[For a moment, he believes Hermione has made her choice. He cannot read her thoughts but he's learned, over time, to read her expressions, the little bits of body language that so defined her. The quirk of a smile, the raise of a brow, that ever so subtle lift to her tone whenever she was so sure of something—which didn't happen as often now, but it left no room for doubt of her ability. She struggles with herself but in that moment, Gilgamesh believes she'll let go of the ring.

She doesn't. She's pulling back and away and only just barely does he keep from clinging to her. The lines between Enkidu and Hermione are blurred, the boundary between the friend that wasn't and the friend that would always be. She asks of him the highest sort of favor, and though he should deny her, he doesn't.

Instead, he takes the tip of his finger and starts to trace over her hand the invisible outline of Command Seals. They are unmistakably Dorian's, the bladed rose that symbolized their pact. He knows she's seen them before. He knows she can put together what this means. They are less than nothing here and now, just hints of mana teased along skin, but true meaning rests in intent rather than reality.]

In another time, and another place, most certainly... you would've been my Master, Hermione Granger.

[I would've pledged myself to you. That is what those words mean. He pulls back, too, looks up at her.]

Feel as though I will protect you. Upon the seals borne by Dorian Gray, if you call for me, I will come.