She came to his house at first to have a look through his library. In the middle of the day, with an offering of tea and biscuits, with music playing and him staying further away from her than he wished to, as etiquette required, even with no other witnesses. He was afraid he would frighten her away if he were too forward - after all, he had to remind himself, as sprightly and young as she could make him feel when they would be dancing, as much as he could see himself in his prime when staring in her eyes, and as much as she would bring back memories of Aurora, that she was not his late wife.

Yet there were many things Margot did that would remind him of her.

When she would be in his library and indulge him in conversation, her eyes were large and her smile soft, and Abraxas could not help but think back of Aurora, how she would also turn her head over her shoulders to talk to him, deeply engrossed in a book or other.

"I never liked being in a house with a house elf." Margot said once, offhandedly. "I never liked them much- I tolerate yours, because I am fond of you, Abraxas, but… they give me nightmares, they do."

"Why?" he laughed.

"Oh, they're so ugly, they are - and to have such a creature rummage around the house, day and night, able to listen to anything and everything- oh, I couldn't bear it!"

"Do you propose I get rid of it, then?"

"My father never needed one, said you can never put your trust something magical - to be fair, he never liked any magical creature much, unless they were dissected on a table for him to examine them for whatever properties they had." she commented amused, before she turned her head even more to face him, and spoke in a whisper, pressing one hand against the side of her lips. "You could have someone else in your house."

"Such as yourself?"

She answered his question by raising her shoulders, turning back to the manuscript she was examining.

So he had gotten rid of his house elf momentarily, just to see her reaction, sending it to Lucius and Narcissa, as a temporary gift. But he had never gotten his house elf back, not when he noticed that Margot was spending even more time inside his house, and that on certain occasions, he had almost convinced her to remain overnight, yet to no avail.

Yet, unlike the house elf, in which he had fully put his trust in due to the magical contract of servitude, Margot had her own conscience, her own beliefs, her own mind, which he had no control over.

In recent weeks, rumours started appearing that the fifth floor of the Assembly House had turned from a place of artists exchanging ideas to an almost political forum, in which wizards sympathising with Dumbledore met. Abraxas had heard of these rumours himself, and knowing just how much time Margot would spend there, started wondering as to where her political affinities were lying.

He started prying for them, yet with each occasion he did so, in whatever ways he asked, she would simply grin as she would lightly put her fingers, smelling of orange blossom and lime, over his mouth.

"I don't care for politics, Abraxas." she would murmur, yet he was never quite sure of the truth of her words, and he was never quite sure of what he would do if she would have told him otherwise. "And I do not care for yours either."

One time, however, he had decided to answer her.

"Would you still be fond of me then, if I made you choose between going to the fifth floor of the Assembly House and coming here?" Abraxas asked her back, grasping her wrist in his hands.

"Ah, but would you have been fond of me, if I was not a Gregorovitch, to use that name as a curtain for my status, for the fact that my mother is a Muggle?" Margot asked him then as a provocation, slithering her hand to caress his cheek.

"Surely, as a collector of songs and musician, my love, you have a good enough grasp of helping instil certain ideas. And war songs have been a musical tradition for centuries, you've told me so yourself, and I've listened to them many a time." As he spoke, he pressed his lips against her fingers, against her knuckles, and the inside of her wrist, and watched her eyes soften.

"I don't instil ideas, I listen to them. That is my craft, listening. Listening without the ones I am singing to even knowing I have been listening to them, without them even speaking a word, examining what is in their hearts, in their minds, what is weighing on them, what exalts them. If it is war, I pull war then. If it is love, I pull love. If it is desperation, I pull that as well.

I pull these emotions, these ideas out of people's hearts, and simply parade them back wrapped in a beautiful melody, for them to reflect and do as they please with their newfound discoveries," she mused, placing her arms against his shoulders as a grin grew on her face. "such as you are doing now."

Abraxas knew very well that she was deflecting, yet he found himself taking advantage of her deflection by placing his hands on her cheeks and bringing her lips close to his. It was in discussions such as these, for they cannot be called arguments, that he would chisel at the chaste domesticity between them, and on that occasion he got to taste the warm sun on the fullness of her lips, on the lips that have lulled and examined thousands of souls with simply one look. He could feel the beat of her heart with his hands pressed against her ears, and wished once again that she would relent and allow him to finally have her, yet once again she refused.

She always left, no matter how many times he had said that in his enormous house, she could have a room for herself, no matter how many times he would lie that it was just for the ease of not having to come back.

It would be uncouth, she would say.

"Yet you propose I come with you on your travels." he said once.

"I do, Abraxas, because it's different there." she insisted, tugging at the lapels of his robe with a cheeky smile. "We could truly not care, there, for anything. We could do anything, we could explore such rich cultures, it's what you have been reading about. I see, when you look at me, when I talk about Germany, about Bulgaria, about Egypt-"

"Ah, and pray tell, how do I look at you, Margot?"

She stopped in her tracks, and her eyes shifted away from his. Abraxas could not help but grin, and pulled a hair away from her face. She was a composed woman, yet when she spoke about travelling, about foreign countries, her eyes would light up and her composure would slowly chip away to reveal a maddening and infectious sense of excitement.

With his money, he was sure it would be quite a trip, as she would no longer have to only visit places that had family or people who could host her. Yet he was unsure about accompanying her, especially with the current situation in England, which he closely monitored, especially since Lucius appeared to know about certain events before they would make the headlines in the Daily Prophet.

One day, however, instead of leaving towards dusk, Margot appeared, in a pink silk dress and with a dark robe thrown on top of it. Despite his surprise, he welcomed her inside his house, of course he did, and offered her some wine. He took a seat on a nearby couch, and watched her drink half of the glass while sitting at his oak table, tracing her finger against the edges, decorated with distorted figures of gargoyles.

"Have you ever heard of the ballad of the snake, my love?" she finally asked, as she finished her wine.

"I am afraid I don't believe so."

"I haven't listened to it in ages, I haven't… I heard it from this old wizard in this village by the Danube, he must be dead by now. He could barely see or smell, and he had a huge belly, he had, as if he were with child, and had been for the past twenty years!" she laughed, putting her hands in front of her belly and motioning an enormous belly. Abraxas couldn't help but laugh as well at her wide motions. "He said he had made it himself, said he had seen this himself, a widow give birth to a child at the same time that under their house, a snake was laying its eggs, and the child and the snake grew like brothers, until-..." her voice broke, and Abraxas waited as he watched her lips move soundlessly, as if she were singing the song to remember, until she shook her head. "It was wrenching, to listen to him, it was. By the time we went there, he had forgotten most lyrics, but the way he sang, that from the hilltops people started gathering, leaving their homes, able to hear his voice, guided by it alone… It was a sight to behold."

"Why have you remembered this now, of all times, Margarita?"

"Because he hadn't made it himself, I learnt from Madame Sparrow. She says there is another version, and I want to find it. No, I need to find it." she declared, getting up from the table and approaching him. She offered her hands to him, and he grasped her wrists and pulled her close, surprised at how malleable she was in his hands. Before he knew it, she was on the couch next to him, her legs over his, and her forehead pressed against his.

"Is that why you had to rush all this way here? Instead of sending an owl to let me know your intentions, or waiting until tomorrow?" he murmured, brushing her hair with his fingers.

She leaned in his hand, and he pushed further with his gestures, and kissed her once again. His hand reached for her clavicle, for her shoulder, and pulled at her sleeve to reveal her bare shoulder.

"When was the last time you left England, monsieur Malfoy? Hm? Paid tribute to your roots?" she asked with a smile as she pulled away to pull the robe from her shoulders, and remain in her dusty pink dress, the same one he had first seen her in.

Yet this time, under its playful pretence, there was a tinge of urgency in her tone, which made him realise that she may soon undertake this journey to hunt for her song, with or without him. And there was something in the way she asked him, how she addressed him directly, which made him think this trip may be longer than others, and now that he had known the taste of her lips…

And by morning, it wasn't only the taste of her lips he had known. No, he had seen and felt the curve of her bare breast, and known how infectious her laughter was when the shadow of his beard would touch her belly.

He could not imagine himself knowing her away anymore, knowing he would not be able to once again hear the delightful little sounds she made in the throes of passion, see the curves of her body as she was on top of him, lit up by the moonlight.

He could not imagine himself knowing her away anymore, not when he would close his eyes, grasp her hips, and for a moment have memories of Aurora brought back. For a sweet moment, on that fateful night, he was once again young and with his beloved late wife. And when he would open his eyes, he would lose Aurora to the past, but would find another delightful, lovely woman in front of him, in the present.

Perhaps it was time to wrap up his affairs and consider an extended voyage - after all, at his age, if not then, with a beautiful woman by his side that was willing to go to such extents to convince him in such ways in order to have her way, then when?

And a few days later, he had a meeting with an old acquintance, a meeting which helped him make up his mind regarding leaving England.

"I thought we would be having some other company among us, so to speak."

Abraxas turned his head towards Tom Riddle, amused by his words. He looked around his own living room, as if to double-check the emptiness of his own house, before shaking his head, a cheeky smile creeping on his lips. He knew, of course, what he was referring to - Abraxas knew very well that his outings with Margot were no secret, and he never intended for them to be.

In the midst of what would most likely be called a war in years to come, considering his own connections, from several decades ago, with the one now known as the Dark Lord or Voldemort to many, him being seen publicly with Margot allowed him to maintain the certain trustworthiness many Ministry members had towards him, and kept him outside of the line of questions of such Ministry works as Crouch.

"I am afraid it's only the two of us tonight." he stated with a wry smile, knowing very well he had asked Margot not to come in the coming days.

"Is that so?" Riddle smiled.

Abraxas idly patted at his chin as he nodded, analysing Tom Riddle. He had been wondering what the purpose of his late-night visit was ever since he received the letter requesting it- he had barely seen him in the past couple of years, and at certain points felt that they had fully lost contact with one another. It was only when, at a certain point, he had started hearing from Lucius about a certain Dark Lord that he slowly realised this Dark Lord was but the same as the young boy he guided as a Prefect about forty years ago. A few months after that, he received a letter from Tom, advising that after many years of extensive travels and knowledge learnt, he had returned back to England, and briefed Abraxas on his ideals of starting a new chapter in wizarding Britain, confirming his own suspicions.

Wouldn't you join me?

Lord Voldemort had asked at the end of his letter, addressing Abraxas with this name for the first time.

I am afraid I am too old for these things, my friend, but you have my full support, as you have always had.

Abraxas Malfoy had answered, picturing the boy with high cheekbones and dark, slicked back hair he remembered from his schooling days.

But the man who came today couldn't have been more different. His face appeared gaunt and hollow, and his eyes were bloodshot, almost gleaming red. Abraxas wondered if his vision had suddenly deteriorated, as the figure who entered his house couldn't have been more different when compared to the young, handsome man he used to spend his time with, educating him on the wizarding world.

He still remembered the first time he talked to Riddle.

"I've never met a half-blood wizard who knows so little about the wizarding world." Abraxas had offhandedly mentioned as he guided him alongside the other first years to show them their quarters.

"My father was a wizard, my mother must've taken me from him." Tom answered, Abraxas only much later finding out that that particular statement was something the young boy only wanted to believe. "I just need to find out who he was…"

"Riddle, was it? I haven't heard that name before."

He had not believed him at first, but with a keen interest in the history of wizarding families, during his final years at Hogwarts, Abraxas took the undertaking of helping the young Tom Riddle track down his father - and later on, mother, as he found out that he was indeed a half-blood, albeit on his mother's side. It was those times, spent in the nooks of the library, that they formed a short-lived friendship, which continued through letters until Abraxas had gotten married and Tom announced he would be stopping his correspondence to focus on his travels and expansion of his knowledge.

"Pity that. I heard certain things about a young woman…" he said, leaving a pause for Abraxas to fill in.

His response, however, merely repeated what Margot herself had said when he had told her, many weeks ago, that if she wished to, she could remain in one of his rooms.

"Uncouth to have a young unmarried woman at this time of the night."

"People would talk, wouldn't they? Not that they do not already. Your late wife, after all, was quite a different woman from this one. Her ideals, her status…"

"I don't believe Aurora's bones much care in the grave." Abraxas answered curtly, remembering very well, when Aurora died, that Riddle was one of the only ones who had done him no courtesy in acknowledging it, despite Aurora being one of the only Slytherins to give the young first-year any time of the day. Whilst most, including himself, avoided young Tom for a long period of time, Aurora was the only one who dismissed the others calling him Slytherin's Mudblood, and who believed him from the beginning when he asserted he had wizarding blood. It was Aurora who convinced him to helpRiddle track down his parentage all those years ago, and Abraxas still felt slighted that Riddle had barely acknowledged her death until it suited him.

Yet that was Tom Riddle, unchanged in all of these years.

"And if they did, they haven't signalled me a thing."

Abraxas watched Riddle shift in his armchair, before turning his gaze away from him. For a moment, he felt like they were back forty years, and he was once again schooling a young, woefully unsocialised Riddle on manners. While Abraxas was sympathetic to the cause, he did not know how to feel about it being led by Tom Riddle, who he remembered very much as a narcissistic little brat, as opposed to the man his son had been talking so highly about.

Perhaps he should indeed take up Margot on one of her offers to travel abroad with her, leave England to its warring sides.

"Leaving my late wife aside, I've heard from Lucius that he has been well in your graces."

"He has indeed proven his loyalty time and time again." Riddle agreed, cocking his head slowly as if to show appreciation to Abraxas regarding his son's upbringing. "I would have mentioned it myself, but I thought it would diminish the guidance you gave me when I was young. I heard he had tried himself to convince you to join our cause."

"And I will say again, you have my sympathies and support, should you need it."

"Have you talked much about me, my past, with Lucius? Or anyone else, for that matter?"

"No one currently alive. You know very well, my promise long ago, that your secrets are safe with me, and will die with me, when my time should come."

"Good, good. I put a lot of trust in you, Abraxas. I haven't forgotten what you have done for me, in my youth. Which is why I have continued to put my trust in the Malfoy family, and have entrusted a prized possession with Lucius. One I wouldn't leave with just anyone." Riddle grinned, putting a hand on his heart as he spoke with pride of his own work. "Cleverly charmed, it is, by yours truly, in such a way that it can do things once thought of as impossible, things which it can hardly wait to do, when the time is right."

"Such as?"

"Such as continuing what Salazar Slytherin himself started, all those centuries ago." Tom explained excitedly, a note of pride in his voice as he spoke. "Opening the Chamber of Secrets, purging Hogwarts finally of those unworthy to be in it. Which is why I cannot think of many that could easily handle such an object, keeping it safe for me, and then, when the time comes, to be able to send it back to Hogwarts, where it belongs. Handle, or even know of its existence."

"I appreciate your trust in me." Abraxas purposefully avoided calling him Tom, knowing very well how much he hated the name of his Muggle father, however was unsure how he felt about addressing him with his chosen moniker.

"I imagine why you would consider Lucius would be most suited, since his child is soon to be born and would offer easy access to Hogwarts." He watched Riddle nod with enthusiasm and an even wider grin distorting his long-faded handsomeness, before proposing an idea that would move the object, whatever it was, away from his unborn grandson and more towards his son, who was able to make his own choices and decisions.

"Perhaps… Lucius could also do well with some advice on being more involved in Hogwarts activities then, as well." Abraxas proposed, watching as Riddle appeared deep in thought for the first time since he came to his house. "Perhaps as a governor, or such, able to gain himself entry to Hogwarts to his heart's content. With advice which I would be more than happy to give."

"The same as his father had been involved in the Wizengamot to his own heart's content, when the time came for a certain Minister to be removed from his post?" Riddle chuckled, and Abraxas couldn't help but grin himself.

"Ah, so you've heard."

"There are barely any things I have not heard of these days, Abraxas. I have eyes and ears everywhere in England, to the deepest corners of the Ministry. On account of another connection you helped me obtain in my days in Hogwarts. The Dark Lord does not easily forget such loyalty and handsomely rewards it."

Under his palm, Abraxas pursed his lips, and nodded out of courtesy.

"I have reaped the rewards from my work long ago, but I will watch with much interest your next steps."

After Riddle's departure, Abraxas pondered and thought of the child prodigy known as Riddle - yet was he a greater wizard than Grindelwald and avoid defeat by Dumbledore? Yet what made him ponder more was what a nation led by him would look like. Politicians were self-serving by definition, however he was unsure how he felt about living in a country led by someone such as Riddle, who cared more for pure power than the intricacies of politics, domestic or international.

Perhaps he should indeed take up Margot's offer to travel. So he wrote to her, at the same table that she had drunk wine on that night she had given herself to him, a short message.

My dear,

I believe it is finally time to pay tribute to my roots.

Abraxas