Disclaimer: I do not own the titles or the bits of lyrics of The Beatles' songs used in this chapter. It's just my favorite band and I've been listening non-stop this week and while writing this chapter.

Chapter Nine:

Come Together

The first thing Harry Potter felt once he opened his eyes was the soreness of his neck. His vision was blurry because at some point his glasses had slipped off and he was too groggy and stiff to reach out for them. Instead of laying in the comfort of his bed with his glorious goose-feather pillows, he'd fallen asleep on top of the dusty old books Neville had brought from the Hogwarts library. He groaned inwardly, hoping that he hadn't drooled over or wrinkled any pages, otherwise his life would be seriously threatened by the ever-unmerciful Madam Pince.

"Daddy?" He finally managed to sit up, his back now also aching once he heard Lily calling him from the doorway. She was already dressed in her school uniform but as usual, needed his help to button up the bright red cardigan. "Were you studying?" She asked as she leaned closer into him.

Harry gave her a little kiss on the head and slipped on his glasses. "Oh, yes. Yes, I was Lilybug. Help me set up for breakfast?" He expertly buttoned her up as Lily nodded with a smile. "Hmm, someone's in need of a haircut…" Lily groaned, hopping away from him with her green eyes as wide as saucers.

His eldest daughter had grown out of her bangs and chin-length bob and Harry had been quite neglectful of the raven locks the poor girl had inherited from him, and that were beginning to pass her shoulders. It amazed him how much she'd grown this year. It seemed like just yesterday he was holding her for the first time in his arms.

Lily Cordelia Potter had come into the world a beautiful, red-faced, feisty little thing who upon arrival had completely washed away any possibility of her Daddy ever running back home to England. The minute Harry had laid eyes on his daughter he knew that his life and existence would from then on revolve solely around her. He'd finally understood the reason why his mother had done what she'd done so that he could live, and that moment of reckoning had struck him like an avalanche.

Harry took out the bread from the box while Lily fetched the jar of Nutella and a butterknife from the cabinet. He put the kettle on and poured some milk into an aluminum cup to warm it up while Lily, as they did most mornings to get them all in a good mood (and also because back in Canada he'd been one of those nostalgic Brits), turned on the CD player. 'The Beatles' began to play loud, the music being carried all the way upstairs where May was still asleep. Father and daughter began to twist and sway around the kitchen as they set the table and sang along to 'I want to hold your hand' at the top of their lungs.

Minutes later, the sound of someone arriving via Floo came in from the living room. It was still something Lily was getting used to, but that to her happiness had proven that yes, Father Christmas did exist, unlike that horrible Alfie Houghton had said to her.

"G' morning, mate!" Ron said as he waltzed in, grabbing himself a mug from the cabinet without invitation. "Hello, Tigerlily, you 'bout ready for school?" When Lily turned around to look at him and respond, Ron stole her toast with the simple wave of a wand. Lily huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, a big pout on her face.

Harry chuckled at the scene while Ron munched on the toast, delighting in the chocolatey goodness. "Bloody hell mate! I'm never eating Marmite on my toast again!" Ron exclaimed, piling a plate with four or five new slices of toast and spreading a lot more Nutella over them than was possibly healthy or polite.

"Here Lily, have another. I'm afraid Uncle Ron has the tendency to leave his manners at home." Harry set another warm piece of toast on her plate and helped her spread Nutella on it.

"So, George and Angie are at the shop for the morning and I'm only due in after lunch for my shift… You really gonna talk to the old nutter?"

"Yes, the faster I can get a new wand and just practice my magic, things will be just as they were."

"So, I'm looking after this older one, right?" Ron asked, pointing his thumb towards Lily who was finishing her milk.

"No, Lily's going to school today. You're looking after May."

"Matilda."

"May." Harry retorted.

Lily slipped away from the kitchen to gather her school supplies and brush her teeth.

"Her name is Matilda mate, I was there for the christening. Don't even get me started on bloody May… You know as well as I do that it's when it all ended and you know just how it ended."

Ron's comment made Harry pause for a long moment. The name May had become so attached to his daughter that sometimes he forgot the month it represented and what that month in question meant in his life and all their lives. Ron had lost a brother on May 2nd and on May 2nd Harry himself had nearly died while fulfilling the prophecy to kill the Dark Lord. Merlin. It felt like another life entirely, like a very vivid dream or a movie. Yet, sitting here in his kitchen in Amberley, face to face with the ginger man he called his best friend, it was all frighteningly real and true.

"Well, Matilda should be coming down any minute now… She slept a bit later than usual yesterday. When she gets up make sure she eats and brushes her teeth please, and comb her hair! It gets terribly tangled during the night and she ends up looking like an even more disheveled version of Pippi Longstocking."

"Pippi, who?" Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. He should've known the reference to the children's book character would be way beyond his friend's minimal knowledge of muggle culture.

"Anyway, I should be back before lunch." Harry heard Lily calling him all the way from the front door and got up to leave. He gave Ron a pat on the shoulder goodbye before driving off in his car.

…

Hermione was just helping one of The Bewitchery's first clients of the day with ingredients for a batch of the Draught of Peace potion, when she saw from the corner of her eyes the image of Harry Potter himself crossing her shop and climbing up the stairs to the restricted section. She quickly finished giving Mrs. Marsh her ingredients and directed her towards her mother who was on cashier duty today. Hermione ran as quickly as she could after Harry, up the stairs, and onto the landing that either led wizarding clients to Castle Crescent, up to the second floor or through the fireplace straight into Diagon Alley.

When she arrived she was gasping for air because the stairs were so goddamn steep. To her dismay Harry was already gone, green smoke floating about in his wake.

"Stupid idiot," she muttered to herself, straightening her blouse in front of one of the mirrors, her curls out of place. "What on Earth is he up to?"

Hermione's odd behavior didn't go unnoticed by her mother, whose hawk-like eyes caught every little thing that happened on the main floor, having learned with time to even recognize and notice some magic tricks here and there.

"Please don't tell me you're caught up in Harry Potter all over again…" Rosalind said with her voice low and her eyes sharp, her hand wrapping tightly around her daughter's wrist. "Don't ruin all the good things you've built for yourself, Hermione."

Hermione wasn't the least bit fazed by her mother or her words, "Mum, I love you, but this is my life and I live it as I see fit." With that, she freed herself from Rosalind's grip, turned around, and all but stormed off to her office.

Hermione's main task of the day was to start doing the numbers right away because next Monday they had to stock up again. Nevertheless, all she could think about was Harry Potter. Her mind was plagued with thoughts of magicless Harry Potter getting lost via floo; Harry Potter successfully traveling by floo; Harry Potter doing things without her help, and Merlin forbid, Harry Potter giving up on everything and returning home to Canada.

What in Merlin's name was that infuriating man doing? Was he trying to get himself killed again? Why was he trying to get himself killed again without her there to save him or be the one to finally murder him? Because Merlin knew she could. The git.

And just like that, she knew that an entire morning's productivity had gone to bust. There was only one thing in life Hermione Granger hated more than failure and it was the simple act of not knowing what she wanted to know. She leaned back into her chair, pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a long and heavy sigh.

She was fucked. There was no better way to put it.

…

Diagon Alley was just as Harry remembered it but at the same time incredibly different. There were new shops, for one, and many more options in eateries and businesses. Still, the path to Ollivander's shop was as he remembered it, the same winding cobblestone road that took him two blocks down to a brick building with round glass window showcases that towered up. Ollivander's was still written at the front in elegant golden lettering. When he walked inside a little bell went on and before that wave of full-on gut-wrenching nostalgia could hit, the old man appeared from the back of the shop. He looked the same, not a day younger and not looking a day older from what Harry remembered.

When Ollivander's silvery eyes landed on Harry, they widened with recognition. Harry thought he even saw the hint of a smile.

"Harry Potter… So it's true, you're back."

"You seem well, sir." Ollivander shrugged, putting away some boxes back into the shelves.

"Are you in need of a wand?"

"I am, yes." Ollivander nodded and motioned for Harry to show him his hands.

Ollivander's were warm and a bit dry, callused from his years of shaping wood. He examined and prodded at Harry's hands, a frown settling on his face.

"107-years-old I am and I've never seen a wizard not use his magic or his wand. Many might not notice but I can see it from your hands. They are not marked by bearing a wand. Or is wandless magic your thing now?"

"No magic in roughly ten or eleven years, actually…" Ollivander raised an eyebrow, his eyes demonstrating to Harry just how shocked he was.

"Were you in prison? Your mother would have been deeply displeased…"

Harry shook his head. "I married a muggle and moved to Canada, after a while, I just stopped."

"Very well then… I will go on to assume that your wand is little more than dust now." Harry grimaced, confirming the old man's suspicions. "It's what happens when they stop being used. It's what happens when a wand's master dies also. You died to your wand, Harry, and your magic should be dying to you."

"I managed to cast some spells with a friend's wand…"

"That's a good sign, not all hope is lost then. Shall we try to find you a new one then?"

Harry all of a sudden felt like his eleven-year-old self again, holding and grasping at wand after wand after wand, none of which felt suitable. Obviously their first attempt had been with one in the equal dimensions, wood, and core as his original wand but it hadn't been the right fit anymore.

"Throughout life, who we are changes and so does our compatibility with our wand. Wands tend to mold themselves around who we are, evolving with us through time. I'm afraid ten years' worth of lack of usage means yours hasn't been able to do that." Ollivander explained, "and now you're both totally incompatible."

It was another twenty minutes before Harry felt a sudden spark of connection with a wand. He noticed it was fashioned like one he'd seen before, and consisted of light-colored wood with delicate engravings of vines climbing up to the tip. The size felt good and natural to him, and so did the weight, all very similar in dimensions to his old wand.

Ollivander laughed with excitement, "11 inches long, vine wood and phoenix feather core. Yet another delightfully baffling combination."

"Another?"

"Every wand, as you may remember, has a pair. Your original wand was a match for the one belonging to that old chap we don't like. This one also has a pair."

"Do I know who it belongs to?" Ollivander smiled that slightly deranged smile of his and waved his hand with a flourish.

"You'll find out soon enough, not as unpleasant as with the first wand, I guarantee you." Harry nodded. "Now, you said you attempted some spells with someone else's wand. What kind of spells were they?

"The reparo, the Lumos, and the levitating one."

"All basic. Did they come effortlessly?"

Harry shook his head. "I had to try several times to get them to work, the levitating one seemed easier, I don't know why, and I felt this large surge of energy."

"Having a new wand won't mean your magic will be what it once was, Mr. Potter." Ollivander's expression was very serious now as he warned the younger wizard. "You are born with a magical core but that doesn't mean it's there forever. Your magic can diminish until it ceases to exist. It's practicing magic constantly, on a daily basis that nurtures the core and keeps it strong. If you stop it weakens and it may take a long time for it to return to what it was, years even. I've never seen it applied, but us wandmakers are privy to information that others aren't privy to and there is a way to make your magical core strengthen and renew itself."

Harry's interest was piqued, "What way would that be?"

"You need a boost of sorts, someone else's magic connects with your magic and restores it. I'm not talking about a friend or some random witch or wizard. If you're lucky enough to find such a person, you may or may not be lucky enough to get that boost in the first place."

"What is the boost?"

Ollivander just laughed, his eyes twinkling: "Well, I certainly don't know, my lad! You're the first wizard I've ever seen give up his magic! Not even the bastards in Azkaban do that. When you find out, come back and tell me yeah?" He then gave Harry's shoulder a pat. "That'll be seven galleons, son."

…

Ron Weasley slid onto the floor in utter defeat. The child was quiet and a saint near her father, but the minute Harry had turned around and left Turtledove Cottage, the house had become a war zone, and the back of the sofa Ron's trenches.

It had all started at breakfast. Matilda had come down with her ginger hair in knots just as Harry said it'd be. She was adorably clad in her yellow-ducky pajamas, and Ron had managed to turn on the muggle telly just fine, lucky that something called 'Masha and the Bear' was on.

After quite a few minutes, Ron who wasn't a stranger to mischief and trouble found 'Masha and the Bear' an utterly atrocious programme, full of the worst possible examples… Within the five minutes following the end of the episode, Ron came to the conclusion that he was the Bear and Matilda, or May, or little Monster as she now was to him, was the home-wrecking, heart-stopping, absolutely vile and sadistic little girl.

Ron's whole undoing turned out to be the little Monster's lack of interest in oatmeal, porridge, or even corn flakes cereal this morning. Instead, he had watched her stuff her face with the rest of the Nutella, three or four chocolate frogs she found somewhere else in the house, and a full tin of sweetened supermarket peaches. The poor sod that he was, Ron had no idea of the appalling creature that would arise from such toxic combinations.

Matilda stripped off her clothing, running around the house like some sort of wild chicken in just her cotton undies, tangled bright-ginger hair like flames on her head as she knocked into objects and brought down books, boxes, trinkets, frames, lamps, as she passed, as reckless and destructive as a Tasmanian Devil if ever there was one. The objects all littered the floors of the cottage, while shards of glass and porcelain risked entering May's socked feet.

Ron didn't even have the time to thank the gods and the elements for the fact that he and Luna had no intention to be parents before Matilda's voice just became loud shrieks and high-pitched screams that almost pierced through his eardrums. All that Ron could do as she continued to run like mad was draw his wand and charm the kitchen cabinets and doors not to open, to avoid her taking out the knives to finally murder him.

When he saw that she had gone running toward the broom closet he crawled to the fireplace as fast as he could to call the only person he could think of that might be able to save his sorry arse.

"HERMIONE!" He screamed into the fireplace and therefore into the fireplace in her office, startling Hermione from where she'd been trying, without success, to distract herself with her papers.

"What the fuck, Ronald!" She cried out, her eyes wide.

"She's gonna kill me, come help me for Merlin's sake!"

Because there were certain battle reflexes that one gained and never lost from experience with war, Hermione jumped into the floo with her wand drawn only to seconds later find herself in the familiar surroundings of Harry's living room, or what was left of it.

"What's happening? Where are Harry and his daughters?"

Ron was once again behind the sofa and before he could answer Hermione heard a clattering of metal pots and pans coming from the kitchen. With her wand drawn and her mouth just about to cast a stupify, she halted at the sight of May Potter in a way that she had never seen the little girl before.

May did Hermione the courtesy of stopping from where she was halfway up the stove, her cheeks stained with chocolate and her hands visibly sticky and dirty with goo. Her hair was an utter bird's nest of a mess as Hermione saw her gasp.

A long stare-contest came and went before Hermione Granger pursed her lips and brought her hands to her hips.

"May Potter," She said slowly and sternly, her eyes dead serious and her voice as chilling as angry mothers' voices went. "Get down from that cabinet immediately." May just blinked at her, unable to react. "This instant, May!"

Hermione took a step forward and the little girl, afraid of the consequences, climbed down from the stove as quickly as she could, staring down at the stone tiles. Before Hermione could say or do anything else May began sniffling, beginning to cry and wail.

"Why are you crying? What's wrong?" Hermione's voice softened considerably, "don't you know your Uncle Ron is terrified of you in the other room?"

May just sniffled, tears streaming down her cheeks, before pointing her finger up at Hermione, her head still low. It was then that Hermione saw a drop of blood escaping a small cut.

"Oh, but frankly, the audacity of you!" Hermione huffed before pulling May into her arms and carrying her across the kitchen, past the living room, and a still shell-shocked Ronald before heading up the stairs, making a beeline for the bath.

…

It was precisely 11 o'clock when Harry arrived home to Ron lying with a cloth over his forehead, his face quite pale, accentuating all his freckles, in a living room that was just about in tatters. The garden door was wide open from where he could see and his youngest daughter was nowhere to be seen.

"Ron!" His friend at first didn't budge. "Ron, are you all right? Where's May?"

"She's… Somewhere, mate. Honestly… Never doing this again. And I thought Freddie was a nightmare..."

Harry checked the kitchen and May wasn't there. He checked the garden and the broom closet, also to no avail. He ran up the stairs only to see the bathroom door wide open and the sounds of splashes and talking coming from inside. He heard a giggle, his daughter's giggle, and when he peeked inside he thought he might faint from utter surprise.

There, kneeled at the foot of the tub, her knees resting on the rug, was the one and only Hermione Granger. Her curls were pulled back into a ponytail that did little to hold in all of her curls and her clothes were damp. She was gently rubbing a soapy washcloth against May's skin, while his daughter's ginger hair was covered in white shampoo suds, hazel eyes bright and cheerful as she played with a doll and a plastic toy boat.

"I'm guessing the mess downstairs wasn't an attack of the Wrackspurts…" Harry said softly, a chuckle falling from his lips.

Hermione snorted, the corners of her lips curving upwards as her eyes met his.

"Sugar rush of legendary proportions. She had Ron nearly shitting himself." Hermione whispered the shitting part to him so that May wouldn't hear.

"Oh, Matilda…" He sighed, shaking his head.

"Daddy!" She exclaimed, a wide grin on her face as she saw him, "I'm a shark!"

"I can see that…" His eyes then traveled back to Hermione, whose smile had faltered a bit.

"You named her Matilda…" She trailed off, looking at May and pinching her cheek playfully. "I've always loved that name."

"I know… I guess it grew on me with time." Hermione nodded.

"Bea was almost a Matilda but when I looked at her she didn't look the part… I don't know why… Newborns all look the same." She scoffed. "I love Beatrice just as much though, it was my granny's name."

"It's in my eye!" May informed Hermione, gesturing towards the shampoo suds that were still on her head.

Hermione turned on the tap water and poured the water over her head, washing it off expertly, careful so that none of it would get into her eyes. "You were terrible to Uncle Ron, Matilda. I expect you to apologize.

"Okay…" The little girl responded distractedly.

A good fifteen minutes later they'd gotten her dry and into freshly-laundered clothes. May went downstairs to make amends with her equally redheaded uncle, while Harry and Hermione stayed there, feet firmly rooted to the wooden floorboards in hers and Lily's shared bedroom.

"I-I was a complete and total… I was way out of line the last time, I'm sorry." Harry ran those nervous fingers of his through his already messy hair, before running them through his slightly outgrown beard.

Her eyes were sharp as she looked at him.

"Well, you certainly know how to piss a witch off…"

Harry scoffed, his gaze finally meeting hers. "Having you so close again, it just… It reminded me of what could have been, hell, what should have been… I was a complete idiot and I know it. It's none of my business who you choose to be with or who you like in that way..." He began to ramble, his cheeks growing a bright crimson as he embarrassed himself further.

He watched as she averted her gaze, burying her hands in her pockets, biting those lips of hers in the way she always did when nervous.

"HARRY!" They both nearly jumped upon hearing Ron's voice coming from downstairs. "HOW WAS IT WITH THE OLD NUTTER?"

Hermione looked at Harry, her expression having changed into one of pure interest. She was reminded of her dilemma of hours ago, worrying sick about him, something that she knew was a long-standing staple of their relationship.

"Ollivander?" She asked, raising an eyebrow, genuinely interested, and genuinely relieved for the change of subject.

Harry nodded. "Come on, we can have some tea and sandwiches while I tell you both… And show you my new wand." Hermione found that his smile was contagious.

…

Hermione gave Harry a little shove as she squeezed past him through the doorway. She tried and failed to ignore the butterflies in her stomach, as well as that annoying warm feeling that spread throughout her being whenever she was close to him. May, Matilda, followed her like a loyal duckling as she stepped onto the little garden path to the sidewalk, about to head home for a couple of hours before it was time to fetch Bea from school. Maybe she'd finally light a scented candle or two and soak in her tub with a good book.

"So, until Thursday evening, I suppose. If we don't see each other again before the party that is…" Hermione trailed off, biting her bottom lip.

"You know, today finally felt like I truly returned home." He admitted, "We're quite the trio, aren't we? All of us are beyond different, yet we clicked somehow…"

"The Golden trio, as they say…" She agreed, with a gentle smile, before breaking into song: "Come together, right now, over me…"

"Oh! I remember that one!" He said with a smile. "We did come together."

"I gave you that album for Christmas before you left. I couldn't believe you'd never listened to The Beatles before I introduced them to you. Ron not knowing was understandable, but you…" She shook her head, rolling her eyes.

"I still have it, and a few others too."

"Then do me a favor and listen to this one," she retorted with her eyes piercing his own, "Don't let me down! Don't let me down!" she sang dramatically, laughing as she did.

Harry himself couldn't help but laugh, though the words and the unsaid things, the warning meant for him were all impossible to ignore.

And then, just like that, Hermione disappeared with a loud crack, while he was left there utterly dumbfounded.

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