For one brief, horrifying second, she thought she’d been caught by the Carrows. That their meeting had been a failure, someone had snitched, and she had been captured. But no, this was her bed, and her wand—her wand!—no, her wand was right there next to her bed, safe and sound. There was that loose, wrinkled, ill-fitting feeling of having slept in one’s clothes, and Hermione eased herself gingerly out of bed. 