He could hear every single person that passed anywhere near the room. They might try to be quiet, but it was pointless to try and slip the hearing of the jaguar. He attended to it only as much as he needed to in order to recognize that none of the passers-by were a threat. Beyond that they were a background thrum of noise; he couldn't block them out but he could more or less ignore them. Conversely, his hearing was hanging on every tiny sound of Hermione's breathing on the bed behind him. It was a softer, yet far more important a sound and it filled his auditory senses.

Knight and Hermione were the only two in the hospital room. When Hermione had been treated and stabilized as best as possible, when all that was left to do was wait and see and hope, the doctors and nurses had cleared out. No one even breathed a word to suggest Knight should leave, too. He had uncontested right and privilege to go and do as he pleased among the witches and wizards who knew his true identity and his recent act of salvation on their behalf. He could have strolled into the head healer's office and used his desk as a scratching post and the pompous old coot would not have breathed a word about it, except maybe to offer the great Harry Potter a spot of tea, as he must have worked up a terrible thirst with all that scratching.

Luckily for the head healer, Knight had no intention of budging from Hermione's bedside.

Aside from one nurse stopping in just long enough to see to the cut on Knight's shoulder, they let him be, and he chose to be at Hermione's side. He'd lain down on the floor next to her bed and not moved an inch in the two hours since the healers left them alone.

He was in a trance-like state of stillness, snared to the inhale and exhale coming steadily from the prone figure on the bed. She'd been left to lie on her stomach, a poultice very nearly serving as clothing for how much of her back it had to cover to treat the extent of her injury. She breathed and Knight breathed with her, timed his world to the gentle rise and fall of her torso.

"Albus!" a harried but hushed McGonagall said from just outside the door to Hermione's room.

Knight swiveled one ear forward at the name, a fraction of him mildly curious, though it could not hope to break his tenacious attendance to Hermione's breathing… in… out… as long as it kept doing that, going in and seeping out, his world kept going.

"Minevra…" came the headmaster's grave, deep voice. He sounded bone-tired. It was strange to hear no trace of humor or even vigor in the great wizard's voice. "I came as soon as I was able."

"What of Dane?" McGonagall asked hesitantly. She didn't really want to know, Knight could read it in her flat, elevated pitch.

"A farce, as is all too apparent now, but then hindsight is twenty-twenty and retrospective divination unerring… I am overwhelmed with shame to know I was maneuvered so easily."

"You couldn't have known... we all thought Voldemort was there. We leapt at the chance, what presented itself in the guise of a chance, to strike down Voldemort once and for all. None of us stopped to think your brother would unwittingly be playing a pawn. None of us questioned his escape; after all, he was your brother." A pause. "I'm so very sorry about Aberforth."

A strained quality pulled at Dumbledore's voice, making him almost unrecognizable as the formidable headmaster of Hogwarts. "Thank you. I… I spoke with some of the ministry workers who are assessing the… collateral damage done at the school, in terms of both lost life and property; I envy them their capacity for clinical detachment almost as much as I detest them for it.

"I saw the hospital wing… or what remains of it. I ventured into the rubble… It looks like dear, sweet Kimmy did what she could to protect Aber, but… well…" His trailing silence spoke volumes.

"I am terribly sorry."

"Yes… well, I am hardly the only person to have lost loved ones to this twisted wizard's madness.

"Are the children being properly seen to?"

"Yes. I've been checking on them religiously every few minutes, at least until their parents get here to better watch over them. It's sickening, what was done to the poor things. Innocent children. I can hardly stand to think on it."

"I wouldn't suggest you try to. If you can forget, then do it and rejoice in ignorance."

"Would that I could… but I can't."

"I know."

Both were quiet a moment, during which Hermione's breathing was the loudest sound. A breathing life-preserver, a drink of water to a dying man.

"I spoke with young Mister Weasley a moment ago, when I first arrived after visiting the school, and he told me a bit of what happened at Hogwarts."

McGonagall took a few deep breaths, perhaps to collect her wits. "It was horrible! The atrocities those… those… it's almost unfit to call them human beings! The things they did, and I was powerless to do anything more than stand by and watch!"

"You did all you could to protect them, Minevra… I'm sure there are children alive this moment who would not have been were it not for you."

"I wish so badly that I can believe that, but… it wasn't I who ended up saving us all."

Another pause overtook the two adults outside the hospital room.

"What is Miss Granger's condition?" Dumbledore asked.

"Touch and go as the saying goes. They've done what they can. She was hurt so badly, I... the healers won't even offer up opinion just yet as to her chances. They're that worried that she may not live."

Knight briefly flicked his eavesdropping ear backward so all of his focus was on Hermione's breathing. She was still taking in air, letting it out, taking it in… it was all he could hope for, the place to pin all his hopes.

"Miss Granger is a remarkably stubborn young woman; I daresay she won't accept the release of death until she's good and ready. And she's not ready to give up yet."

"I hope so, Albus, I really hope so. Not only because Miss Granger has so much life yet to live, but for Mister Potter's sake…"

A different kind of silence reigned, one that was tense even from the opposite side of the door.

"Albus… what Mister Pot… what Harry did…"

"I know," Dumbledore returned soberly. "Mister Weasley gave me the unsavory details."

No one seemed to need it said what they were discussing; it was foregone and understood. Knight knew it as well as they did.

"I've never seen wandless magic like that. It was… I loathe to even think it, but… it was dark magic, Albus. Even as I say it I can hardly comprehend it… the very idea that Mister Potter could perform dark magic, magic that dark… but those Death Eaters, they just… died. Harry wanted them dead, and in a matter of moments they just were."

"And do you condemn him for it, Minevra?"

"I… 'the end justifies the means', that's what you are going to argue."

"Doesn't it? Or does it ever? We are rid of a cancer in our world, one I can never regret being gone, but at such a high price… Harry can't escape what he's done… nor the fact that not even Voldemort ever managed to do what he did."

"He's just a boy…"

"I don't know that he has ever truly been one. Perhaps before his parents were slaughtered, he may have been just a boy then, but not since that night. You misjudge him to see him as a mere child; I've made the same mistake. But he never was. From his first year he was a warrior in an undersized body. Today, we discovered just how great a warrior… and how great a tragedy, but then, most great warriors are."

"Will he be all right?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I honestly do not know. I'm no seer. Maybe he will be, one day… depending on the young woman in that room. Harry might recover, he might stay more or less the Harry we've known for five years… but only if Miss Granger lives. Her fate will make or break him."

McGonagall did not counter right away, but when she did much of the tremulous undertones that had been previously in the voice were gone, reverting to the much more familiar sound of self-assurance of a cool, level-headed professor. "It's almost… the thought that we could stand to lose still more, after all everyone has already lost to this bloody war… no matter what manner of magic they used to destroy Voldemort, no matter how young they are, they're still heroes."

"An honor for which I sincerely pity them, but there's nothing that can be done to spare them that backhanded gift.

"Minevra… there is still a great deal that we should discuss, but for now I must take my leave of you. I need to see Harry a moment."

"Of course. He'll probably be glad to see you're alive. I'll go check on Miss Abbot again. The poor, poor girl."

The sound of McGonagall's footsteps faded away as she left the vicinity of Hermione's room. The jaguar listened to her go but didn't stir himself to care very much. Knight lay unmoved from his spot next to Hermione's bed.

When the door opened Knight looked up lackadaisically. He knew it was Dumbledore, by smell foremost, who had presumed to come inside the hospital room where his Hermione lay defenseless. Dumbledore was not a threat, and outside of Hermione waking up only a threat to his beloved could bestir Knight beyond a simple movement of the eyes and turn of the ears.

The headmaster of Hogwarts was sporting a bruise on his right temple and easily half of his beard was missing, shortened by half its former length and tipped with black, burned ends of hair. Knight could smell smoke and dirt and blood on the wizard. But he was whole, and fit enough to walk away from his scuffle. If only Hermione had been so lucky.

Dumbledore slipped inside the room and closed the door softly behind him. He looked down at Knight and seemed to take stock of the fact that it was not Harry that greeted him, but Knight the black jaguar. Knight watched the headmaster with eyes half glassy. He was so very tired and so very, very careworn. Sleep would be a welcome relief, but if he slept he might stop listening to Hermione breathe… he needed to hear it. If he let down his guard to rest, who would guard Hermione against danger? If a school was not safe from attack, he would not be naïve enough to think that a hospital would be. He could not let her come to harm, no matter what. And if he slept, he might dream of the battle, he might relive the things he'd done. There were too many reasons to stay awake, maybe for the rest of eternity if there was any magic that could make it possible.

Dumbledore moved a few steps closer to the bed and Knight, then he stopped. He looked past Knight to where Hermione lay. After a moment staring at the monitoring charms over the bed, as though they might actually make some sense to him, the great wizard's eyes turned down to Knight. Knight gazed up dully at the headmaster.

Quietly, purposefully, Dumbledore knelt on the floor in front of Knight. The two stared into one another's eyes for what seemed a long time. From their gazes, they might have been mistaken for being the same age.

"Knight," Dumbledore spoke lowly, no trace of a faked cheerfulness or levity in his tone. "This has truly been a glorious and terrible day.

"I want you to remember something. I know, sooner or later, doubts will assail you, questions and ruminations about what you did today to save your friends, and in doing so saving us all. It will be difficult, but remember… you did what you had to do. It is a popular recrimination in the eyes of those who have never had to make such a choice, but you were right in your actions. Trust in that. The world is better off for what you did. And should you begin to question your own inherent goodness, should you find yourself inclined to think ill of your own soul because of what happened this afternoon… before you believe in it, think of how Hermione would see you. Ask yourself if she would see the same wickedness that you do.

"We cannot measure the weight of our own souls, we're blindly tangled and our perceptions usually just as knotted; so we must let our loved ones do it for us. Place your faith in yourself in the hands of those who love you."

Knight studied Dumbledore plainly. He felt only pushed to the point of breaking by it all… he wondered if maybe he had broken and didn't understand it yet for his all-consuming concern for Hermione. Maybe he'd see the irreparable crack in his very essence later. Depending on Hermione, it might not make any difference to him once he did.

The headmaster frowned and continued, "But dolling out reassurances is not the reason I'm here. I understand you have well enough to worry about at the moment, but I feel you have the right to know. I came to tell you about Sirius…"

His manner told Knight the important part, the information that he needed to know, but just the same he waited for Dumbledore to say it. It was a necessary evil… someone had to say it to make it real. He'd just lie and wait for one more stone in the foundation of his world to be torn away.

"We were too late to save him. Knowing all that I do now, I very much doubt Sirius was permitted to live more than a few breaths' span after Aberforth…" Dumbledore paused slightly, "after my brother was allowed to get away with the news of a living captive at Dane. After my brother's intentionally allowed escape, Sirius had served his purpose for Voldemort's Death Eaters." Dumbledore said nothing of any notion that it had been over quickly or painlessly for Sirius. They both knew better. "I am deeply sorry for your loss," Dumbledore said mournfully.

Sirius gone. Dead. Knight wanted it to hurt, he wanted it to matter, but he didn't have room for that much pain when Hermione was filling him with it. He grieved and ached for her first, and when she got better he might have space inside him for a new heartache, a heartache that belonged to Sirius Black. But just now, he couldn't handle more. Hermione was all the agony he could stand. He listened and understood that Sirius was gone, his godfather killed because of him, but he couldn't feel it. It was throwing a pebble at a giant with just as much effect.

Dumbledore was watching Knight closely for his reaction, and when there was none he seemed doubly concerned. He took his eyes from Knight to study Hermione arrayed on the bed behind the jaguar. Then he gave a solemn nod to himself, as if coming to some internal realization.

"I'll give you some time, I know this must all be very overwhelming." Dumbledore stood and headed for the door. Before slipping out as quietly as he had entered, he looked down at Knight and said gently, "Keep watch over her."

As if Knight had to be asked to do that any more than one had to ask him to breathe.

As he asked Hermione to breathe, how he willed her to keep breathing, to keep taking in breaths so he could mark them, count them, thank the universe for each precious one.

His world was broken down to inhales and exhales. It kept him going, kept him sane, kept him whole where otherwise he may have flown apart or folded inward for the evil that he'd touched on the grounds of Hogwarts. It was all secondary to Hermione's breathing.

Inhale and exhale, and the world went on.

❾¾ ❾¾❾¾❾¾ ❾¾❾¾❾¾ ❾¾❾¾

At some point, he dozed. He did not realize he'd slipped into a light sleep until the sound of the door opening jarred him awake as quickly as an explosion just outside the room might have. Knight's ears turned to the sound and he waited, expectant and on the cusp of tensing for action.

The first thing to come into the room was a floating bowl. Next came Ginny. Knight relaxed… as much as he could. He had two states it seemed, primed to tear apart any enemy who might think to lay a hand on Hermione, and the dejected, heartsick waiting of a loved one at a hospital beside. 'Relaxed' did not rightly fit with either state of being.

Ginny closed the door softly behind her with her bum, as her left hand was being used to command the wand that kept the bowl aloft. Her right hand was heavily wrapped in white bandages. She had an intent, concentrated look on her face, like she was struggling through an exam she hadn't properly studied for. She walked the bowl over to where Knight lay and set it down with concerted effort on the floor. Knight saw, when it was before him, that it was a bowl of water.

When it was safely down, Ginny's expression sagged in relief and she finally gave Knight a proper glance. "Hi, Harry… um, I mean… Knight."

Gently, Ginny sat down on the floor right in front of him, her wounded hand cradled near her chest. For a moment, she didn't seem to know quite what to say. She looked long and searchingly at Knight, as though trying to see past the cat to the boy Harry she knew.

Knight wasn't sure that boy existed anymore.

Ginny finally shook out of her stare and put away her wand. She gestured toward the water bowl. "I thought you might want to get cleaned up a bit." She frowned, then reached into her robes and pulled out a folded washcloth. She seemed to hesitate, eyed Knight, then dipped the cloth in the water with her left hand and experimentally wiped it over one of Knight's extended paws. It came away filthy and bloody. Ginny scowled at it, dipped it into the bowl again, and once more gave his paw a wipe. She looked up at him to gauge his reaction, and when she saw that he was going to let her do it she grew more confident and serious in her efforts. She scooted closer and set to her task more earnestly.

Knight watched her silently.

"Sorry to do it this way, but I don't trust myself to do a scourgify with my left hand. Afraid I'd wipe off your toe or something," she gave a flickering smile that held no humor.

Knight dropped his eyes to her bandaged right hand. Curious, he just barely extended his nose toward her injured hand. To Ginny's immense credit, she didn't flinch when the jaguar moved toward her. Instead, Ginny glanced down at her hand when she realized it was what had caught Knight's interest. Then the light came on and she realized what he wanted. "Oh… that." She continued cleaning Knight's blood-stained fur as she said, "When Ron rushed off to fetch you two back to the school, he gave me the Marauder's Map so I could show it to McGonagall. When You Know… when Voldemort and his Death Eaters were sure to catch us, I was afraid they'd take the map and use it to track down everyone in Hogwarts. I knew there were students who would surely find hiding places in the school when they realized what was going on, but if Voldemort had that map he'd find them with no trouble. So I cast an incendio and set fire to the map right in my hand. In my haste, I got a little carried away." Ginny shrugged.

Knight looked intently at her face.