"Spymaster?" For some reason, all she can think of is Professor Snape; ravens would certainly have suited him. She wants to ask if he's at war - why else would he need a spymaster, after all? - but decides against it for the time being. He needs to find a particular bird, and she'll help him as best as she can.

He speaks of England as though it's some far and distant place, one that he's entirely unfamiliar with. Between that and his appearance and the glowing mess in her hand, Hermione can't help worrying over just how far from home she might be.

"The Inquisition I know about was known for using torture and other harsh measures to combat heresy," she explains, cautiously peering at the flock of birds now busily pecking at her discarded trail mix. "Somehow, though, I think my version of history might be a bit different than yours."

Pointing out the bird with the message tied to its leg, she looks back up at Cyril and asks, "Just where am I, exactly?"