"It's all right. I just need a moment," she got out in scarcely more than a whisper, and then realised with a start that her cold hand was folded up in his warm one, his thumb running over and over her skin in little swipes he meant to be comforting. She squeezed instead of shaking free, consciously trying to slow and control her breathing, fixating on the feel of Malfoy's thumb rubbing over the back of her hand, his fingers curling around hers. Physical touch was always grounding, Hermione told herself, as she clung tighter.