The rise up to the waking world was simply one of the most refreshing moments Hermione had endured in Merlin knew how long. The feeling, as if she were floating or something alike, was a balm to her bruised skin and howling mind; a comfort that left her mewling with all the strength of a newborn kitten. All around her blankets were piled high and fluffed near to bursting, some much softer than others but each of them warm and comforting. There were pillows piled high behind her head, warm downy blocks that she could sink back into forever, and the sweet scent of cinnamon covering every breath she took.