"What happened?" Hermione doesn't really care, but she needs something to distract her or she's going to burst into miserable, hopeless tears, and if she starts she doesn't know if she'll be able to stop. His thumb sweeps lightly back and forth over hers, and she doesn't think he even knows he's doing it. This is Malfoy, she thinks – and then, this is nice, she thinks, and the world itself seems to quiver and distort at that unnatural thought, before settling again.