Hermione could have accepted that she'd somehow Apparated to some distant magical community in Europe where there were a little-known race of humanoid bulls and who had an Inquisition instead of a Ministry. It sounded a little daunting, but she would have been able to handle it. To be tossed into some strange land where the first person she'd met wouldn't know the British Isles from sea algae was something else entirely, and she had to fight that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach all over again.
Rather than risk hyperventilating, Hermione took a few moments to breathe slowly as everything Bull told her threatened to suffocate her. "I was dreaming," she pointed out. "I remember going to sleep after studying and I... there were Death Eaters, so I knew it couldn't be real, and then there was this. How could I go from a dream to whatever this is...?"
Worrying at her lower lip, she told him, "You called it magic, but magic doesn't work like this. I'd be more inclined to think that I was hallucinating. My parents did suggest I see a therapist after the war, so this could be all in my own head."
She was rambling, and brushing aside everything Bull told her, and that wasn't exactly the most cordial thing to do when he'd been so helpful to her. So she looked up at him, trying not to feel so tiny despite him having a laughably significant height advantage over her, and tried for another small smile. "Sorry. I don't mean to write you off as some fever dream. I should be thankful you helped me with those bears. I am. Thankful. So thank you."
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Hermione could have accepted that she'd somehow Apparated to some distant magical community in Europe where there were a little-known race of humanoid bulls and who had an Inquisition instead of a Ministry. It sounded a little daunting, but she would have been able to handle it. To be tossed into some strange land where the first person she'd met wouldn't know the British Isles from sea algae was something else entirely, and she had to fight that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach all over again.
Rather than risk hyperventilating, Hermione took a few moments to breathe slowly as everything Bull told her threatened to suffocate her. "I was dreaming," she pointed out. "I remember going to sleep after studying and I... there were Death Eaters, so I knew it couldn't be real, and then there was this. How could I go from a dream to whatever this is...?"
Worrying at her lower lip, she told him, "You called it magic, but magic doesn't work like this. I'd be more inclined to think that I was hallucinating. My parents did suggest I see a therapist after the war, so this could be all in my own head."
She was rambling, and brushing aside everything Bull told her, and that wasn't exactly the most cordial thing to do when he'd been so helpful to her. So she looked up at him, trying not to feel so tiny despite him having a laughably significant height advantage over her, and tried for another small smile. "Sorry. I don't mean to write you off as some fever dream. I should be thankful you helped me with those bears. I am. Thankful. So thank you."