ringo were discussing animatedly about their summers that Paul started wondering where John was. Of course, John wasn’t usually the very first to arrive, but he wasn’t the very last. And if he kept this up any longer, he would miss the Hogwarts Express.
The very thought unnerved Paul, to the point where his two other friends had noticed his discomfort. “Paul? You alright?” inquired George, his eyebrows furrowed under his bangs.
Paul’s head snapped up in their direction, and then he scratched his head. “Uh, yeah. Just wondering where John is.”
George and Ringo shared a knowing look that went beyond Paul’s attention, and then they were back to chatting.
–
Running into King’s Cross Station as fast as he could was a panicking John Lennon, occasionally shouting at his aunt Mimi to shut your worrying and hurry up! He was pushing through the crowds, trying to make it to Platform 9 ¾ as fast as he could. Mimi was being more annoying than she’s ever been before, shrieking in her shrill voice, “John, John! Slow down!”
But he ignored her. He, in fact, wanted to get as far away from her as he can and closer to his best mates. It was all he was looking forward to.
Finally, the crowd seemed to get the idea and split for them. John said a quick, “Bye, Mimi,” kissed her on the cheek, and then ran into Platform 9 ¾, away from her baffled old face. Then he wasn’t there at King’s Cross anymore, but instead running along the sides of the Hogwarts Express, and into the train.
–
“He’ll be here,” assured Ringo, although a bit hesitantly.
Paul was tapping his fingers rapidly against his lap, and both Ringo and George exchanged pointed looks automatically. When Paul did that, it meant he was extremely nervous about something, and when he was, it was best to just not disturb him and let him worry to himself.
Paul, on the other hand, was constantly checking the door, expecting to see John outside of it, but getting the opposite result. This only spurred on his anxiety.
“Geez, Paul, calm down, he’ll be here any moment now,” George insisted, but the Gryffindor ignored him. George scoffed. “Fine, then.” And he continued talking to Ringo.
Within just a few minutes, the people in charge of the train were announcing that the doors were about to close. Paul felt his heart skip a beat in panic. But then, as if following his friends' words of assurance, the compartment door was suddenly flipped wide open. There stood a frenzied, messy-haired John Lennon, looking as if he’d just run a marathon.
“Hello, fellas. ‘Spect all’s been good with you lot,” John said breezily, and landed a seat next to Paul, who stared at him in amazement as he tossed his bags to the corner.
“You arse! We thought you’d be late!” Paul said accusingly, punching his friend on the shoulder. Ringo snorted.
“Nah,” said John as casually as he could while breathing heavily from his run, clicking his tongue and pulling a face. He pulled his glasses off from his nose and shoved them into his pocket, not wanting to be seen with the damned things. Screw Mimi, he had contacts anyway. “Blame me aunt, she prepared a whole speech about how ‘this is your last year, spend it well, act responsibly,’ and all that shite.”
Paul nodded sympathetically, remembering his father’s own monologue.
“Anyway, what’s with you all?”
A loud whistle sounded through the Hogwarts Express. A giddy atmosphere hovered over the train at this.
“I got a new broom,” George brought up, visibly trying to not to appear as excited about the topic as he actually was.
John raised an eyebrow whilst trying to find a comfortable position. “Oh?”
Encouraged by his friend’s interest, George continued. “Yeah! It’s a Nimbus 1000.”
John swiveled around in his seat to where his legs were rested against the wall, and his head was resting against Paul’s lap. Paul blushed slightly. “Can I see?” asked Lennon.
Enthusiastically, George nodded and pulled it out from his bag; the broom had a long, polished cherry wood handle with neat straight honey brown twigs making up the tail. It was the most gorgeous thing one could ever witness.
“It’s the latest edition.” George couldn’t help but brag a bit.
“Nice,” the auburn-headed Slytherin commented nonchalantly. Paul widened his eyes as he looked down quickly at his friend. That was the fastest, most beautiful broomstick around, and all he could say was that it was nice?
Everyone else voiced their surprise loudly and questioningly. John chuckled softly to their reactions, only telling them, “Check in my bag.”
Ringo (since he was the closest) skeptically reached for one of the many cases that were pushed aside to the corner of their compartment.
“Not that one!” John’s voice rang through their packed room.
Ringo dipped his head to the side in false indignation for a moment, then reached for the biggest bag, and zipped it open. Out came an exact replica of George’s broom, cherry wood and all. Paul giggled at this and at George’s extremely shocked face, who was looking back and forth between the broom and his relaxed friend. “Fucker!” George exclaimed, and John merely shrugged with lifted eyebrows and pursed lips. The other two laughed cheerfully.
“It is nice, though, isn’t it?” Paul mused aloud.
“Yeah, she’s a real beauty…” said Ringo, gazed fixed on the broomstick wonderingly.
George was in an upset mood for the rest of the train ride.
John later took his case and pulled out his robes, changing there as the four boys discussed their vacations, and what they did. None of them did anything special, and so they moved on to other topics, munching on candies gotten from the cart going by.
Paul was in the middle of eating a Chocolate Frog when he said, “Y’know, I can’t believe this is our last year here. I don’t even know what career I want yet.”
John gasped dramatically, and threw a hand over his forehead. “Heavens, no! The Paul McCartney, unprepared for the first time in forever! Oh, how will we go on?” Paul flicked him in the arm, and John did a spastic move.
Fitting a licorice wand into his mouth, George spoke. “He’s got a point, though,” he stated, voice muffled by the candy. “I don’t either.”
“Neither do I,” said Ringo.
A brief, but intense silence as sharp as a knife cut through the four of them, before John sat up from Paul’s lap and rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, you lot! It’s bloody depressing, this is! I thought I knew you all better! We have plenty of time before deciding, honestly!”
“We have a year, John,” said Paul quietly.
The train halted to a stop, and along with it came an end to their conversation. They looked at each other eagerly, everything previously said forgotten. At the same time they all stood up and crammed through their door, occasionally pushing each other to move until they made it out.
As the door opened, revealing the outside, the night air came bristling through the large gathering of students, dark light dimming their faces. Everywhere, people were trying to pass through the exit door. The four moved to join them, only to be crushed by others.
“We’ll be in the 2000s by the time this is over,” John minutes later whispered to Paul, who crossed his arms and snorted.
John and Paul pushed through the crowds together, moving from the back, to the middle, to the very front. To the left was the sound of someone calling, "First years over here!" An exhale of relief left Paul as his gaze moved upwards. Far ahead stood the familiar expansive castle with its many towers, standing proudly in all its glory—Hogwarts.
They were home at last.