Fic: Beetle Smuggling Ch1

Title: Beetle Smuggling – Ch 1 – A Hairy Discover
Author: Raven Grimm
Fandom: the Beatles/Harry Potter – Marauder's era
Pairings/Characters: hints at John/Paul, George/Ringo (may become more than hints, probably will xD) Remus/Sirius, random Potter characters
Genre: crossover, crack, slash
Rating: PG-13 to be safe as it is a WIP
Word Count: 2982
Summary: While at Kings Cross station four famous faces get on the wrong train…


Beatles Smuggling

Ch 1 - A Hairy Discovery

The station was as noisy as ever, people bustling on and off trains, suitcases everywhere, but in a way, it made things easier – easier to blend in that is. The disguises were, in John's words, 'Bloody brilliant' though in Georges, 'Severely lacking' but Paul would admit, the moustaches rather suited them – though George's beard was perhaps a bit much - and John kept saying Paul looked too much of a girl to pass for a man – this earned John a punch in the arm. The flat caps - everyone agreed - looked fine, loads of flat caps bobbed here and there about the station, and the over coats were nothing to stare at, so all in all, they were good disguises, the four of them had, after all, gone thus far unnoticed.

The only problem was it was harder to change their voices, at least consistently and when you're known for your voice, that made going about unnoticed pretty hard. John had started out pretending he was German, which worked fine, but this then merged with something that sounded kind of French-come-Chinese when he got bored of the German and both George and Ringo couldn't help but impersonate him. John found this hilarious, buckling over in fits of giggles, his loud, infectious and very recognisable laugh completely unrestrained.

It wasn't long before Paul noticed the first signs of impending disaster: the turning heads of a group of young girls; the worst people to have noticed. Then came the confused, narrowing eyes, then the whispers. Following this came the finger pointing, the expressive facial-hair-gesturing and Paul could clearly read the word 'moustache' on their lips. That was when the end came, the widening eyes and the spreading, excited smiles.

"Time to go!" Paul hissed, and attempted to herd John, George and Ringo over to platform ten and away from the imminently screaming fan-girls.

"Oi!" John snapped, his voice returning completely back to normal. "What's that for?"

Paul glanced over his shoulder: the fan-girls were moving hesitantly closer; apparently they still weren't completely certain of who they stumbled across. Paul made a mental note to praise John for his disguise idea later, maybe while he was kicking him for blowing their cover.

"Fan-girls," Paul whispered and noted the slightly unnerved look that flickered in John's eyes as he looked passed his shoulder. His fake moustache bristled at the sight of them.

The first squeak of anticipation from behind Paul made his heart leap and he shoved John hard to get him to move. He toppled into George who yelped and bumped into Ringo. And then there was more than a squeak, there was an out right squeal and Paul, forgetting they were right up against the barrier between platforms, shoved John again and this time he fell right into the other two with a loud, 'Ouff'.

A large group of people passing between the four and the fans knocked into Paul as the fan-girls converged, and the next thing Paul knew, he was laying face first on top of John and staring into his crouch.

"I never knew you felt that way, love," John said in a singsong voice and fanning himself dramatically - the wiry 'tashe didn't add to the image – and Paul pulled his face away with a jerk that made his neck crack.

"Ow," Paul moaned, rubbing his neck, and sitting back on his haunches.

"What was that all about?" Ringo asked, peeling himself off the floor beside Paul – George reached down to help him to his feet.

"Ay, where did all the people go?" asked George, and only then did Paul notice that the platform was practically empty, and upon closer inspection, it looked distinctly different as well. For a start, they were no longer enclosed; blue sky and sunlight looked down over the scarlet engine steaming away at the side of the platform.

"What happened?" Paul said, getting to his feet.

"I'd like to know where that goes," John said, straightening up and eyeing the train almost suspiciously.

"Nine and three quarters? Sounds like a joke to me," said George.

Paul looked up at the sign hanging overhead which read, 'Hogwarts Express, 11 o'clock'. Behind him the barrier between platforms nine and ten had become a wrought-iron gate with the words, 'Platform Nine and Three-Quarters' written across it - right where the ticket box should have been.

"Any of you lot know where Hogwarts is?" George asked. Paul shrugged.

"Never heard of it," Ringo said, adjusting his moustache which had crawled up his cheek in all the commotion.

"Wanna find out?" asked John, a wide, warning smile breaking out across his face. He didn't wait for a reply as he said, "Come 'ead," and dashed across the platform to board the train. Paul, George and Ringo followed right behind him, and Ringo had barely closed the door before the train was pulling away. They stood by the door, peering out of the window and watched the waving people, mostly middle aged men and women, some young children, and almost all were crying happy tears to varying degrees.

Paul shared a fleetingly nervous look with John: they had no idea where they were headed, and for that matter, they had no idea how they had even got on to that platform in the first place…

"Come 'ead then, let's get a compartment," John said after a shrug and towed Paul into the next carriage. "This one looks good."

"John, it's already got someone's luggage inside," Paul pointed out but John wasn't listening. He pulled open the door and took a seat.

"You lot planning on standing the whole trip then?" he said, smirking.

Paul gave in and sat opposite John, and George and Ringo filled in next to them.

"What if they want their seats?" Paul said.

"There's space … come on Paulie, Ringo's not that fat," said John, patting Ringo genially on the back and making him nearly choke on the cigarette he was lighting. "See, he eats ciggies, not much fat on them, is there?" Ringo glared at John as he dried the cigarette on his sleeve.

They sat in silence a while as London sped past their window. It was soon replaced by large expanses of green; field after field interspersed by woods and littered with cows. Paul tried to ignore the growing feeling in the back of his mind that they really shouldn't have gotten on a train to god knows where. John just had this remarkable ability to get Paul to do things he knew he really shouldn't, and only stop to consider it after the fact …

John and George were in the middle of making bets as to what a 'Hogwart' was when the compartment door opened and four young faces looked in at them with a mixture of annoyance and confusion on their faces. Their arms were laden with what looked to be food of varying degrees of tooth decay.

"Budge up lads," John said, dragging Ringo across the seat, and Ringo did a strange juggling act to snatch back his cigarette which had slipped out of his hand.

The long black-haired and grey-eyed boy of the group glanced up at the luggage that was most probably theirs and then back at John, Paul, George and Ringo who were rudely in their seats. And Paul was back to thinking about their disguises and whether they were really going to work in such close proximity as a train compartment…

The boy with long hair shared a look with the other black-haired boy in the group, his hair was shorter than the other's and decidedly messy, and he wore square glasses that had slid to the end of his nose. They said nothing aloud, and Paul suspected they'd said it all in that look.

George moved closer to Paul as the shortest of the group sat on the end of their seat, his hair was cropped short and sandy blonde. The boy with glasses squeezed in between him and George, and the thinnest boy with slightly torn clothes and light brown hair sat opposite. Next to him sat the boy with long black hair. After a pregnant pause John turned to them with a grin that spread his bristly moustache wide.

"I'm Johnny," he said by way of an introduction, "that's Paulie – this here's Richie," he clapped an arm around Ringo's shoulders and the cigarette leap into Ringo's lap. He cursed as he dug it out. "And that over there is Geoffrey."

"Geoffrey?!" George spluttered.

"Fine then, Greogie," John said, dropping the London accent he had put on in an obvious attempt to hide their identities.

The four new comers were staring at them as if they had all sprouted a second head, and it was the boy with long black hair whose eyes widened first and Paul – predicting what was coming next – leap up from his seat and closed the compartment door quickly.

"You're the Beatles!" the boy said, loudly and even with the door closed, Paul feared anyone in the passageway would have heard him. He squeezed back onto the seat, but this time between George and the boy with glasses as George had scooted over to look nonchalantly out the window and scratch under his fake beard. He pulled it away from his chin, not caring that that the elastic was showing; now that they had been discovered it didn't really matter.

"Ah, yeh caught us," said John, mock disappointed.

"That's it then, is it?" Ringo said despondently, peeling off his lopsided moustache and tucking it away in his coat pocket.

"Really?!" the blonde boy said eagerly, scooting to the very edge of his seat. "You're really the Beatles?!"

Paul smiled thinly. "That's us… but, could yeh keep it down, only we don't want the whole train finding out."

"Don't we, Macca?" John said and there was a squeak beside Paul at the mention of his nickname. Paul looked over; the boy with glasses had clapped his hands over his mouth and looked about ready to pop.

"Uh, no, John, we don't…" Paul said, slowly, keeping his eyes on the boy beside him, as if the boy was a bomb set to go off if Paul looked away.

"It's… it's an honour to meet you," the boy with brown hair said, his cheeks tinged pink, and Paul then noticed the scars running across his nose and cheeks, though they did nothing to mare his prettiness.

"Honour, Moony, really?" the boy beside him said. "More like, fantastic! I'm Sirius by the way," he added. "This is Remus," he gestured the boy at his side, "the tomato next to you is James," Paul hadn't missed the redness growing in the boys face as though he was choking himself – if he started turning blue, Paul would have to intervene.

"And that's Peter," Sirius concluded, indicating the blonde haired boy who had quite bright blue eyes, Paul noticed this because they were locked on him. Paul also noticed the strangeness of the boy's name; Sirius, and Remus too… very strange.

Apparently unable to contain himself any longer, the one called James said very fast, and with out taking a breath, "OhmygodareyougoingtobeplayingatHogwarts?!" he clapped his hands over his mouth again, perhaps trying to force back down his verbal diarrheal.

"What did 'e say?" Paul wondered aloud. George shrugged, turning his eyes back to the passing shrubbery.

Sirius' eyes widened and he looked about to explode in much the same way as James had. He brought himself under control before he said, "He wants to know if you're going to be performing at Hogwarts?" though he couldn't hide the excited tenor to his voice.

"What's a 'Hogwarts'?" said George showing interest in the conversation again, and Paul knew he had a pound riding on it being a kind of race track for pigs. John on the other hand was certain it would turn out to be a clinic for the 'unfortunately afflicted' – his words.

The excited gleam in Sirius's eyes dulled and they widened this time in surprise; not knowing what 'Hogwarts' was, was apparently more amazing than meeting the Beatles – somehow that didn't feel right.

"You don't know what Hogwarts is, yet you're on the Hogwarts Express?" Remus asked, leaning forward in his seat now to look around Sirius who was just as much on the edge of it as Peter was.

"That about sums it up," said John, almost proudly.

"Muggles!" hissed Peter, his expression that of worry now instead of mild constipation.

Another silent look passed between James and Sirius, which was broken by John saying, "What did he call us?"

"Should – Should we tell someone?" Remus said in a hushed voice.

"You could start by telling us," John interjected, and by his tone, he was starting to get annoyed.

"How did they get onto the platform?" Peter said quietly, though not quite quiet enough to not have been heard by all.

"Fell, didn't we," Ringo said, attempting to relight his cigarette but was keeping a suspicious eye on John to make sure he didn't scupper his attempts again.

"Yeah, we fell," Paul agreed, realising they really had fallen through… something; one moment they had been between platforms nine and ten, and the next they were on some none existent platform nine and three quarters!

Paul lent forward so that only John and George could hear him as he said, "Are we high?"

John thought for a moment before saying, "I didn't take anything today," he paused, "at least I don't think so…"

"I don't think we're hallucinating, mate" George said.

"Why not?" said Paul. John kicked him. "Ouch! Why did you-"

"Hurt, did it?"

"Yes!"

"Not hallucinating then," John said, thoughtfully.

"You didn't have to kick me to find that out, you swine" Paul mumbled, rubbing his shin. He looked over to see the four boys talking conspiratorially to one another – Ringo watching them impassively.

"Is someone going to explain what a Hogwart is, then?" George said, reaching between Paul and John to share Ringo's cigarette.

There was silence a moment as Sirius, Remus, James and Peter raised their heads to look at him.

"It's… it's a school," Remus said, apparently wondering if he was revealing too much even as he said it.

"Bad luck there, ey lads," Ringo said, taking his cigarette back and puffing on it, "nothing to do with pigs."

"How do you know? Could be a school for pigs," John said.

"I really think we ought to tell someone," Remus interrupted.

"I think we should tell them about the school," James suggested and Remus gawped at him.

"Are you serious? You can't!"

"Of course I'm being serious-"

"No, Remus is right …" Sirius said, and Remus looked at him with raised eyebrows, "we ought to show them." The eyebrows dropped.

"Sirius! They're muggles! They must be if they don't know about the school."

"Oi, stop calling me a muggle," John snapped. "… What's a muggle?"

"Non-wiza-" Peter caught himself, pursing his lips and looking sheepish as all eyes in the compartment turned to him.

"Non wiza… what?" Paul asked.

Sirius nodded to himself. Apparently decided, and ignoring the look of unease on Remus's face as he said, "Non-wizarding folk." Paul, John, George and Ringo stared at him.

It was a long moment before anyone spoke, and it was John who finally broke the silence by saying, "Are you off you rocker?"

"No, really. We're wizards," Sirius insisted. "Look," he reached behind him and pulled from his back pocket a long thin stick which he held up proudly.

"You've got a stick," John said, dismissively, "well done."

"Wand," Sirius corrected, sounding slightly irked, "we've all got them." He looked expectantly at James who then produced another stick - slightly paler and thinner. Peter then dug inside his pockets until he found his own, slightly shorter and darker stick.

Sirius, James and Peter then turned to Remus who appeared to be trying to blend into the seat, but was failing miserably.

"We're going to get in so much trouble," he said. "What if the Ministry finds out?"

"They won't," James assured.

"Come one, Moony, stop being a prefect for a change and show us your wand," Sirius said, a dirty smirk playing about his lips.

Remus sighed, resignedly and reached over to draw the curtain across the door before he too produced a stick of pale wood. And with another, even heavier sigh he said, "We really are wizards." And for some reason, Paul believed this boy more than the others.

"Blimey!" he said.

John said, "Go on then, show us some magic."

Sirius thought for a moment, then turned to John with an idea. "Let me borrow you moustache," he said and John suspiciously peeled off the fake moustache and handed it over. "I'll be needing that back, you know."

"It'll be fine," Sirius said distractedly, dropping it onto the floor between their feet. He pointed his stick at it.

"Engorgio," he muttered and immediately, and unbelievably, the clump of hair began to grow… It stopped when it had nearly quadrupled in size: it now resembled a small toupee.

Paul didn't know what to say… had he really just seen that? John picked up the enlarged moustache, laughing and turned it this way and that in his hands.

"How - ?" Ringo started, the cigarette sticking to his bottom lip, his mouth forming a large 'O'.

"Wizards," Sirius said again.

"That's fab!" John said, putting the hairy lump on his head and tested its stability but tilting his head from side to side. It looked bizarre; flicking out at the sides where the moustache curled up.

"Suits you," said Paul, because he couldn't think what else to say.

George nudged him, his eyes glued to the flapping hair piece and said, quietly, "Maybe we are high…"

*