"Hermione Granger?" Dubois-Volkov asked, glancing up sharply from the Muggle book she was flicking through, blue eyes piercing straight through Hermione as though she were a specimen of some kind that the older witch was studying. Hermione swallowed, feeling unaccountably nervous; the woman might look a little mad, yes, but obviously she was stable or the Order wouldn't have wanted her. She just seemed rather...eccentric, standing there in her mismatched Muggle clothing, flicking swiftly through the book and muttering to herself in a muddled patois of French and Russian.