A/N: "Not Yet" will pretty much follow canon from the books, picking up four years from the end of the War. The two biggest exceptions will be the reappearance of Severus (yay!) and a huge disregard for the Epilogue. Of course, changes for these two will cause a whole bunch of little exceptions, which is good because otherwise I wouldn't have this story (squee!).

I'll explain everything when there's a deviation. Don't worry!

There will be no Ron bashing. I love Ron. I would've wanted to be friends with him.

If you're still reading the A/N, I have to say that I'm writing this story because I'm feeling very sentimental about the series as a whole. My thirteen-year-old stepson has picked up the books, and he can't wait to talk about them with me when I pick him up from his mother's. And I've been trying to communicate to him just how crazy I was (am) about the series. Having grown up with it myself, waiting YEARS between each book to be released and devouring each one within hours of picking up my copies, I can't wait to see if he develops the same affection for the books as I did. So as you're reading, I might wax a bit nostalgic about some of my favorite moments from the books. I'll try not to overdo it. ;)

***Disclaimer: I really think everyone knows that I'm not JK, and that I didn't invent Harry or his world. I'm just using them to have a little fun, and as an excuse to put off my own regular writing for a while and stretch my creative muscles.***

Rating note: This story is rated M for the first chapter and then possible later chapters. In other words, this FIRST chapter contains a scene of violence that could be disturbing to some. You have been warned. Now, I know you're ready for me to get on with it, so here it is… :)

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********Chapter ONE*********

Hermione breezes through the front doors of Hogwarts. Up the grand staircase. Turn left. Behind a tapestry. Up a secret staircase onto the third floor. Then right down the passage. The steps to the Defense Against the Dark Arts rooms are seared into her memory, like a burn caused by a hot iron. And she would never be rid of the scar.

Does she want to? Oh yes. Sometimes. But happy things happened here, too. She mustn't forget . . .

But today she wants to. Only a little farther. Then the visit will be over. Then she can get out.

"Hey Hermione, your robes billow out around you just like . . . " Ron stops mid-sentence, laughing a little. He's walking right behind her.

She cringes, slowing her pace. Not because she knows Ron is thinking of Professor Snape, but because she forgot her fiancé was even there with her. Today she feels like being alone, more so than usual.

"You can slow down, you know," he says.

"Oh Ron! Your legs are longer than mine! Keep up."

Ron gives a howl of joy and runs ahead of her, practically skipping down the hall. "We can't get points taken away anymore, Hermione!" he shouts.

Hermione smiles, her amusement temporarily overcoming her foul mood. That's why she loves Ron so much. He always brings her out of her slumps, even if just for a few moments. When Ron stops and turns at the end of the hall, she straightens her face. More out of a desire to maintain her focus than to hurt his feelings.

"Aww . . . Hermione," he says when she reaches him. "There's good things here, too."

Echoing her earlier thoughts.

He's stronger than she'd ever thought anyone could be. The humor and boy-like tendencies keep the despair at bay. She hopes he never gives that up. Hermione puts a hand on his arm, kisses his cheek. "I know."

They avoid certain areas on purpose. No need to go looking for bad memories, especially the hall where Fred . . . Returning to Hogwarts always results in a heady mix of emotions that leave her dizzy and at a loss about how to feel about . . . everything.

At the door to the old DADA rooms, they pause. A silent nod. Hermione casts a nonverbal Alohomora, and the door clicks open. The school, again run by the aging Minerva McGonagall, and its trustees have finally set up the old classroom as a memorial to the fallen teachers and students who died at Hogwarts as a result of Voldemort's reign of terror. The room hasn't been touched since the Restoration of the castle. The door remains locked only to serve as a reminder that the room should not be entered carelessly.

Hermione and Ron step in. The room looks the same. Stone walls, large windows with dark curtains. Even the student desks face the large wooden desk at the front of the room.

But it's the long golden bench underneath the windows that they're drawn to. It's simple. That it's made of gold is its only unique feature. No ornate carvings or scrolls. Just clean lines and straight legs. It's what lays on the top of it that's important.

A personal piece from each person. Just an artifact, really, a sentimental reminder that the fallen had lived a full life. And was still remembered. The table is full of rings, necklaces, scarves, glasses, quills, watches, and other trinkets. A couple of teddy bears. A china tea set.

"Every time I come here," Hermione says, "I think this will be the last one."

"I think it is, actually," says Ron with a sniff. He reaches into his robes and pulls out a toy Matchbox car. A little Ferrari, red with yellow flames. "Took forever to convince Colin's parents to let me have something."

Colin Creevey died at the Battle of Hogwarts. His muggle parents had nearly died of shock at the news their older son had been killed.

Ron places the car on the bench, then taps his wand once on the top. It glows golden along with the bench. A hidden list of names, revealed only when the bench was touched, appears on the table-top, etched into the gold. Then the little car stops glowing, and so does the bench.

Hermione grabs Ron's hand. Maybe this really is the last one. She glances over the table, not expecting to return here for a long time. She recognizes each reminder, even if she has not placed it here herself. While she's looking, Ron lets go of her hand to walk over to the teacher's desk at the front.

"Hey, remember Neville's boggart? Bloody hell, Snape was so mad."

Hermione doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at the memory of Professor Snape dressed like Neville's grandmother.

"It happened right here," he says. Hermione tracks Ron out of the corner of her eye. He flourishes his wand without casting a spell.

She smiles. Ron is lost in his memory, a goofy grin on his face. Maybe she should chastise him for being glib inside the memorial, but isn't that what this room's for—to remember good things? She turns back to perusing the table. Her eyes fall on the china set. Small, delicate roses painted on a white background. It belonged to Charity Burbage, the Muggle studies professor that Voldemort murdered.

She hears Ron's footsteps cross the room to the opposite wall.

"Hey, I found something!" he says. "Must've fallen off the bench and rolled over here."

Hermione half-turns toward him, her eyes still captured by the intricate rose pattern on the teapot. "Things can't just fall off the table, Ron," she calls over her shoulder. "Probably knocked off."

"I bet Peeves did it. Damn poltergeist. Why don't they have a sticking charm on the bench?"

"No idea," she answers, pulling her wand from her sleeve. She should cast one. Surely no one will mind?

A bright light and then the room darkens. A dark cloud descends over her, bringing with it a deafening roar and a shriek of pain. The windows shatter outward.

Hermione throws her hands up, casting a shield against the cloud. It deflects away from her, and she turns. "Ron! Are you okay?"

Another shriek of pain. Ron's yelling, shouting. Calling her.

Hermione's heart pounds into her throat, and she runs for him even though she can't see him. She stumbles over a student desk, her foot catching on the iron leg and she almost goes down. In a wave of panic, she waves her wand and the desks part before her like the Red Sea before Moses. Several of them fly through the air. More windows shatter.

She tears through the gap, straight for Ron.

But she can't see him in the smoke. She coughs and covers her mouth with her robes, casting another spell to clear the room. The cloud swishes away.

Now she can't hear him.

"RON!" she screams. Where is he?

There, lying on the floor.

Ron.

"No!" In a moment she's kneeling at his side, holding his head, looking for injuries. His robes are covered with blood. She follows the trail to his arm—his hand has been blown off. Blood spurts from his stump. She uses her wand to mend the shredded skin, to stop the bleeding so she can get him up the the hospital wing.

The bleeding stops at her command. She turns, slapping Ron's face to wake him.

He doesn't respond.

Hermione shakes him harder, then points her wand at his chest and says, "Ennervate. Ron! Ron!"

Ron doesn't move.

She flits her eyes around his body, looking for more wounds.

Her eyes land on his chest. It's not moving. Her hands fall to his throat, looking for a pulse. His heart was just beating—the blood on his arm. But instead of finding smooth, youthful skin on his neck, her hands sink into a wrinkled, fleshy mass.

"Oh please. Ron. Oh please. No you don't."

Hermione tears open the high collar of his robes.

And jumps back.

His neck is shriveled, like it died years ago and the skin mummified over the top of it.

"Nooooo!" she screams, her hands going to his other wrist to find a heartbeat there.

Nothing.

Hermione wails a simultaneous cry for help and cry of grief. For she can already see she is too late. Ron isn't moving. She had watched his last heartbeat. No one will be able to help him. She lays her head on his chest and sobs, not caring that whatever curse he encountered could still be present on his clothing.

No. She screams again. Something tears in her throat, ripping through her vocal cords. Someone. Anyone. She needs to send a patronus, but the happy memory required to summon it is gone. At this moment, she has nothing.

Hermione's body shakes as she gathers Ron in her arms, keeping her eyes on his freckled face, his orange hair. Her Ron, dearest Ron. He fought a troll for her.

They were supposed to get married. And grow old together. She wasn't ready to lose him.

Not yet.

Not yet.

*************End Chapter ONE*************

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Thanks for reading! What'd you think? Just like most other authors, I LOVE reviews. Do drop me a quick note and tell me how I did. (And click favorite and follow!) *wink wink*

My plan is to update at least once a week, but it'll probably more now that the bug has bitten. :)

I'm thinking 10 chapters at least. But that depends on you. If you're enjoying it, I might get excited and just keep writing!