Talk about Magical Mysteries

All my loving

A/N: Inspiration spurted in randomly.

Taking a read of the old chapters remind me that I haven't been writing much in the other's perspectives. We get to see George's perspective of it. After all, George has the most imagination, he could piece it out better than the other two who would ask many, many questions to the other Paul before realizing something's up. He reads between the lines.

A little short it may be, but it does jump from one to another.

"-o-" for The Fab Four, "-oo-" for the Wizards.

--

-oo-

Thirty seconds in counting.

The Musician was told to wait 30 seconds before he could start to pull the reins that the Wizard let down. For that the Wizard had done for them in their reality, he wanted to repay the favour in any way he could, but he couldn't tell the Wizard how reluctant he really felt. It was terrible, really. The Wizard was so sweet and gentle, taking every one of his problems and offering the glitter of his magical prowess to make it better, and here he was, not doing the same for him.

It was terrible as it was odd. This loss of motivation came like a bolt to the blue, not when he was plotting with the Wizard, but as soon as the Wizard stepped back, falling back onto the field of his mind space. As soon as he surrendered psychological control to the Musician, his motivation shot off with it.

'Everything alright?' the Wizard rightfully asked, leaning slightly forward from his seated position. The Musician cast an uncertain glance at him, smiling.

'Yeah just.. golly,' who was he to say that he was suddenly not up for doing anything?

'You're looking a little green again.'

'Not you too...'

'Not me what?' The Wizard blinked almost childishly. It was so odd to see him idle, simply sitting cross-cross on the field like a little six year old—albeit a tired, sunken six year old. There was no denying that the Wizard was exhausted, expending spells after another, hurting his teacher that he cares deeply for, having the fear of the Furies entering the Lair within that short time of losing the barrier.

'You also think I'm possessed by an Envy?'

The Wizard tilted his head.

'I didn't think that. I just thought me getting a little spell-sick got to you instead.'

Sometimes, Paul was amazed how he could mention important and somewhat fearsome happenings with a placid tone and small smile. It almost made him forget that it was actually something to worry about since spell-sickness meant he couldn't cast anything without spilling his guts out and making terrible half-hearted attempts on spells.

'And you're not scared of what that means?'

'Why should I be? You don't use magic, so it has nothing to do with you.'

'But I thought...' with a stumble, he began to gnaw on his finger. 'I thought I could give you some support with your spells and stuff.'

'You're enough support as it is.'

'How could you say that? You've been taking care of me all this time, I've been living your life for a while.'

The Wizard listened on, eyes never leaving the Musician unless he was blinking, but kept himself forward, hands nearly touching his feet. The Musician continued.