The gift moves through the space between worlds, through the time between times. It has a destination, and it's destination is ...

... that girl there, with the curious mind and something to prove. The gift wraps around her, gently cradling. But it has slightly too much momentum, and together they POP—

— onto a dirt road, warmed by the summer sun. Before her, a castle. Behind her, the sea. Around her, fields of sweet grasses and a distant forest. A cluster of other buildings, low and thatched, surround the castle.

Whaaaa - ?

A moment ago, she had been walking down the Transfiguration corridor, bookbag slung over her shoulder with her wand buried inside it. Now, she was outdoors, and Hogwarts Castle was nowhere in sight.

She looked suspiciously at the castle for several moments, as it dawned on her that Fortifications of Magical Europe was not nearly descriptive enough to identify which castle this was. Are there banners or flags she can make out?

Regardless, she walks towards the castle, intent on finding someone in charge to ask where she was and what on Earth had just happened.

The castle has no flag — for even the famous Raven banner will only be adopted in around 400 years — but it does have a lookout assigned to keep watch. And so, before she has gotten very far toward it, a group of men on horseback ride out to meet her.

"Hail! Hrothgar hight I, King of these lands. Brave in battle, and generous with gifts. Who are you who has come now before us, appearing instantly from out of thin air? Who are you to come clad in rayments and fibers so fine, with your nut-browned hair? I say who are you now, who has come to our castle, when for the last year we've been beset by a beast? Speak now and tell me, O curious traveler, of just what it is that has hastened you here."

A younger looking man on a horse to the king's right sighs a great sigh, such as can scarcely be comprehended.

"Please excuse my uncle. He's just like that. But, as he said — everyone here is a bit nervous, on account of the attacks, and we really would like to know how you came to visit."

Horses? Why are these wizards riding horses? Hermione is promptly distracted from her horse-related questions by the welcoming speech.

"I am Hermione Granger, a student in Gryffindor House of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And I mean to ask you how it is you brought me here?"

"Er, if you've been attacked, is everyone okay? Is there anything I can do to help?"

Ah, magic.

"I don't believe we've done anything to bring you here, although I'm not particularly wise in the ways of wizards," he admits. "It is, in some respects, a cruel sort of mercy that Grendel eats those that he kills — we have but few wounded, amongst the many dead. If you have the spellcraft to heal them, though, we would be most grateful."

"You'd be rewarded with rings, and accolades asides," the king agrees. "Although since you're a wise woman, witch-learnt at school, should you happen to know how a troll may be killed — a terrible brute, of towering size, with grey-green skin and beady black eyes — that too would see you richly rewarded."

"Oh no - trolls are really terribly dangerous," Hermione replies. "I'm only a first-year student, so I don't think I can do much, but of course I'll help however I can," she says doubtfully.

She bites her lip. "And I don't know how to kill a troll, at least not yet, but I do know that they like really, really bad smells. Is that sort of thing helpful?"

Would she like to have an intuitive sense for what things harm trolls?

The question drifts into her mind gently. It comes with the impression that any answer is fine, and that it just wants to help.

Yes, absolutely! She wants to know everything.

Oh good!

A spark of light blooms in her chest, and with it she gets a new intuitive sense. It's not intrusive — she doesn't have to pay attention to it if she doesn't want to — but she can now consider all sorts of things and get a vague impression of how much they would harm a troll. Grass: not very troll-harming. Swords: more troll-harming, but still not very. In fact, the most troll-harming thing she can see right now is the sun.

"It's a clever kenning," Hroðulf admits. "But I don't think we have a particular problem with luring him. He comes to attack our mead-hall every time we use it for a celebration, so it would be fairly easy to lure him into a trap. If you know other troll facts, they might help."

He signals the men and they wheel on their horses.

"But if you're to help our injured and be our guest, it would be better to talk in the hall. Can you ride?"

She looks wealthy, but she also looks Anglish, and he doesn't know her people's customs.

The Sun is the most troll-harming thing nearby? Or, wait - does sunlight harm trolls, or is the Sun itself dangerous to trolls by being a very hot planet sized ball of gas? Can she get a sense of how dangerous various things are to humans, as a comparison?

Oh, right, horses. Um. "I'm sorry, but I've never tried to ride a horse before. But I can try it, if you know a good way for me to get, um, up on top of one?"

Well, it's not a far ride, and she's a slight thing. Hroðulf leans down in his saddle to give her a hand.

"Put your foot just there, by the stirrup, and I'll pull you up behind me," he advises.

A second spark blooms to life in her chest in acknowledgement of her desire. The two sparks seem to like each other, dancing and twirling around one another in a fast orbit.

The sun is also dangerous to humans, the new spark tells her, but less so and differently. The light of the sun will harm a troll in minutes, and a human in hours. Hurling either one into a sun will definitely be fatal, though.

Up goes Hermione onto the back of the horse. It jolts, much more unpleasantly so than the school broomsticks, and she clings to both Hroðulf and the saddle.

Hah! It was the sunlight and not just the sun that's dangerous to trolls. Once she's on solid ground again she wants to look at wandlight and see if it's anything like sunlight. Can she get information from the sparks by thinking about various things, or just by looking at them?

Thinking works too! The wandlight from lumos will not harm a troll, although a bright enough casting could temporarily blind it.

The ride is short, and soon enough they all dismount in the courtyard of the castle. It is ... not a large castle. 'Cramped' might be a more accurate descriptor.

"We've been housing the injured men in the garrison here," Hroðulf explains. "Since they wouldn't fare well in a fight with Grendel, even if he doesn't seem inclined to venture into the mead-hall's sleeping rooms."

He hands off his horse, and leads her through a set of double-doors and into the keep.

Hermione was relieved to have her feet on solid ground again. She followed Hroðulf into the keep, nervously running her mind over the healing spells and potions she knew. It wasn't as many as she would have if she'd been prepared, but it sounded like these people didn't even have a first-year Hogwarts student helping them.

Indeed, some of the injuries are quite basic for a witch who reads ahead: broken bones, cuts, and contusions, mainly. They are clean and bandaged, splinted where possible, but other than that have received very little care.