[ She, of course, has no idea. The private moments they've shared have shown her a man a little different from the arrogant, nonsensical fool she had met the first time around and even her nerves around him, her strange confusion about how she ought to feel about him, does nothing to make her think that he holds anything that might be negative or ill-willed. Hermione is, after all, a strong believer in character. Even when Draco Malfoy had been at his darkest she had still had faith that he wasn't a Death Eater (proven wrong, but then right when he showed that he had no choice) and she had always had a strange, self-satisfied pleasure at knowing that the part of her that had believed in Severus Snape had been correct to do so.

Maybe it's a little silly of her, but she has gotten more stern with her trust over the last year. Perhaps it's lucky that Gilgamesh met her before he did, before the edging cruelty of the Drabworld had sandpapered away her faith in strangers and the idea that she might be able to believe in most of the people she came across.

It's what makes his touch a familiar gesture, comforting rather than being unwelcome. ]

I'm glad to hear it. I've always enjoyed learning, you know, and I've never seen the point of doing something if you don't intend to try and do it all.

[ Look at her in her third year; bright and talented, a star among her peers, so desperate to learn she bent time to her will to make sure she could attend all her classes. So dedicated, so careful that she lost sleep and almost drove herself mad with it.

Her eyes flick, though, her cup stopping halfway to her mouth before she smiles. ]

You didn't need to do that.