At last, something in this whole interaction that is familiar. Smoking was Hermione’s true vice, largely because it was her shortcut to get her brain to stop racing at a million miles per hour, and just slow down to live in the moment. She loved the spread of warmth at the inhale, and how it crackled in the back of her throat. She felt her worries melt away with the exhale, physically manifested as the gray smoke. She puffed one or two more times before she too, leaned back into the couch.