Draco stared, unable to look away. He blinked against the dust and grit in his eyes as they watered. His jaw was stiff and tight, aching with the pressure it took to keep it from shuddering as he hissed breath in and out through clenched teeth.
He jerked at the touch to his arm, looking down at her as if he'd forgotten she was there. Grime made tracks down his face, lungs hurting either from the pollution in the air, or from panic, he didn't know, and wasn't sure it mattered just then. He held up one finger and took his mobile out again, and pressed redial quickly.
From across the way he heard the ring, saw the rescue worker bend down to touch the phone next to one burned body.
He snapped his phone shut and shoved it back into his pocket. He thought he felt his heart stop, thudding painfully in his chest when it started again. There was a gasp, aching and raw, and he couldn't think why Hermione would do so, unaware that the sound came from himself.
He glanced at her. "You need to go," he echoed her words to him. "You're an ST. You're not safe here." And yet, he couldn't seem to make his own feet move, still staring at the bodies as they were pulled free, his mind replaying the sound of her phone. He could see her brown hair if he looked, and the edge of the coat she'd worn when he saw her last in Paris. She looked like a burnt and crumpled doll. And she didn't move. Even as a rescue worker bent over her, she didn't move at all.