[ Hermione knows that she is being lenient with him, that the accusations and the cruelty he had shown her not so long before are still a heavy weight in her mind, that it isn't going to be something she will forget soon, but even as she knows that she is also aware of who she is. She isn't the type of person to be unjustly cruel; she is the type of person to fight for those that can't fight for themselves, that would walk a harder path with dedication and would rise up in defence of her friends and her loved ones because she had the power to help.
Now, before her, is a man she doesn't understand, a man that is sad and broken and she doesn't know how to fix it. She doesn't know if it's her words that hurt him or the fact that he is leaving - or something else, something she can't name or put words to, something that happened a thousand years ago - he is that old, after all, and she would never hope to guess. He's not like trying to figure out what's upset Harry or Ron; teenage boys are not the same as the people she has gotten to know here and that is something new she has to try and begin to understand.
His hands shake and Hermione feels a tug, a pull, something that makes her want to reach out for him. She doesn't want him to suffer, or to be alone, just as much as she doesn't want to be alone herself, a dark part of her thinking that if he can have friends, if he can be cared for even when he can say such awful things, then she can keep hers too. That if they found out her secrets the worst wouldn't come to pass; they'd understand. ]
Gilgamesh.
[ Slowly, she pushes herself up and moves, taking her hands away from his and walking around the table. Hermione is careful with the action, a little unsure and nervous, despite having done something much like this before. It's been a long time since they were close, however, since any time where his arms had been around her and as hers move, slipping around his body and drawing him close, hoping to offer him comfort, she thinks on it and wonders if she is showing more and more weakness in the face of someone that would hurt her all the more for it. ]
It's going to be there. Our lance will be there, okay? I'm not going to go anywhere.
[ She doesn't know if she'll ever be sent home or if she will make it to the end of the war, but she would like to stay. She'd like to see this through and even if she doesn't make it a solemn promise she does do what she can to assure him, to lift a hand to touch the back of his head and rest there, eyes closed for a moment. ]
We'll remember our lessons, won't we? And our dance, in Redgate, and our tea - or the time you ate what felt like two dozen lemon cakes before running around like a monkey in a tower. We're not going to forget that.
[ Is there anyone capable of forgetting Gilgamesh without magical assistance? ]
no subject
Now, before her, is a man she doesn't understand, a man that is sad and broken and she doesn't know how to fix it. She doesn't know if it's her words that hurt him or the fact that he is leaving - or something else, something she can't name or put words to, something that happened a thousand years ago - he is that old, after all, and she would never hope to guess. He's not like trying to figure out what's upset Harry or Ron; teenage boys are not the same as the people she has gotten to know here and that is something new she has to try and begin to understand.
His hands shake and Hermione feels a tug, a pull, something that makes her want to reach out for him. She doesn't want him to suffer, or to be alone, just as much as she doesn't want to be alone herself, a dark part of her thinking that if he can have friends, if he can be cared for even when he can say such awful things, then she can keep hers too. That if they found out her secrets the worst wouldn't come to pass; they'd understand. ]
Gilgamesh.
[ Slowly, she pushes herself up and moves, taking her hands away from his and walking around the table. Hermione is careful with the action, a little unsure and nervous, despite having done something much like this before. It's been a long time since they were close, however, since any time where his arms had been around her and as hers move, slipping around his body and drawing him close, hoping to offer him comfort, she thinks on it and wonders if she is showing more and more weakness in the face of someone that would hurt her all the more for it. ]
It's going to be there. Our lance will be there, okay? I'm not going to go anywhere.
[ She doesn't know if she'll ever be sent home or if she will make it to the end of the war, but she would like to stay. She'd like to see this through and even if she doesn't make it a solemn promise she does do what she can to assure him, to lift a hand to touch the back of his head and rest there, eyes closed for a moment. ]
We'll remember our lessons, won't we? And our dance, in Redgate, and our tea - or the time you ate what felt like two dozen lemon cakes before running around like a monkey in a tower. We're not going to forget that.
[ Is there anyone capable of forgetting Gilgamesh without magical assistance? ]