Gilgamesh holds fast to her when she cries. This isn't the first time he's comforted a woman like this and it's doubtful it will be his last in a world full of tragedy, but none of the words really and truly reach him. Gilgamesh killed with a flick of his wrist, cruelly and thoughtlessly. No sympathy exists for her. No compassion awaits her. People die when they deserve it, and more's the pity for whoever might mourn them.

"You are well, you are both well," he hushes her, repeats it like a mantra as he strokes along her face. He must contain himself. He must keep from breaking into one of those wicked grins. Her agony thrills him and so does Dorian's, an agony he brought upon himself with the knowledge that none of it would matter at all... except for the hell he'd have to pay later to bring his friend back down to earth. Fool.

It's too easy for him to set her aside with hands far too kind. They cannot go on like this forever and he won't abide Dorian lazing about forever, either. So he makes sure she's tended to then rises to his feet, strides to Dorian's corpse that isn't and mutters low for his ears only:

"Wake up. You're upsetting all of us with this pitiful melodrama."

And he doesn't care, not one bit. He'll kick him soon if he keeps lagging behind this way, Hermione be damned.