Somewhere, in some dim, far off place, Hermione thought she ought to, perhaps, be a little worried. The only problem was, she couldn't figure out why, exactly, she should be. It was the strangest sensation. She knew something was not quite right, knew that her friends were all watching her extra closely, knew that there was definitely something that she needed to be doing, be thinking about, be planning, but it was... just... out... of... reach. Instead, she felt a sort of... peace. Not quite happiness, because there was that nagging feeling somewhere in her head, but peaceful. Content. Hazy. Like the fog that had been sitting over her brain for months now but... different. Less bothersome. Less noticeable.