Time wore on like the flow of a gentle tide, the days and nights blurring into weeks. Hermione fell into a pattern; familiar and yet strange. Being at Hogwarts was like a dream, in a way. There was a comfort to it. A quietness. It felt odd to be studying for something she had only dreamed of, and never practiced herself. For the most part, she was able to fumble her way through her classes. It seemed being considered a war heroine gave her some slack; more than once, she had heard a teacher mutter something about "it must be the stress from the war" or something along those lines. 