“Why would you…do you know what happened to him?”
Hermione tried to respond, but all she could manage was strangled noise that had no meaning. Narcissa scanned the room again and then slowly removed her wand from her pocket, aiming it at Hermione with her features hardening with concentration.
There was no way she could resist the spell. Hermione clenched her eyes shut as a rush of heat shot up her spine and into her skull.
Memories flashed against the backs of her lids in rapid succession, images of those first awful weeks when Draco had been forced to stay in her dorm. She saw herself stabbing his palm with her wand and then fastening their hands together. She saw Draco leaning over her after the bee-sting, and their fleeting first kiss. She saw herself returning to her room after her stay with Tonks, and him rushing towards her and grabbing her face. She saw them on the sofas, on the window-seat, on the ice, and all those kisses in between. And then she saw them in the Forbidden Forest; rain hammering against them as Draco just stood there, frozen in place, and she told him she loved him, and pressed the Portkey into his hand.
And then she was back in the Manor, staring at Narcissa’s stunned expression, and almost wanting to express her gratitude to the witch for allowing her to relive those memories. She felt weaker now; her lids like rocks and her whole system soft and pulsating. She was disorientated, bordering on delusional as her body and mind started to shut down.
“…help you,” Narcissa’s hushed voice brought her back. “If you swear to tell me where Draco is, I will get you out of here. I promise. Please, just tell me what happened to my son.”
Isolation, Chapter 31