Hermione got herself ready for bed, tucked herself under the duvet, and willed her mind to cease its endless spinning and overthinking and grant her a merciful night of uninterrupted sleep. No such luck. Not for the first time – and certainly not for the last, either – she tossed and turned and kicked off the heavy covers in frustration. Usually, her mind plagued her with worries about the mission. How was she supposed to get information to Shacklebolt? Was she supposed to hoard it until the end of the assignment? When would the end of the assignment even be? Next month? Next year? When?