Not Yet (A Hermione Granger fanfic)

Chapter 2

***Disclaimer: I really think everyone knows that I'm not JK, and that I didn't invent Harry or his world.

Pity.

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Hands are tugging at her. Voices raised in alarm, but they are muted in Hermione's ears. She won't let go of Ron's body. Finally large hands pry her away and carry her upstairs to the hospital wing. The crying is behind her. No, with her. Whoever is carrying her is weeping big, splashy tears. She feels like a limp doll in his arms.

"Hagrid," she manages. Her throat hurts. "I don't want to leave him."

"S'alright, Hermione. We're gonna take good care 'o him."

"He shouldn't be left alone."

"He's not alone. The Headmistress is with him, and—," a huge sob tumbles out of Hagrid's mouth, and he can't finish his sentence.

***

The rest of the week goes by in a haze of panic and horror. Hermione remembers being laid on a hospital bed and Madam Pomfrey giving her something to help her calm down.

She doesn't want to calm down.

Ron was . . .

Then the never-ending questions. The aurors pack into the hospital wing, all vying for a chance to satisfy their curiosity. Of course, some of them knew Ron. He'd been working toward becoming an auror himself.

What happened? What did the item look like? Where was it in the room? Did the cloud have a particular odor?

Hermione tries to answer them. She really does.

Seeing Harry is the worst part.

He meets her at Hogwarts.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry," Hermione says.

"It's not your fault, Hermione."

Harry throws his arms around her and sobs until they both are sitting on the floor in a heap, holding each other and trying not to say anything to make the other start crying again.

Why didn't she act faster? She could have saved him.

The Weasleys arrive shortly to take Ron home. She can't face them. But Molly hunts her down and pulls her into a tight hug and cries into her shoulder. All Hermione wants to do is run. They refuse to let her go anywhere.

***

The next week, after the funeral, the aurors visit The Burrow to report that the curse on the golf ball in the memorial room was indeed powerful dark magic. Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt is there, too, watching Hermione and Harry as they listen to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement explain the investigation.

". . . The golf ball wasn't even supposed to be there. It hadn't been brought in as tribute to one of the fallen. So we're looking for a powerful wizard who had access to Hogwarts . . ."

Hermione already knows this. She knows every trinket on that bench and who it belonged to. She elbows Harry, sitting close beside her. Ginny sits on his other side, his arm around her. Hermione elbows Harry, and he gives her a look.

Shacklebolt notices and clears his throat. The Head stops speaking.

"Harry," Shacklebolt says, "you're practically already an auror, but I wish to caution you—"

Harry squeezes Ginny's shoulders and Hermione's hand, then stands. He's so tall now, Hermione thinks. And broad-shouldered. He's been a man for sometime—he's had to be—but now he carries himself like one, too.

"With all due respect, Kingsley," Harry says, a note of anger in his voice, "I'm not going to just stand by while someone else does the work. Ron deserves more than that."

Shacklebolt nods. "I wouldn't expect you to. But I do expect that we run this through the right way. No charging off on your own for vengeance."

Hermione huffs. They turn to her. Shacklebolt knows better than to think they won't do everything in their power to make sure the murderer pays for the life he has taken. She shakes her head.

Shacklebolt continues, "Since school's not in session, that narrows it down considerably. Unfortunately with the castle almost empty, it also decreases the likelihood that the individual would have been seen."

Hermione sneers. "The individual? Murderer, you mean."

"We don't know that's what was meant to happen."

Hermione stands. "Did you really just say that? Of course that's what the psycho meant to happen!"

"She's right, Shacklebolt," Ginny says. "Why else would the murderer have put it there in that room? A room where small, inconsequential objects are out on display for anyone to touch?"

An argument breaks out. Hermione looses track of who's speaking. Her heart hurts. Hurts. She knows the grief is in her head, but the pain in her chest is real.

Harry is shouting now. Molly and Ginny are crying. Shacklebolt's losing his cool. Bill and Fleur and Charlie and Percy and George are getting involved, too. Hermione pushes past them all to get some breathing room, but the shouting can't be ignored.

"ENOUGH!" Arthur shouts over the top of them. But no one is listening.

The longer they stand here and argue, the farther away the murderer could be. She wants to press her hands to her ears like a little girl. Instead, she draws her wand and silences them all with a loud bang that shakes the rafters of the house above them.

They all turn to her.

"That. Is. Enough," she gasps. They are staring. Molly begins weeping afresh. "I need . . .," Hermione begins. But she really doesn't know what she needs. She turns and walks out.

Her feet carry her through to the garden without her thinking too much about it. They're all family here. Harry will be marrying Ginny. Hermione was going to marry Ron and get to be a Weasley, part of the best family she'd ever known. Now that isn't going to happen.

They are suffering, too. She knows this. But there's something about grief that makes her feel so alone, no matter how many others are with her. How are they going to catch the killer when they are all so, so broken?

Harry's the one who comes after her. He stands beside her at the edge of the garden, looking out over a Muggle field. "It's not fair, Hermione," he says. "We made it through everything. Death Eaters, Voldemort, the War, and Ron's taken away by a random curse?"

Hermione nods. Guilt washes over her. She should have looked over at Ron when he was speaking to her. She should have been able to counteract the curse. The fact that she couldn't only serves to remind her that she hasn't studied hard enough. Hasn't learned more. She isn't powerful enough yet to stop everything, even after all she's been through.

And now her best friend is dead.

Harry seems to know what she's thinking; he's looking at her with concern. "You can't know everything, Hermione."

But she can. Dumbledore would have been able to save Ron. Snape would have, too. He was just as powerful as Dumbledore in the end. Hermione should be, too. Her desire for knowledge wells up inside her, mixing with her grief.

Never again.

She turns to Harry and hugs him, hard. "I love you," she whispers. Then she steps back, turns on her heel, and disapparates.

..

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*****************End Chapter****************

What's going to happen to Hermione? Well, keep reading. I have lots in store for our favorite curly-haired witch.

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