A day and night passed with no one in the hospital room leaving Hermione's side. They were undisturbed. The brigade of comrades, classmates, teachers, and friends holding back the sea of reporters and curious was a fierce force, a wall of loyalty to Harry and Hermione that gave those attending Hermione peace. The Weasleys made a few visitors patients, but Saint Mungo's did not ask the rowdy redheads to leave. There were still beds enough to accommodate the overzealous.

It was late, or early… or maybe neither. Time became meaningless at Hermione's silent bedside, but in any case, when Miranda left her daughter's room for the first time Jake and Berti were asleep in their chairs. Knight wasn't asleep, Miranda wasn't sure that he did sleep for she had never seen him, but she couldn't find sleep herself and decided to track down Remus Lupin and tell him the safe house was not needed anymore. If the threat of Voldemort was gone, she wanted to go home. When Hermione was better.

She found the wizard who had been their watch-protector in the lobby speaking to a reporter… while a dozen pressed around them to shamelessly listen in. They looked to be a disgruntled lot, and understandably so when Miranda overheard Remus saying that there was nothing new to report on either the conditions of Hermione Granger or Harry Potter and that they would be informed as soon as there was good cause for them to know. The press bristled at the brush-off, but the Aurors that Remus had warned might be called in for crowd control apparently had been, because when the robed men and women standing around the lobby stepped toward the crowd everyone with a quill and camera backed away.

When Miranda got to speak with Remus, it was to discover he had already anticipated their desire to return home and was presently having some friends of his take all the personal effects in the safe house back to the Granger residence. Miranda thanked him for all he'd done and excused herself to return to her daughter's room.

On her way, she was stopped by a nurse. "Missus Granger!"

Miranda turned. "Yes?"

"You probably don't remember me; I've been in to your daughter's room a few times to check on her and see to the nourishment spells."

"Yes, of course."

"I don't mean to bother you, but while I was looking in on your daughter I couldn't help but notice the way Harry Potter lets you comfort him."

Miranda was still getting used to the way others felt the inexplicable need to call Harry by his full name, and half the time with the inclusion of some long-winded title. At the moment, however, the observation was her tertiary concern (Hermione, naturally, being the first and the nurse's business being the second for the immediate time being). "Yes?" Miranda asked, a bit more icily. She was getting paranoid with all the reporters clamoring to get in to see Hermione and Harry. She wanted her children left alone and would be mightily indignant if this 'nurse' turned out not to be one at all but some newspaper mole in a costume.

"I wondered if you might be able to do something… it's for Harry Potter," the nurse quickly added, perhaps seeing Miranda's mounting suspicion and hostility.

Miranda was paused by the proposed benefactor of the request. "What sort of 'something' did you have in mind?"

The nurse looked hopeful at Miranda's change in attitude. "You see, Harry Potter hasn't eaten since he got here."

"That's been days ago," Miranda remarked in mild surprise.

The nurse nodded. "Three. We'll bring him food, but he won't touch it. We've managed to get him to drink, but not eat. I thought, maybe, if you tried to cajole him… if he's close to you and trusts you maybe he'll eat for you."

He might, he might not, but at least it would be doing something when Miranda was feeling so completely helpless. She couldn't do anything for Hermione, but maybe she could for Harry.

"Yes… well, I'd certainly be willing to try."

The nurse smiled. "Wonderful! I'll go fetch a tray from the cafeteria. I'll be just a moment." The nurse turned and hurried away. Miranda stood in the corridor waiting, fretting about Hermione but worrying a fair bit about Harry, too. She wanted so desperately for this ordeal to be over and both her kids well again. She wanted things back to the way they were before Christmas Day.

Shortly, the nurse returned with a tray loaded with cuts of cooked meat. Miranda looked at it dubiously. She had been expecting soup or perhaps a sandwich, and the mother in her would have liked to see a few vegetables to balance out the overload of protein. The nurse explained to Miranda's visible concern, "Since Harry Potter's in his animagus form, this might be more tempting to him. Though…" the nurse hesitated, "if you could talk him into changing…" the nurse's face turned harried and drawn with professional (and maybe a bit more than professional) worry again, "it's just had a lot of us very worried about him."

Miranda actually believed that it did bother this nurse, at least.

"I'll see what I can do," Miranda said as she accepted the tray, "but don't expect any miracles." Then she wanted to snort at her own words. Don't expect miracles in a magical hospital for witches and wizards named after a saint of some sort.

She needed a vacation.

Mindful of her mother and husband who were still sleeping when she returned, Miranda slipped back into Hermione's room with care, making as little sound as humanly possible. Knight was sitting at Hermione's side, between Miranda's chair and Jake's. His black tail was curled on the tile floor beside him, his ears locked on Hermione's form. He was watching Hermione steadily with the level of focus a housecat might give a wounded bird floundering in the grass. But Hermione did nothing more overt than breathing; Miranda knew because she'd been just as intent on the young woman on the bed. But to that small sign of life, she'd been just as focused as the panther was now. Miranda ached for Knight in his vigilant watch; she knew how hard it was to see Hermione like she was.

"Harry?" Miranda whispered.

Knight turned first an ear back in Miranda's direction where she stood near the door of the room, then he turned his head to look toward Miranda. Miranda smiled as best she could and crossed the room to reclaim her seat. She set the tray of food in her lap and regarded Knight carefully. Knight looked at the food heaped on the tray, uninterested, and looked up at Miranda with painfully dull eyes.

"Harry, honey… I'd like you to eat something."

Knight just sat, unflinching, as though he had not understood a word she said. He made no move to take anything from the tray.

Miranda saw for herself the kind of dispassionate apathy Knight showed toward food, the disregard for his own well-being that had set the nursing staff to fretting, and she had to worry, too. "Please… a nurse told me that you haven't eaten anything in days. Could you just try to eat something? I'm worried about you."

Knight's facial muscles tightened and his ears went back. A look of clear distress. He didn't like that he made Miranda worry.

Miranda picked up a piece of chicken and offered it to him. Knight sniffed the proffered poultry, glanced up at Miranda, then opened his mouth and took the food in his teeth. With a few powerful chews of his great jaws, he swallowed the chicken and licked his lips.

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Miranda asked, and scratched Knight behind the ear. He closed his eyes partially. Miranda had been uncertain at first about how to treat Knight when he was not truly an animal, but inside actually the boy Harry she'd come to love in a very real sense. She was in a quandary over the question of how much like an animal to treat an animagus? But she discovered, through the long hours, that he didn't object to any form of touch. From the plaintive, seeking look in his eyes, he may have even needed it.

Miranda fed Knight a few more small parcels of food, cuts of pork and chicken, until he began to look fatigued at the thought of being forced to take anymore. Miranda smiled warmly. "That's plenty, I think… thank you, Harry." Miranda set the tray on the floor beside her chair then took Knight's head in her hands and kissed his brow tenderly. Knight rubbed his cheek against her hand.

Miranda studied the feline features cupped between her palms. She looked closely at him and the inevitable question came upon her. "Harry… how far down in there are you?" Miranda asked as she gazed into his eyes. He stared back at her, his eyes unblinking and penetrating. When she looked into his eyes, she believed she could see Harry there, but it was behind a wall of panther. She thought perhaps it was his place to hide without leaving Hermione's side. The hospital staff would love to have the real Harry Potter, boy wonder or whatever they were calling him now, to fawn over and cater to. Truth be told, Miranda would very much like to take the young man up in a proper hug, but as she looked deeply into his face she decided against trying to coax him into changing back to a regular wizard. And she almost believed that he would, if she implored him.

She would love to see Harry's face, the face she knew, but she wouldn't try to make him change. She knew, and intellectually admitted it was probably only a fraction of the full story, of what had happened at Hogwarts during the attack. She knew some of what Harry had seen and what he'd done. She couldn't begrudge Harry not wanting to own up to it, to face it in human terms, even if Miranda would never think to condemn him for his actions. Not in a hundred lifetimes. Hermione was still alive because of what he'd done, and Miranda loved him, man or panther, for it.

Mother and panther were locked together in a powerful bind of unwavering eye contact, understanding transcending species as they stared into one another's eyes. Not unsurprisingly, considering his heightened sense of hearing, when there was a tiny sound from within the room Knight heard it first. Miranda was watching him, marveling at this boy, when Knight's right ear, the ear on the side of Hermione's bed, turned away from Miranda and toward the bed. A light of urgency ignited in Knight's blue eyes and he pulled sharply away from Miranda's hold. Knight stood at once and turned to face the bed.

Miranda, startled, turned her head to follow Knight's gaze… and saw Hermione move.

She gasped and jumped to her feet. "Jake! Jake, Mum! Wake up! She's coming around!"

In a matter of seconds, everyone was crowding tightly around the bed and watching Hermione with bated breath.

Hermione's face moved in a scowl, her brow knit, and her lips parted. Everyone in the room watched tensely.

Miranda gripped Hermione's hand and bent close. "Hermione?"

"Mmm… Mum?" she croaked.

Miranda laughed through a torrent of happy tears. "Yes. Yes, honey, it's Mum."

"Uhhh… wh… where'm I?"

"Saint Mungo's Hospital," Jake said as he shuffled in closer to his daughter, beaming. "Hi, sweetheart."

Hermione didn't have the strength yet to open her eyes, but she gave a very faint smile. "Hhh, Dad…"

"Don't go forgetting your old gram now," Berti said with a delighted chuckle.

Hermione's eyelids fluttered but stayed closed. "Mmmmm."

"How do you feel?" Miranda asked as she smoothed her free hand over Hermione's hair.

Hermione's tongue barely ventured out to touch the tip to her dry, chapped lips. "Thirsty… m' back hurts…"

"I know, sweetie, you were hurt, but you're going to be all right," Miranda said and gave Hermione's hand a tight squeeze. She could have done a back flip for joy when she felt Hermione's fingers squeeze back, for the first time in all the hours that Miranda had cradled a limp hand.

Then, suddenly, a panic-stricken worry etched into the lines of Hermione's face. She forced open her eyes, peeks of chocolate brown as Hermione willed them to see, and she whispered hoarsely, "Harry?"

"I'm here."

Miranda looked to her side and saw Harry standing next to her, just a few paces back and between Miranda and Jake. And it was Harry, the young man and not the panther. He looked just as battered and bruised and tousled as Hermione, but he was just as wonderfully alive. Miranda's cheeks hurt from the width of her grin. Her face was wet but she didn't care.

Harry stood back among the family that was gathered around Hermione's bed, in a perfect position to take in everything, but he had eyes only for Hermione.

With as much grace as she could muster, Miranda let go of Hermione's hand and stepped back.

Harry stepped forward and took Hermione's hand in his own. Hermione squeezed his fingers even tighter than she had squeezed Miranda's. Hermione watched Harry's every move as the young man went to his knees beside her bed.

Harry opened and closed his mouth soundlessly a few times, lost in the sight of her looking at him, then he pulled their joined hands up to his chest. "I… I thought you left me," Harry whispered brokenly.

Hermione managed a half-smile. "Told you… never happen."

Harry visibly shook as he closed his eyes, turned his head to the side, and laid it on the bed next to her shoulder. Hermione's nose was practically buried in Harry's black hair. She let her eyes fall shut, but it was not to fade back into oblivion. Instead, she looked peaceful. She looked heavenly blessed, bruised and torn and weary but unspeakably lovely for just being alive. Hermione gently freed her hand from Harry's and slowly slid her fingers up into his hair. The way she cupped his head with her hand, she looked as though she were holding him to her.

Harry choked on a sob and curled his fingers, desperately but tenderly, around her forearm.

Hermione barely pressed her lips into Harry's tangled hair, still weak but at least finally awake. "M'a'right, Harry," she said in a cracked, dry voice. It was the most beautiful sound Miranda had ever heard, second only perhaps to Hermione's first cry when she was born.

"M'fine, Harry," Hermione consoled while the young man's face twisted as he fought against crying. "M'okay… I love you," Hermione whispered.

A tear fell and Harry pulled Hermione's hand out of his hair and turned his head enough to place a kiss on her palm. He moved his hand from her arm, tracked it up to her hand, and let their fingers twine so naturally together. "I love you, too," he breathed haggardly.

Miranda found herself in Jake's arms, being hugged fiercely and kissed on the temple while she cried happily and watched her daughter and the young man who would one day be her husband return together from the brink of darkness.

And for them all, ensconced in the windowless hospital room, the sun shined brightly.