Margarita Gregorovitch Malfoy was a self-serving narcissist, much like himself, much like his father. Much like Malfoys were - Lucius had no reason to not freely admit this to himself. In that sense, her and his father fit perfectly.

Lucius had figured at some point, by the time he had found out that Gregorovitch was pregnant anyways, that his father must have known of his impertinence, of his affair, for a long time. Well, if one could even call it an affair. Lucius certainly did not think of it as such, as there were no deeper feelings, no sexual desires or otherwise, not before, not during, not after. The incident was akin to a slip into an unsavoury dream which hazily drowned itself in his head, only to resurface in those very rare times he bothered to think of her.

He figured that his father had been enacting a revenge in his own insidious style for weeks, for months, and Lucius realised, slowly, the reason as to why felt so impotent as his father held onto the reins. At St. Mungo's, when it came to his son, his trips to the Ministry, his hold onto certain members of the Wizengamot, his meetings with the Minister of Magic, everything apart from the Dark Lord was still his father's realm, far beyond his time of unofficial retirement from such political affairs, especially since Lucius, father of the sole male heir on the Malfoy line, was in the prime of his social and political ascension.

Lucius was indeed correct in his assumption. Abraxas did not know when, or where, or how, but he had indeed guessed correctly that such a liaison happened between his son and Margot, and had decided on a punishment that was invisible to everyone else, even to Narcissa, so as to maintain Lucius's high-ranking positions among Ministry officials and good social standing. But he knew Lucius was a prideful man, because this was not only a trait they both shared, but also one he harnessed from his childhood. He knew his son would notice at some point, and what was more, he knew even better that his son would not confront him, because that would mean Lucius would either have to admit to it and ruin his own marriage, or he would have to lie and claim innocence, which he could not do while Margot was still alive.

A hypocritical man, Abraxas did not care much for the past infidelity of his now-wife, as he thought them equal in marriage, just as he had considered himself and Aurora equals. And he had had his own fair share of witches on Margot's trips, even as she had left to give birth to their child in Germany, with her mother close. They were even, but what was more, he had this to use against her if she ever strayed from his will.

Such a moment came soon for Margot, as news of Lord Voldemort's defeat at the hands of a babe, a boy Draco's age, a small child that could barely talk or walk.

Abraxas was surprised when he came upon the announcement about his long-gone protege, that young child he remembered learning how to groom, pomade, and dress himself like a wizard many stations above his actual one, the young man who he had lent many books on the Dark Arts to from his own father's private collection.

"Goodbye, and good night, Tom Marvolo Riddle." he spoke to no one in a brief moment of melancholy for the past times, sipping on a glass of scotch in his honour. He wondered briefly if Albus Dumbledore had more to do with it than the Daily Prophet announced, yet he decided not to bother much in this line of enquiry. He would bother, perhaps, if any whispers of Dumbledore reaching any Ministerial positions would reach his ears.

And with that, he let the memories of Tom Riddle, as the boy, young man, and leader, fade from his head, and he troubled himself with other matters which were still of this earth.

Narcissa Malfoy, however, could not untrouble herself of the memories of Lord Voldemort - she had not been involved in the inner machinations of the Death Eaters, as she was too busy with motherhood and felt that she was not of much use on the main playing field, not to the extent of her husband, sister, or brothers-in-law. She stood in shock as well, mouth agape, covering it with her hands as she had no inkling of what the next steps should be.

"The Dark Lord is… He's gone… truly gone?"

"Truly." Lucius pulled his sleeve up even more, until the sole button holding it together around his arm started complaining. His Dark Mark was whitering and fading before their own eyes, and they stood around it, transfixed, not knowing what else to do.

Sirius Black, Narcissa's only living cousin, to the surprise of his own mother and father, and the amazement of Narcissa, had apparently been spying for the Dark Lord and had apparently had an instrumental hand in the death of the Potters, but also in the death of the Dark Lord himself. As a final farewell, before he was caught, he had killed a dozen Muggles and one of his remaining Gryffindor blood-traitor friends. Narcissa would have perhaps inquired more about her cousin's fate, however she was aware of the views Abraxas held towards her aunt Walburga, and had been advised by Lucius upon their marrying that she was expected to uphold her father-in-law's wishes to keep the distance between that branch of the Black family and the Malfoys.

Therewere also more, more pressing matters that moved Narcissa's attention away from her cousin.

Bellatrix Lestrange, her husband, his brother - the 'Lestranges' altogether, as they were known among the innermost Death Eater circles, for all three of them worked together as a well-oiled machine, had been caught by Aurors in circumstances that Narcissa, no matter how much she tried, could not find a way out of any of their trials. Bellatrix was unwilling to renounce, even if only to get out of her lifelong sentence, her belief in the return of the Dark Lord, even just for the trial. She was unwilling to lie and claim coercion, curses, anything to remove her from her lengthy sentence.

Little did she know that soon enough, her husband would soon be invited to the Ministry and then, to her shock, transported to Azkaban under suspicion of having been a Death Eater himself.

So once again, she had to turn to her father-in-law for advice, who immediately pulled strings in order to visit Lucius in Azkaban.

"I will accompany you."

"You will do no such thing."

Abraxas calmly put on his coat on that cold November morning, taking a moment to wave his wand and make its creases disappear. "Have you not been educated on the second-hand effects of Dementors on children, my dear?"

Narcissa did not answer. She knew the risks very well, and had been willing to take them, up until the admonishment of Abraxas. She did wonder sometimes, how not only one, but two women managed to put up with him on a daily basis.

And thus, she waited impatiently in her father-in-law's drawing room for hours, not knowing what to do apart from pace from corner to corner. It was eating at her, her inability to do anything for her husband, and being left only with her thoughts in such times for their family. The force of the tide turning swept her and her little family off their feet, and Narcissa would have done anything to have things return to how they were a mere couple of days ago.

Normally, she would have gone to discuss such matters with Bella, but Bella was no longer present. Bella was sent to rot in a cell in Azkaban, perhaps even one close to Lucius. Part of her hoped not, and she hoped that Abraxas would knock more sense into Lucius than when she sought counsel with her sister.

Don't pledge allegiance to a dead man - follow your ideals from the warmth of your home, my love, with me, with your son. Deny, deny, deny. Claim you were Imperioused - some were, after all, why not you too?

Hours later, Abraxas confirmed that that indeed was what Lucius would claim. Narcissa's eyes and smile brightened, and she tried to announce their sweet victory.

After all, those who were caught were imprisoned, those who could proclaim their innocence were spared inquiry or released after. Why could Lucius not join the ranks of the latter? The Death Eaters were no longer in existence as far as anyone was concerned, and most claimed not to know each other even by sight, much less by name.

"There is a plethora of evidence needed to find him innocent." Abraxas stated, sitting down at his usual desk, and tapping his fingers against an armrest. "The paperwork would have to reach the heights of the roof, in the eyes of Crouch. Severus Snape has been deemed the only one innocent thus far by trial, and that was on the word of Dumbledore, and evidenced tightly. However… Even that trial was done in tough conditions, and it has reached my ears that Crouch is still looking into the case even though it is supposedly closed, trying to catch the boy or Dumbledore in a lie. Crouch would even accuse Dumbledore of being an accomplice if he knew he had a backing to his claims." Abraxas appeared to think about this possibility for a moment, before removing the thought from his head and focusing back on getting his son out of a lengthy Azkaban sentence.

"Then have Crouch removed from the case." Narcissa answered. She waited for Abraxas to respond, to tell her how wrong she was, how that was impossible. She waited as he pondered, still tapping his fingers gently against his chair, before speaking, his next words surprising her.

"Go on."

Narcissa continued, with renewed wind under her wings. She spoke passionately, as if she were in court herself, in front of Barty Crouch Senior, in front of the Minister of Magic.

"How can a man whose own son was accused of being a Death Eater, whose son was arrested alongside my own sister, and sentenced to life in Azkaban be still involved in these trials? He now has a personal vendetta, doesn't he? He should be removed and someone else should lead these trials now!"

"Say Crouch has been removed…" Narcissa understood what he meant. It will be done. What next? "We would still need evidence to present at the trial. Now, they don't have anything concrete, unlike the case of your sister."

"How do you present evidence to prove something that did not happen?"

"Character references. I am afraid at this point we have to take a page out of Dumbledore's book, and take some inspiration from Severus's trial."

"Dumbledore would never attest to Lucius-"

"We do not need to attest to my son and your husband's actual character." He cut her off swiftly. "Lucius was not a spy as Severus, and we tread dangerous waters to claim so. Your husband was a poor victim of the Imperius curse. Surely, you too have noticed him behaving oddly, erratically, against his actual character."

Narcissa nodded, a renewed flicker playing in her eyes as she took on an affected tone.

"When Draco was deathly ill, he had other, more secret matters to attend to, leaving me alone in my hardest time."

"Certainly not how I raised my own son."

Narcissa pondered on it. They would need, however, more than a wife and a father, both tied to pureblood ideals, to vouch for Lucius, and she raised this with Abraxas. They needed someone else, someone who publicly was known to be a blood traitor, someone who was so unlike the both of them. She hated to admit it to herself, but they needed-

"Where is she?" Narcissa looked around the drawing room, as if she expected Gregorovitch to descend from the ceiling like a floating speck of dust.

"My wife, if that is who you are indeed referring to, is in France, getting accustomed to motherhood."

Narcissa's eyes widened, and Abraxas slowly realised that Lucius had not discussed this with her.

"Oh, I didn't know-"

"I kindly accept your congratulations for the healthy birth of my daughter." he waved her off, keen on shutting down this particular subject of conversation.

He indeed had a girl now. A daughter with his green eyes and her dark hair, which surprised him greatly.

He named her in the Malfoy family tradition, Claudia, after his own mother, recognising her as his daughter, as she very rightly was. However, he had put down her mother's maiden name on the certificate.

According to a portion of the will of Abraxas Malfoy, Claudia Gregorovitch could decide to change her family name to Malfoy when she would become of age, should she wish to and should she fulfil the conditions expected of a Malfoy, as long as a Malfoy by blood, and not by marriage, would agree to it, whether it be him, Lucius, Draco, or Draco's offspring. Should the British Malfoy line end without heir on the male side and she be the only one remaining, certain designated members on the French Malfoy line, named by Abraxas in an attached sealed letter, could then decide whether his daughter was worthy of the name.

He considered it to be a gift to his son, that he did not name her as Malfoy.

"Draco and your new offspring will grow knowing each other as cousins. I won't have my son grow up calling someone a year younger than him his uncle or aunt." Lucius stated, days after Claudia's birth, pacing around the same drawing room in which a mere few months later Narcissa would also pace around.

"You'll need her, the both of them." Abraxas watched his son's eyebrow furrow. "Such perspicacity eludes you, I see. But I have the heart of a father and a mother in me..." he clasped his hands, sighing as he thought about what he had just said. "I'll elucidate this to you one day. Now, Margot is Margot. But her child is my child, with or without our family name attached, the same as you are my own child."

Margarita had agreed to these conditions wholeheartedly, as when she saw her daughter's scrunched up, pink face, screaming her heart and lungs out to be heard in this world, she knew that she did not want her to burden herself with the Malfoy name. She did not want her to carry everything held in that one name on her little shoulders.

When faced with the name on the certificate, Margarita had agreed to sign it without a second thought, as when she saw her daughter's scrunched up, pink face, screaming her heart and lungs out to be heard in this world, she knew from then on that she did not want her to burden herself with the Malfoy name. She did not want her to carry everything held in that one name on her little shoulders.

And she would be right, she realised soon enough, as a few days ago, Margarita Malfoy had woken up in the middle of the night from the cries of her daughter. She undid her nightgown as she placed Claudia at her breast, and turned on an old gramophone that belonged to her father, soothing her daughter with tender lullabies as the peck of an owl at her window woke her up from her reverie.

It was then that she read the news of the Boy-Who-Lived from her friends and accomplices in song from England. And the owls kept appearing and appearing on her windowsill, multiplying, the messages of joyful end of war scrawled in merrier and merrier drunkenness. She amused herself greatly reading them over the next few days, until one day, the door opened, and Abraxas Malfoy walked in, advising her presence was requested in England.

He had carried a letter with him that he placed in her hand, an official one from the British Ministry, signed by one Cornelius Fudge. She opened it, curious, and realised she was indeed right to appreciate her daughter not bearing the Malfoy name.

"Well?"

Abraxas waited patiently for her to finish reading and put the letter down. He knew, however, that his question was in vain. He knew she would accept - she was a Malfoy now. And she did accept, however, the thread of her reasoning was much, much more different than that of her husband.