It took him a long moment to parse the question, his hands busy with thumbing the mobile open one more time as if it might suddenly ring back with Amelia's response. Nothing. He closed it and slid it into his pocket, then buttoned his jacket with careful, shaking fingers.
Are you alright? No. He was far from alright, that unexpected fear making him feel the cold down to his bones, as if he might shake apart. His breathing was faintly rough and rasping in his lungs, aching with every bit of air drawn in. She should have responded. Amelia lived with her mobile in her hand, and never ignored a call from him. She would drop another call. She would want to tell him what had happened, that she was alright. That the explosion had come as she walked towards Chanson. That it was three shoppes over. That she was safe.
Was he alright? No.
Skin far paler than normal, grey eyes full of storms, Draco fought to control his breathing as he looked at Hermione. He blinked once, well aware that too long had gone by for him to lie, and yet, he had no idea what else to say. Years of habit kept his voice almost entirely steady, a snide tone slipping into it in self defense. "Of course I am fine." His gaze slipped back to the window, and he imagined the sounds of sirens outside, the cries of people in horror and calling for help. He imagined Amelia's screams, and placed her in a position of digging into the rubble, or martialling those around her into putting the fire out before the proper authorities arrived. That would explain why she had not responded.
He drew in another breath, let it out slowly, and met Hermione's gaze again. Something ought to be at the tip of his tongue, some flippant remark to save face and allow him to go find Amelia. But his defenses were weakened in shock, his hands curled tightly around nothing, years of resistance keeping him from drawing his wand. "We should go see what has happened," he said, as if it meant nothing to him.
He pulled open the door to her office, and motioned her politely through first.