Disclaimer: I own nothing
On days like this Hermione believed it did not pay to be a witch, and despite her earlier efforts, the biting cold had whisked in past her cloak and settled uncomfortably in her bones. Warming charms and hot butterbeer had done little to improve her state, so she had excused herself away from hero worshipping eyes and hands, ensconcing herself by the fire. Doggedly, Hermione rubbed her lower back coaxing warmth to settle into her hips and ease the persistent ache, maintaining the thread of conversation with Minerva and Albus with some difficultly.
A warm hand replaced hers so smoothly and efficiently that Hermione at first did nothing but absorb the relief she was being brought by the unknown hand. Turning to give her thanks she was met briefly with a raised eyebrow before its owner turned to rebuff and debate with the elder gryffindors in front of her.
All the while the hand never stopped its soothing, relieving motion rewarding her silence.