"Father fancies himself something of a patron of the arts. It's a quirk of his he got after my mother died." Lucius explained to Narcissa as he prepared to leave and accompany his father in deciding as to whether they would go forward with Aladar's personal recommendation. Lucius knew, however, that his own presence there was more of a formality, as his father would most likely decide by himself and go with his own preferences.

"He spent his free time reading at first, and eventually found this author, this anthropologist that explores wizarding musical cultures. Bogdan Aladar, if you've ever heard of him. There's some books of his near the mantle, there. Eventually, father wrote to him - out of boredom, I imagine- and became friends with that character.

Ever since, he has had an affinity for music and such things. I suppose when you've had and done it all in your life, you can afford to turn to these things." At least his father's newly discovered hobby at the time made the old man lay off him in recent years, as he has tried to make a name for himself. Merlin knows how awful he'd been between those years when his mother died and when he found this outlet to channel his boredom.

"I do find that quite endearing." Narcissa laughed, before getting up and approaching the mantle. "I have to admit, I found it surprising that your father, of all people, would even be remotely interested in such things… Ah, this reminds me. Here, he asked me for a list of what I would like to be played at the ceremony."

Lucius put the piece of parchment inside the pocket of his robe, letting his fingers trail against Narcissa's knuckles.

"What would surprise me is if he wouldn't scrutinise this closely and ask you for an essay to explain each of your choices - He's worse than some of our professors were, I'm telling you." He was more than happy, however, that his father was happy with his choice of marrying Narcissa.

Very rarely had he seen him smile with his eyes, even if it lasted for only a glimmer of a second, and even rarer was the tight handshake he had offered the both of them as they announced their marriage and asked for his blessing. "And knowing Aladar like I do, I wouldn't be surprised with these bohemian types if they also have notes for anything you ask them to play."

He put his hand in the Floor Powder by the mantle, and took a deep breath before throwing it in and uttering the name of the Scottish Wizarding Opera Hall.

In the same vein as Lucius, Abraxas would also call Bogdan Aladar a bohemian spirit, although, unlike his son, he would not refer to him as such with disdain, but with almost a certain jealousy. He collected people that piqued his interest, learnt from and brought them into his circle - there was not a single wizarding musician in wizarding Britain, either born or immigrated, in the past five hundred years, that he did not know by name, by place of birth, or by what and how they played. He spent his time travelling and writing, and gaining enough knowledge to say that he had spent several hundreds of years in several hundreds of small villages, nursed in the souls of hundreds of families, learning their deepest secrets. And Abraxas understood, when he received Margarita's letter, why Bogdan called her his sister.

My good sir,

I welcome your letter and your offer with open arms. A letter from our mutual friend has reached me as well, detailing how well he knows you, and how much you appreciate our craft. So much, indeed, that I am afraid that you may think too highly of me, and I tremble when I think that I would let Bogdan and yourself down.

It is because of this, alas, that I will unfortunately have to deny your request to come to your house. If I would come, even if you would be unhappy with me, you may find it in your heart unable to say no to a recommendation from your friend, and I could not bear that, my good sir, I could not.

I, instead, would request of you, accompanied by your son and his bride as well, to see a performance of an orchestra I would lead in Edinburgh. The event celebrates a certain poem discovered from years ago, which wonderful people I know transcribed into song. I have attached the details alongside my letter. I beg of you, if you wish to hire me, to watch me perform, and if you would like to have me as your lead, please let me know by meeting me after the performance.

If you come to realise you do not like me, send me an owl, for I could not bear to see your disappointment. If that were to happen, I wish you and yours all the best in all your future endeavours, and I hope our paths would cross in better times.

Yours, if you would have me,

Margot

Abraxas folded the letter and put it in a pocket of his robes, before advancing to the balcony seat he had reserved for himself, Lucius and Narcissa.

Below, a small number of musicians was gathering onto a stage, arranging their instruments and tuning them. He noticed some of those faces - he recognised the old wizard tuning his violin at the back as Bogdan's great-great-grandfather, leaning against the back of a sturdy chair, although he could not remember his name. Abraxas had met him before, and recognised him immediately from how he would always dress himself to the nines, and no matter how hard of a piece he would play, he would barely move, as if he was born with the instrument in his hand. Even now, while most of the other musicians were tuning their instruments carefully, he was idly playing his, looking towards the sky.

He wondered which of the witches on stage was Margarita. There was one witch, skinny and tall, who did not seem to play an instrument, and kept walking barefoot in an enormously voluminous red skirt. Every now and then, when one of the other musicians would play a small tune, she'd immediately jump in and spin to its melody, endearing herself for a few seconds to the public below. She'd grin when that would happen, and clasp her cheeks with her palms. The other woman was an older woman with enormous glasses and long, white curly hair peeking out from a multicoloured headscarf. She was idly cleaning her glasses, holding an accordion at her side as she looked from one member of the public to the other, nodding to herself, as if she was measuring each of the audience members and approving of them one by one.

Abraxas turned as he noticed the witch nod towards his direction twice, and looked on as Lucius sat down next to him.

"Is Narcissa not here?"

"She sends her best, and what she would like to be played at the wedding, if she is to get a word in it." he said, handing Abraxas the note from Narcissa. He didn't care much for the look his father gave him, and leaned against his chair as he pointed at the accordion singer. "Is that her, then?"

"Has to be, I'd say. Either her or the young one, but she seems a bit too… discordant with the way she writes."

As he spoke, another witch, wearing a long dusty pink dress came on stage, gently patting the old violinist on the shoulder before taking a seat in front of the stage, holding a violin. She looked neither young nor old, neither mean-spirited nor kind-looking, a blank look on her face as she sat on a small chair and wrapped a black shawl around her shoulders. Her eyes bounced from one person to the other in the audience, similarly to the older witch who now sat behind her, a glimmer of a smile now visible on her face as she rested her violin on her collarbone and tilted her head, and opened her mouth, addressing the public for the first time.

"Good afternoon. We welcome you, and thank you all for coming to witness the first celebration, as most of you know, of finally transposing onto music one of the first instances recorded lyrically about an Animagus." A lanky musician on a cimbalom started playing alongside her, and the older witch started slowly playing her accordion, accompanying him. A sliver of insanity lit at the edge of her smile as she continued speaking, and she raised the bow of her violin, before slowly starting to play.

Abraxas leaned over, and realised that the witch speaking, with a glint of madness in her amber eyes and wide smile as she started playing her instrument, must be Margarita. She stood up as she continued playing in a madder and madder tone, the cimbalom and accordion player continuing alongside her. Slowly, more members of the orchestra appeared, a mix of older, mostly portly individuals and intellectual types, dressed in frocks and with thick glasses. Those older would tune their instruments quickly, before joining in without much thought and without looking at those around.

"However, would it truly be a celebration if we would simply come, enchant you for five minutes and leave? Those of you remembering your first love and its throes will certainly disagree with this! And it would be a disgrace to Madame Sparrow, who invited us and you alongside us, would it not? Let us then celebrate, with a selection of songs plucked from Scottish wizarding villages, plucked from wizards who settled here a long time ago from other places, plucked from outlaws, from lovers, dedicated to their own lovers and enemies alike!" She pointed to the witch on the accordion as she spoke, whose grin widened, and who took a wide bow to the clapping audience.

"Now, just as you are getting used to us, so must we get our instruments used to yourselves as well, so, if you will allow us!"

The first songs played were strictly instrumental, with only about half of the orchestra playing at the time. Those who would not play would disappear and Disapparate among audience members below them, sitting on empty seats and engaging the public in conversation for a few minutes, before going back to the stage and to their instruments. Margarita was the only one who played constantly, leading them all either with her violin or by the movements of her head, every now and then moving closer to one musician or another, before walking - no, almost floating, Abraxas would later remember - back to the centre of the stage.

Even when she was not playing, she sat at the front, swaying and dancing with the music, and Abraxas could swear that she would look straight at him as she did so, bearing that mad and maddening smile across her lips. Yet that claim could have been made by all other audience members, who all felt transported with each plucking and beat of their instruments. When they played a love song, the audience members swooned, when they played a song about loss, tears would glimmer in the eyes of those watching and those playing alike.

"What do you think, then?" Abraxas heard his son utter, yet he raised a finger, enthralled by the musicians leaving, until the young and thin witch returned with a lute, taking a seat a few steps behind Margarita.

"Now, my esteemed guests, we have become accustomed enough to each other, I would dare say, that we can now enjoy our lyrical experience as friends exchanging stories, in the same manner this poem has been passed down generation after generation." she spoke softly as she picked at strands of dark hair that caught onto her face, raising her hands as the young witch started playing the lute.

Abraxas was no longer paying attention to Lucius, mesmerised by the amber eyes flickering from under thick, furrowing brows as the story of an outlaw and his doe Animagus lover, and his downfall at the start of winter, as he was too poor of a wizard to keep himself warm or fed unfolded itself from between her lips. The song ended in a lament as the outlaw begged for spring to come, and how as he was giving his last breaths, in the middle of a snowstorm the sun suddenly appeared, and the forest around him grew, bearing fruit at his feet. She took on theatrical movements as she sang, which Lucius found ridiculous at first, before finding himself oddly gripped by the story, especially in moments where the lute would suddenly stop, and she would soften her voice to almost a whisper, begging the Sun to appear once again and bear its fruit.

Margarita suddenly whipped her head up, picking up her violin once again, and looked on as Madame Sparrow approached the stage and started playing onto her accordion, her voice taking on a mournful tone as she delved into singing the preserved account of a Muggle revolt in 1953, from the perspective of a Muggle peasant. It was an honour for her to be able to present this version dug out, collected, translated and transposed onto violin, accordion and lute by Valerie Sparrow, one of the leading figures of wizarding ethnomusicologists.

By the end of their performance, she had forgotten that she was supposed to meet the Malfoy family, and had retreated behind the main stage alongside the other musicians, who, led by Sparrow, started an impromptu celebration, pouring coffees and schnapps as the cimbalom player started to improvise on an old piece of from his small Bulgarian village.

"Play, Vio, play!" grinned Madame Sparrow, and soon enough, the other musicians started accompanying him, the small room started bustling with songs and melodies fresh and new - merrier, faster, and madder than those sung in front of the audience, each of them showing off to the person next to them. It was in that atmosphere that Margarita got pulled away as she was told that someone was waiting for her outside.

She exited the loud room with a cigarette and a cup of Turkish coffee, pulling her shawl closer to herself as she came closer to the two men. She looked from one to the other, and took a sip of her coffee as she analysed them. The son, Lucius, looked like many of the young prideful types she'd met many a time in her job playing at weddings and other such events, a disdainful look in his eye being the only thing differentiating him from the others. He looked as if he was holding in an insult or other, and she wondered what she must have done to offend him. Had no one told him how to hide his true intentions and not wear his heart on his sleeves?

His father, with his green eyes speckled with gold, parted snow-white hair and sunken cheeks, struck her as a much more interesting figure - he seemed harsher than his son, however, there was something in his gaze, something she could not quite put her finger on, that interested her greatly.

Abraxas Malfoy himself could not find the words to describe his first meeting with Margot. He thought many a time back on that first meeting, and for a long time, until the wedding, closed his eyes only to catch a glimpse of his memory of that meeting. She wore a constant smile, which seemed neither constrained nor a facade, and spoke to Abraxas with ease, as if they had been companions for a long, long time, only without knowing each other yet. Margarita Gregorovitch did not care to be addressed by her last name, but asked them, if they were to call her Margot, to ensure to pronounce the 't', as that was how her father always intended for it.

Lucius said he was comfortable calling her Margarita, and she laughed heartily, and turned to Abraxas, but he did not know how to respond to those vivacious, laughing, amber eyes. Yet every memory of her did a disservice to the singing, to her violin playing, to how she'd pull her shawl closer and how she'd laugh.

To Lucius's objections and to the distant sounds of musicians laughing and heartily continuing their improvisation and celebrations, they signed on a small orchestra, a stringed sextet that was led by Margarita.

"Did you pick these, then?" she looked briefly through the note that Abraxas handed her, before looking up to Lucius, who replied they were Narcissa's choices. "Elegant woman, your soon-to-be-wife, I must say… the tango she picked will be quite an interesting one, indeed it will be... I can only hope to do her taste justice."

"As long as you do not sing of Muggles again in my presence, I think we will be peachy indeed." Lucius commented, and he noticed Margarita's demeanour changing as she finished her cup of coffee, addressing it rather than Lucius when she responded.

"All of these tangos and waltzes then… Is there a specific style you will like them played in? I take it you dance them well, then?"

Abraxas looked towards his son, who stuttered, unsure of what to say. No, he most certainly could not dance them well, and both of them knew that. Neither from him nor from his mother, his son inherited two metaphorical left feet, and Abraxas was thankful at least Narcissa knew how to hold her own when it came to such things.

"Do you know how to dance them then, my good sir?" her tone changed as she addressed Abraxas, and he could have sworn there was a twinkle in her as she asked him this. Oh, she would see how well he could dance them, he certainly would be sure of that…