Luckily no one seemed to need her to do some more bridal chores, so Hermione settled on the balcony with a book. She listened to birds chirping as she flipped over the pages, the smell of a newly printed book mixing with fresh morning air. The warm wind played with her hair and Hermione felt her nerves come back into place. Something was calming in turning over page by page in a slow steady rhythm. She could stay here forever, tangled up in words and her pace. Just like a metronome ticking away infinitely until it was stopped by someone else.