Hermione was attempting to roll up the sleeves of the sweatshirt and when sat himself back down, and his statement made both her eyebrows knit together in confusion. She turned a bit better to face him, hands on her knees, and she cocked her head to one side, "Well... it depends on what you have to say, Octavius. I can't promise I won't be offended, but I will try my best to not be. You don't strike mas the kind of bloke to be crude," though she had to keep reminding herself, he was still a relative stranger. She didn't know why she kept thinking he wasn't - she felt some how as if she had known him for years. Was that even possible?