Draco hadn't been able to interpret any of it, at all. He also, thankfully, hadn't felt any of it nearly as deeply as she had. He had a wild moment in which he thought that the blood on her face and then on her fingers was from something that had happened in her vision, and then he realized it was a nosebleed.
He was holding her up, hands on her shoulders, not bothered by either the tears or the blood. He met her eyes, not trying to press into her mind anymore; he wasn't the Svetkova traitor, he couldn't get in there and take away the pain for her. All he'd be able to do was witness what she was feeling now.
"Puis-je faire quelque chose?" he asked. He didn't know what that might be. Something stronger to drink, maybe, or a potion for the pain. He wasn't entirely selfless in offering this; he wanted her to be able to feel better to explain what she thought that vision meant. But she was also his friend, inasmuch as he had friends anymore, with the exception of the people he'd known forever.