At the very least, Hermione is smart enough not to mouth off to someone, say, Bull-sized, especially given the fact that her magic doesn't seem as strong as it should be here. So while she'll gladly argue over this whole mage business as fiercely as she had the house-elves business back home, she'll use logic and common sense and sound reasoning to make her case and save the seething name-calling for behind the scenes.

Though she's scowling up at him as though he doesn't have a two-foot height advantage and Merlin only knows how much of a weight advantage on her, Hermione glances over at the hill he points out, the tiniest bit of that fire going out. "Are you saying that people who aren't mages or templars got mixed up in things?" she asks, voice just a touch softer. She seems to think about it for a moment before looking back up at Bull, expression hardening again. "All the mages wanted was freedom. The templars should have respected that. I can't say whether the mages are perfectly innocent in everything, but if one of them is more at fault-...."

She cuts herself off, then. This is all sounding painfully political, and she really shouldn't get herself involved when she doesn't know the whole story or whether Bull has friends among the templars. If spun the right way, the Death Eaters could have come off as sympathetic heroes campaigning for the magical community finally breaking out of the shadows. No one is a villain in their own story, after all.

Arms crossed tightly over her chest, she closes her eyes and lets out a long, harsh breath. "Sorry," she mutters. "This is just... a sensitive subject for me."