Talk about Magical Mysteries

All Together Now

A/N: 

"-o-" for The Beatles universe, and "-oo-" means Wizards.

I lied about sporadic updates, and I lied about humour.  Hahah, it is harder than it looks.

If I had not said it before, thank you so much for reading so far!

-o-

If he thought he felt heavy before, he felt even more now. Worse, his mind was swirling back and forth. Whiish whoosh, up and down, here, and there and everywhere. Brian's commentary of the new Blue Meanies gave them a little chuckle. It sounded like that cartoon they were watching once.

"Paul, London bridge is falling!"

John shouted like a gym coach, and Paul turned so fast he slipped. George closed the boy's suitcase, and with some difficulty, pulled him up by lifting his upper body, gathering half of his weight on his chest before dropping him back on the bed. John started to snicker a bit as he was not joking about the London Bridge called their wall of clothes that toppled to the ground without a sound. Usually Paul was more attentive than this, usually he is the first who stuffs everything in the bags, sometimes helping the others... well, just John, pack his.

Now he had the pile just laying around. George was helping out, but he also woefully stated that he couldn't without a good brekkie, Ringo was having trouble with their vending machine that he was to this day, still hesitant to tinker around with in case there was another case of a bold lady biting a ring off his finger. He no longer had that same trust he did with the technology around his room.

Poor lad.

Paul didn't really blame him for that fear. It was a surprise that he didn't just up and out of this place the moment that happened. Instead they temporarily moved out when it was almost destroyed. Now, no one would be able to tell that it was almost broken apart with how well they had the place cleaned up and repaired.

"So then, are we meeting Young Fred today?" Paul decided to ask, drinking a bottle of water, courtesy of Ringo, as if it was the last drink he'd ever be able to drink. There's no telling where the heck they were going to be, so it might just be the last time of a decent meal and drink.

"With a 'stache like that, should we really be calling him 'Young'?" John answered back, stirring his cup of tea that Paul just noticed he had.

"I thought he was pretty Old too..." George furrowed his brow with the innocence of a child. Adorable, honestly.

"Okay, Old Fred." He ended up bitterly muttering, tossing his clothes into his suitcase like if they were convicts into the death row. George sighed, folding each that crumpled into a heap of wrinkles. "Don't bother with the clothes, Georgie, they're going to get wrinkled, anyway."

His vision was doing that backflip thing it was doing for a while. The thing where it seems he is on Earth for one minute, the next he is an Astronaut getting hit by an asteroid. It's no wonder asteroid's first letters are pronounced so boldly, instead of going with the way as is said. If he knew why it was doing so, it'd be great.

"Still tired, Paulie?"

This time, the humour in John's tone went away. It wasn't that mocking tone he had when he was jesting around to keep the others' spirits up, or his own. Now, he had his attention solely on Paul, the stirring of his cup paused, beautiful almond eyes bearing into him in contemplation to call Brian and get a doctor to check on his friend who seemed a little out of it. He kept a small distance, but only because he deduced that crowding would make suffocate him.