Draco took a deep breath. He had to find out information, for Hermione. "I – I did. Can I talk to Father? I…I think I'm ready to atone for my behavior. I think I'm ready to join you."

Constantine clearly didn't believe Draco, and to be fair, he couldn't entirely blame her. To her credit, she didn't entirely laugh him off. "And why might that be?"

Draco paused. "I had a dream that reminded me of my roots. Pureblood roots."

Constantine rolled her eyes. "Fine, I shall bring you to our master, then."

"Why don't you just call him Father?" Draco challenged, wondering if she would let him stand on his own.

"He is not my father." Constantine used her wand to unravel the ropes.

Draco was free.

For a moment, he considered jumping overboard. He glanced at Constantine, who was watching him like a hawk. She was waiting to see what he would do. If he really meant what he'd said.

Draco stood up slowly. He gave her a weak smile. "Where is Father?"

"He is resting." She said, pointing him to the door. "Walk."

"Where am I going?" He asked. She didn't respond, so he started walking.

Constantine took him to the biggest bedroom on the yacht, where his parents used to sleep when Draco was younger. She spelled him once again, in the hall, and then knocked on the door to awaken Lucius.

She slipped inside at his behest. Draco strained against his invisible bonds, trying to hear what was happening. He could just barely make out parts of their conversation.

"…A RAT, Constantine!"

"I tried – I'm sorry…"

"Too weak…"

"The boy…dangerous…."

The door abruptly opened. Constantine muttered the counter-spell and Draco scrambled to his feet.

"He is feeling unwell." Constantine announced. "You will speak to him later."

"What's happened?" Draco asked. "Why is he unwell?"

"You are not to disturb him, Cousin. It's your fault he's unwell." Constantine sounded miffed.

"My fault? What have I done?"

"It's what you've failed to do." Constantine huffed. "Forget it! Let's go, I'll tie you back up."

"Wait!" Draco held his hands up. "Couldn't you just lock me in a room? Please don't tie me up again."

Constantine paused, contemplating. As she looked around the room, Draco took a moment to actually look at her. She looked the same as she did during the Winter Ball, with her hair in perfect ringlets and her smile the same as Aunt Bellatrix's. But the more closely he looked…the bags under her eyes were darker than they had been back then. Her skin was pale, as always, but there was an ashy hue to it. Her fingers were wrapped around her wand tightly, but they trembled every once in a while.

The amount of magic she was doing….it must not be sustainable. It was wearing on her.

Draco wasn't even sure that was possible.

Magic requires concentration and imagination. Casting spells non-stop tires out wizards and witches, especially mentally. Could it be true?

"Very well." Constantine finally agreed, and Draco focused back to the present. He imagined she didn't want to waste her strength on subduing him. "I'll put you in the kitchens for now. You can eat something. You're wasting away, dear cousin."

"As are you." Draco shot back. "Where is my mother?"

"I put her in one of the guest rooms." Constantine replied. "She's sleeping. You need not worry."

"Is she still under the Imperio?"

Constantine shot him an irritated look. "I think you've gotten all the answers you need. Walk."

As she promised, Constantine locked Draco in the kitchen. He looked around for something to eat, missing his wand greatly. He didn't know if Constantine had confiscated it while he was unconscious or if it had fallen out of his hand and rolled away somewhere, but he wished he had the ability to perform an Alohomora.

Hours passed uneventfully, which Draco supposed he should be grateful for. Truthfully, he was bored out of his mind. He tried to think about what his father's plan could be, but he couldn't come up with anything evil enough.

He didn't know how much time had passed before the door opened and Constantine entered. She shot him a bored look. "What have you been doing in here?"

"Entertaining myself." Draco sneered. "Considering I'm not able to see my own father."

"Don't worry yourself. You will soon enough." Constantine opened a cupboard and pulled out a flask. "Do you want some?"

"What is it?" Draco asked uncertainly.

"Don't tell me you're worried? I promise not to poison you until we're off this boat."

Draco rolled his eyes.

Constantine passed the flask over to him. He sniffed it, but it didn't smell distinctive. It could be water, for all he knew.

Part of him was sure that Constantine was playing a trick. Summoning his inner-Hermione, he chose to play it safe and pushed the flask away.

Constantine huffed irritably. She headed back out the door. "I'll be back later, once your father is back to his usual self. Enjoy!"

"Wait!" Draco shouted, leaping up. "I'll come with you! At least give me something to do –"

The door slammed shut.

Draco groaned in frustration.

…

Eventually, the silence and boredom got to him. In frustration, Draco picked up the flask and gulped it down. He made a face, expecting the burning sensation of firewhiskey.

It was so much worse.

He choked down the drink, which tasted vile – like the taste form of the Cruciatus curse. His body exploded in agony, like there was a massive beehive buried in his gut, buzzing and writhing throughout his skin. He let out a weak groan, but his body didn't stop. It was almost like it was changing size, changing shape. He felt like his skin turned into ash that was animated and forced into an ungodly shape.

"Help!" Draco croaked, but there was no response.

Slowly, the blinding pain faded. He managed to stand up, but his knees nearly buckled under him. He staggered to the cupboards, thinking to vomit.

He grabbed a spoon and looked at his reflection.

Lucius Malfoy was staring back at him.

Draco jerked back in shock, and then he heard the door to the kitchen swing open. He whirled around.

And Harry Potter pointed his wand to him. "Imperio."