Astoria wishes she could just tell him the stories. However, her instinct to live, her own self-preservation tugs at her, whispering not to just give it away. These stories are her bargaining chip. "I will tell you one a day."
Draco whips his wand to her throat, not pressing hard. He doesn't have to; his threat is clear. "No. Tell me them all. Now." Astoria places her hand on his arm, over the hand that grips the wand. "I need to ensure my own life. I'll tell them to you. Or you could kill me, but then you'll never know. You'll never know the last thing your godfather wanted you to know before his death."
Draco is glaring at her, and she knows he must hate her. It's a huge risk not killing her, and he really has been as nice as her possibly could about it. But that doesn't change the situation. It doesn't change that she has to stay alive. She must. She has always known, that in her very soul she was meant for life. It seemed so cruel that fate would cut her already shortened life in half.
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" he shouts. "You had almost two years to tell me. And not once, did you ever attempt to!" Astoria glares at him. "You weren't there. I tried to ask where you were but no one knew. I did my best, Draco."
Draco takes a deep breath and lowers his wand. He looks wild, panicked, and sick. She can see the guilt in his eyes. He doesn't want to kill her. He doesn't want to die himself. "I'm sorry. I know the situation it puts you in. I know you don't want to do this. I can see it. But I have to look out for myself to. You would do the same thing. I know you would."
Draco turns without a word, and exits the room, the door slamming behind him. Astoria sinks to the bed and sobs. She's really done it now.