Fancy medieval types might kiss ladies on the hand, but it's not something that most young witches from the U.K. are particularly used to. Luckily for Hermione, she's not like most of the other girls she knows, who might start tittering nervously because a pair of lips touched her. Tittering has never been her style, after all.

Instead, she pulls her hand back once he lets go and rests it in her lap - out of sight, out of mind.

Hermione watches him as he talks, and it's a few moments before she realizes that he's not exactly lingering on the pages long enough to even skim them. He can't possibly be getting any information out of it, but asking for the book hadn't seemed to be some kind of pretext to start a conversation, and really, his one-sided chattering can't exactly be said to be a conversation. Goodness, is this what people feel like when she starts in on one of her lectures?

"I'm... afraid not. I've never seen one myself, so all I know is that they're large and reptilian and ferocious. Sort of like smaller dragons, which don't make for very good pets. Believe me, I know."

Out of everything he'd gone on about, there's only one other thing that had really caught her attention enough for her to comment on it. "'Back home'?" she asks, looking down at his hand and finally noticing the familiar green glow. "You're a rifter too, then?"