Digging into her things, she pulls out a notebook and a quill. The book flips open without a word, the quill posing over the page. The quill marking the robe on the list, as well as notes about what's happened to them. She's not speaking them but they're going onto the page neatly in her precise print as does everything she does by hand. She had come into this with her knowledge of magic though, as a graduate and a survivor of the war, and she didn't need to dictate or work by word either.

Hermione goes a bit pale at that, even as her brow furrows. "You know? It's possible. It would make sense. Might also explain why we're still in possession of our memories," she points out. "But it also means she's in possession of them as well."

Hermione watches as he casts the spell, frowning heavily as she watches their luggage, her books, even the quill glowing. "That wicked witch," she mutters, rolling her eyes. "We have two choices. Try and counter it and risk her reaction, or we can leave it, and let him approach us, and when he does, turn him away. She can't force us to be nice to him."