Sometime after the damned clock downstairs announced loudly that it was one in the morning, Hermione continued to stare at the ceiling above. She hadn't been able to sleep after her long bath. Her mind continued to race, going over the heated conversation she had with her husband hours earlier when she got home. When he came to bed, she pretended to be asleep to prevent a continuation of their discussion. Nothing made much sense in her mind. Rehashing it all over again seemed to be a pointless endeavor. Surely staring at the cracks in the plaster on the ceiling was a much better use of her time.