Author's Note: Sorry about the vagueness of the first chapter. I have my reasons! One of the reviewers in particular caught on to a few things that don't quite add up just yet. Things are going to start making a little bit more sense in this chapter. Thanks for the reviews! Now, on with chapter two!

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Defying Gravity

Chapter Two: All Over the Papers

Hagrid's hut was just as Hermione always remembered it, and she still felt drawfed when she sat down at one of the over-sized chairs at his table. She found herself gazing out the window into the empty space that would be full of pumpkins soon. She remembered hiding there once when she, Harry, and Ron were trying to rescue Buckbeak. The urgent whistle of Hagrid's tea-pot brought her out of her thoughts, and she looked up just in time to see the giant bringing her a steaming cup of tea. She sipped lazily at it as he took a seat across from her and smiled.

"Thanks, Hagrid," her voice was much softer than she meant it to be. "I'm sorry it took me so long. After I spoke with McGonnagal, I ran into Bill on the way to the stairs. Quite literally." She sighed. "I think a nice cup of tea will do me some good right about now." Hermione took another small sip. There was a bitterness to the taste, but beyond that, Hermione could taste a hint of milk and honey. "It's funny," she forced a dry laugh. "He's the only one who didn't really say anything about what happened, even though I'm certain he has more of a right to be angry than most."

"Why?" Hagrid's voice seemed to echo off of the walls of the tiny hut. "Why would he be mad at you, 'Mione?" Hagrid leaned forward until the tip of his beard nearly dipped itself into his cup of tea. "You know it wasn't your fault, right? No one who really knows you is going to blame you for what happened, and the Prophet? Well, hardly anyone who has any sense at all doesn't believe a thing they say anymore, so 'f I were you, I wouldn't worry your pretty little head over—"

Hermione shook her head and sat her cup down. "No, Hagrid. The Prophet's right. They may have gotten the story wrong, but they were right about one thing: It was my fault. That was my husband and my best friend, and I may not have killed them myself, but I can certainly see why the finger of blame is pointed at me. The only reason they were at that damn house was because of me, Hagrid. I sent Ron the damn owl after that little girl showed up with her mother at Werewolf Support Services. The only reason they left their office that day was because I sent them away, right into a bloody ambush. Might as well have been the one that killed them!" She could feel tears stinging her eyes, and she gripped her tea cup tightly, hoping it would steady her shaking hands. All it seemed to do was make the shaking more obvious. "I used to see Arthur every day at the Ministry. Molly still cries when she sees me, and I can't help but wonder... I can't help but think if maybe they don't blame me, too?"

Hagrid sat in silence for a moment, a stunned expression on his face. He appeared to be thinking, although Hermione always had trouble discerning what he might do or say. She wasn't sure if it was the sheer size of him or the amount of hair that cloaked most of his facial features, but he was a hard man to read.

"Well that's just foolish," he nodded decisively after a moment. "You couldn't have known, 'Mione. You were just reportin' things, right? Just doing your job. And Harry and Ron, they were just doing theirs. And the Prophet? They're not right about a single thing. They just have nothing better to do, is all. They had to make something up. The Quibbler's been doing better than them since the war, and they know it. You know Xenophilius Lovegood isn't going to print such trash." Hagrid reached behind him, tossing a side a dusty old throw and a few tattered pieces of parchment. From beneath an old, upturned ink bottle and a small, leather-bound book, he pulled a yellowed copy of the Quibbler. He handed it across the table to Hermione. "Figured you'd be needin' to see that at some point, so I saved it for you. Even marked the article." He nodded. "Xenophilius knows the truth, 'Mione. And the article Luna wrote is the real story, and we all know that."

"Luna wrote?" Hermione blinked. It was the second time today she'd been somewhat surprised to hear Luna Lovegood's name.

Hagrid gave another nod. "Sure did. She took a job here, but she says she'll still be working with her old man when she can. It was actually Bill what told us you were going by your maiden name now, though." Hagrid offered her a small smile. "I hope you're not mad? We all knew what 'appened, of course. Was hard not to find out. McGonnagal'll tell you. Bill sat us down. Said you were having a rough time of it. We knew the Prophet was trying to turn your name into a foul word again. Bill said it might make you feel better not to hear it for a while, that you'd started going by your maiden name. No one blames you, really. Molly Weasley's sent a fair share of howlers the Prophet's way. Doesn't like seein' her family's name in the papers like that, I imagine. Bill said it's been a little rough. We just... We wanted you to be able to breathe a little bit."

Hermione hid her face behind her cup of tea for a moment and took a long drink. The honey had settled into the bottom, and she licked her lips as she sat the cup down again, letting out a soft sigh. She absent-mindedly began to smooth over the crinkled edges of the Quibbler as she met Hagrid's gaze once more. For a long time, she simply let the silence hang between them. It certainly was nice knowing that she didn't really have to say anything. That wasn't the problem, though. The problem was that she wasn't exactly sure what to say, or how to say it. Were they having secret meetings about her? Did she really seem that damaged?

"I really should be going," Hermione announced suddenly. Outside Hagrid's window, where the pumpkins grew in the autumn, Hermione could see the sun starting to sink below the treeline. "I still have to unpack and get everything ready for this week." She flashed him a guilty smile. "But we should really do this again soon? Maybe even make it a regular date? What do you say?"

The large, scruffy man offered a toothy grin and nodded. "Sounds like fun, 'Mione. Want me to walk you back to the castle?"

"No thanks. I know the way alright," she assured him. She grabbed up the issue of the Quibbler that Hagrid had fished out for her and headed for the door. Just as they were inside the castle, the pathway leading back up to the main doors was so familiar that Hermione hardly had to think to get back. Her feet simply carried her where she needed to go, and before she knew it, she was standing in front of the portrait that marked the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.

"Jelly doughnut," she whispered. The portrait swung open, and Hermione stepped inside, walked silently through the common area, and turned the corner to her quarters. Waiting for her inside the room was a trunk and several suitcases full of her things, and several sets of black robes with the Hogwarts emblem hanging in the closet with a scarf, hat, and mittens set in the Gryffindor colors. What caught Hermione's attenion most, though, was the small package on the bed. The box itself was no bigger than a shoebox, and was wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with twine. Tucked underneath the knot on top was a small piece of parchment folded down the middle with a note scribbled in barely-legible handwriting on the inside.

Hermione pulled the little piece of parchment free from its prison and scanned over the note inside. 'Before you get angry,' it read, 'I wasn't in your room. I had Hagrid drop this off, even though I told mom it probably wasn't the best idea right now. I don't want you to be too surprised when you open it up, so I thought I'd give you a warning: It's pictures. Mom found them in Ron's old room at the burrow about a week ago. She insisted on sending them along when I told her you'd taken McGonnagal's old job. They're old. You guys were still in Hogwarts. Harry's in a lot of them, too. -B.' Hermione took a deep breath and looked over the note again as she tried to decide if she really even wanted to open the box. She hadn't noticed the post-script on the first read-through. She brought the parchment a little closer to her face and squinted her eyes in an effort to make out the tinier writing. 'PS—You aren't alone, just so you know. If you think you might need a buddy for memory lane, you know where to find me. I know what it's like to need a friend.'

She folded the note back up and shoved it into the top drawer of her bedside table. Her gaze immediately shifted to the plainly wrapped box full of painful memories. With a deep breath, she reached two shaky hands forward and began to unwrap it. The lid to the old shoebox underneath was caving in in places, and most of the box itself seemed to be held together with clear packing tape. Hermione reached forward and started to lift the lid, but stopped herself just short of revealing the box's contents. Instead, she placed it atop the night stand and turned her attention towards the Quibbler.

Hagrid had already marked the article that she was interested in. Hermione unfolded the paper and took another deep breath as she stared down at an old picture. Smiling up at her and waving like a fool was a fifteen-year-old Ronald Weasley. To his right was Harry, one arm draped around a widely-grinning Ginny Weasley. On his other side, Hermione saw a much younger version of herself, Luna Lovegood, and an awkward looking Neville Longbottom who seemed to be in conversation with one another until they realized that Hermione was staring down at them. They stopped for a moment to join Ron in his greeting before dashing out of the frame. Hermione turned her attention to the article just below the old photo.

'That's me,' the article started, 'when I was younger. This photo of me and my best friends was taken in a not-so-secret secret room at Hogwarts just a few years before the final battle in the war took place. I'm the odd one out in the photo, if you couldn't tell. All my friends were in Gryffindor. Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and of course, if you haven't lived under a rock your entire life, you'll recognize Harry Potter there in the center. These people were my best friends, and for a while, my only friends. They taught me a lot when we were at Hogwarts, and when the final battle came to the castle's front doors, we fought alongside one another. In the photo, we look pretty happy, but what a picture can't tell you, even one that moves, is that when we took this photo, things had already started to go down hill. We spent quite a few days in that not-so-secret room learning to defend ourselves when the Ministry took over Hogwarts and told us we couldn't. We laughed together, we cried together, and we learned what loyalty really meant.'

'What the photo also can't tell you is that despite the war that tried to destroy everything, despite the lives that were lost, we all managed to persevere. What this photo can't show you is that after the war, after everything we lost, life still continued on. Ginny Weasley plays for the Holyhead Harpies now. Harry and Ron became Aurors and worked for the same Ministry that we'd seen corrupt by power and greed just a few short years ago. Hermione took a job in Werewolf Support Services, and Neville and I? We're doing our own thing, too. Harry married Ginny, and his best friend Ron gave a toast at their wedding. Ron married Hermione, and Ginny and I were her bridesmaids. The so-called Golden Trio and everyone who knew them were normal people. Normal, happy people who wanted nothing more than to live normal, happy lives.'

'I don't usually read the Prophet, but I'm sure those of you that do were glued to the pages when the Prophet reported that the infamous Boy-Who-Lived and his best friend had been killed in an ambush outside London. The Prophet claimed to have found out from another auror in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that Harry and Ron were following a lead given to them by Ron's wife, Hermione. In subsequent weeks, the Prophet went on to smear my friend's name, labeling her everything from a jealous spouse to a traitor to the cause. We here at the Quibbler attempted on several occasions to contact the Editor-in-Chief at the Prophet and urge that they correct their misguided information. They refused. Naturally, when this method failed, my father and Editor-in-Chief of the Quibbler, Xenophilius Lovegood, demanded that we print the real story ourselves. Usually, I take a more behind-the-scenes approach to helping my father with the paper, but when he wanted to run the real story, I knew that I wanted to be the one to write it.'

'The Prophet has been making a profit off of the personal lives of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger for years now, but has rarely bothered itself with the facts. We at the Quibbler would like to share a few of the facts with you that the Prophet conveniently left out of its version when it was pointing the finger of blame. The Prophet doesn't want you to know that Harry and Ron became aurors for a reason. While the world is a much safer place, there are still those out there who cling to the old ways, and yes, to the teachings of Voldemort. Harry and Ron risked their lives alongside many of us in the war, and then signed on with the Ministry to continue to do so in hopes that we could be a little bit safer every time we went to bed at night. They didn't have to do this, and they knew the risks, but they did it anyway. And you know what? They were good at what they did because they trusted each other. They were loyal friends. What the Prophet doesn't tell you about the woman it wants to label a traitor is that just like Ron and Harry, Hermione was only doing her job. She was only doing what she thought to be right. Hermione was no auror. She worked in Werewolf Support Services, helping victims of werewolf attacks. And just between you, me, and the fence post? Hermione hated that her best friend and her husband were still running off and trying to fight the bad guys, but even though she wasn't running off every day with them, she still did what she could to help. Hermione did send an owl to Ron that day, but the Prophet only shared part of Hermione's letter. The letter was sent after a report was filed—a report, which, if the Prophet had cared to look, is still on file in both the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.'

'The Prophet wants you to believe that Hermione set her husband and her best friend up. They want you to believe that a woman who spent her teenage years in constant danger fighting alongside her best friends against a man some of you are still afraid of, a woman who had recently married her best friend, would turn around and stab them in the back. The Prophet gave you photos of the crime scene and a badly-lit photo of a half-piece of parchment with an address on it. The Prophet wants to turn Hermione into a villain, and in its quest to do so, accidentally left out a few pieces of information. Like the fact that the criminals involved were apprehended, or the fact that aside from Harry and Ron, one man from the Werewolf Capture Unit also lost his life, and another one is still recovering in St. Mungo's. Or, the fact that there was another half to the piece of parchment that they claim condemns my friend.'

Hermione paused, her eyes glassed over with unshed tears, and looked down at the second picture the article contained. It was a very familiar piece of parchment. She didn't even need to read what was written on the page, but she looked at it, anyway.

'Ron, Here's the address. I know you and Harry have the report, but something doesn't add up . Please, please owl me when you get back to your office. I'll meet you and Harry up there. I have some news that I really want to share with both of you. I love you. -Hermione'

She looked away for a moment and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. She'd never gotten a reply because they'd never made it back to the office. She sat and she sat and she sat, and then she went home and paced until there was a groove in the floor. She tried to tell herself that they were alright. She even tried to prepare herself in case they weren't, but she couldn't have prepared for something like that. Not really. Hermione let out a shaky sigh and glanced back at the Quibbler once more. There was one small paragraph left below the second picture.

'If you would like to continue to believe the lies spread by the Prophet, please do so. The Quibbler has brought you the truth. It has brought you proof. Continue to believe its lies if you wish, and perhaps one day your name will be smeared across its front pages. We are committed to bringing you the truth, and the truth is that Hermione, Ron, and Harry were best friends. They were family. And now their friends, and their family are grieving a great loss...'

Hermione stopped reading and folded the old paper in half. She'd never seen Luna get quite so fired up about anything, but then again, she'd been surprised to hear that Luna had written the article in the first place. Hagrid was right. The Quibber seemed to have more of the story than the Prophet did. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

With another small sigh, Hermione glanced to the bedside table and picked up the old shoebox, cradling it and the halved Quibbler under her arm, and padded towards the door. There was someone that she needed to go see.

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Author's Note: This one was a bit longer than the first chapter, because hey, that's how I roll. In any case, this chapter was meant to answer certain questions, and raise others. I guess I'll see how many of you catch on when I check out the reviews! Chapter three will be coming soon!