Author's note: We're getting close to the ending! Next 2 chapters will be the final ones, before an announcement will be made regarding this work :)

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"What will they think, Lucius?" Narcissa asked as she watched her husband dictate a list of invitees to his father's funeral, watching every now and then over the self-writing quill to check who else he was missing.

Ever since they received the letter announcing the death of Abraxas Malfoy, Lucius had taken on an uncharacteristic aloof demeanour around the house. The first night after his death, he remained in his study for the entire night, seemingly contemplating the sound of the logs cracking under fire. The second day, he had taken to looking outside of the windows for hours, uninterrupted, apart from writing a short letter, whose contents she was, to her own surprise, not privy to.

On the third day, Lucius announced the date of the funeral. Hour by hour, he started opening more and more, telling her details of the funeral, asking if she'd informed Draco yet, and that they'd have to arrange for him to take a day off from Hogwarts to attend the funeral. While she still did not know what the contents of the letter he had sent were, she saw the reply that morning, and the flowery signature that accompanied it.

By noon that day, he had started to prepare a list of people to be invited to the funeral - a mix of Abraxas' friends, from England and beyond -musicians and artists such as Bogdan Aladar and his wife, Madam Sparrow and others that Narcissa was surprised Lucius even knew the name of-, pockets of Malfoys from the French branch of the family, as well as Ministry higher-ups that both Malfoy men knew, many of whom could be used as opportunities.

"They won't think anything of it, Narcissa, because everyone knew father and his quirks."

"And now the quirk is organising the funeral-"

"At my request." Lucius cut her off sharply, before clearing his throat and repeating himself, this time in a calmer, more soothing tone. "At my request, my love. Gregorovitch's family, whether we like it or not. And she did take care of him in his last months." With that, he sighed loudly, and rubbed at his face. "I need to send a letter to Lucretia… I cannot remember, for the life of me, the name of… ah, who were they again… And the French minister, father always had dealings with him, on account of… Well, she will need to send me a list as well. I'll write to her now, in fact."

Lucius may have resigned himself to the idea, especially after that talk he had had with her a few weeks ago, when he had delivered the capsules of poison that Severus had made for him, but Narcissa Malfoy still found it unnatural and simply wrong to have a mother-in-law only a few years older than herself and her husband.

Perhaps now that Abraxas was dead, his widow would finally revert back to her maiden name and stop being recognised as a Malfoy. However, for now, while her husband appeared to be mourning, she would remain civil, would not ask more, not until after the burial, at least. She took a step towards Lucius and raised her arm, placing it around his shoulder as they both stood facing the enormous window.

"Would you like to say an eulogy at the funeral, my love? Father always liked you- I doubt, if he had you as a daughter he'd even have accepted me as a son-in-law." he chuckled, trying to make a light joke. "I think it is only appropriate for you to co-lead the procession with myself."

Lucius turned towards her with a soft smile, and Narcissa nodded her head, immediately accepting. It was the proper thing to do, both considering their audience, as well as a send-off to the old man.

"My condolences."

By the afternoon, Lucius Malfoy had probably heard this uttered no less than a hundred times, pleasantly nodding and engaging in small talk. With the death of his father, his family had gotten even smaller now - not that his father had made much of an impact in the past few years. The letter that announced his death made him thankful that he finally was relieved of the disease, and able to rest. He was surprised with himself, really, at his own reaction, and that may have been the most difficult part of his mourning. How thankful he was for the peaceful death of his father.

He was not sure who the most surprising guest at the funeral had been - he was certainly taken aback to see Greyburr, as well as his great-great-great-grand-uncle from France, helped on his legs by an aide that spoke only French, but was extremely polite and courteous. But those were figures he recognised at least, unlike one of the latest arriving guests, an old, tall wizard with a thicket of pure-white hair and bushy beard. He was ready to salute him in French, figuring him out to be a Malfoy, before he heard Claudia's voice calling out for her grandfather - making the man in front of him, who was shaking his hand, a head taller than him, the renown and reclusive wizard Mykew Gregorovitch.

Lucius wasn't sure if his condolences were grumbled in English or German - did Mykew Gregorovitch even speak English? - and decided to simply nod his head, as Claudia slid her hand into his. By the time he opened his mouth, Narcissa had already thanked him for the both of them, and extended her hand.

"I wanted to take this occasion as well, mister Gregorovitch." she said with a smile, as Gregorovitch took her hand into his and bowed ceremoniously. "To thank you personally for your craftsmanship." Ah, that was it. He had forgotten, with everything that had been happening, that they decided in the end to not go with Ollivander's, and accept a wand as a gift for Draco starting Hogwarts from the Gregorovitch side, especially as the wand worked better with Draco than any of Ollivander's.

Gregorovitch nodded, expressionless, before turning to Claudia and muttering something that Lucius was sure was a request to translate, which was proven right as they conferred briefly, before Claudia turned to Narcissa.

"Grandpa says to make sure Draco will be making good use of his wand, aunt Narcissa."

"We will. Why, he's right over there, perhaps you should go and introduce your grandfather to Draco." Narcissa said pleasantly, pointing to their son and gently pushing Claudia by the shoulder.

It was an exhausting, surprisingly exhausting affair, and he was certainly thankful to now be saying his goodbyes to them all.

All he had to do, as they started to slowly trickle out of the chapel, was to simply sit next to Narcissa, see them off, and engage in the last bit of polite conversation. As he shook hand after hand, nodding his head, putting on a shadow of a smile, he felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to see his great-uncle Joachim beside him, who somehow had gotten hold of Abraxas's cane during the funeral proceedings - most likely from Margot, who had always had a soft spot for him and Lucretia in spite of never being allowed in their house.

"Nice funeral. Would've shed a tear if it continued, but what can I say? I'm of a sensible nature, me." Joachim commented in a sweet tone towards Lucius, idly examining Abraxas's cane. He tapped it against the floor a few times, before handing it back to him, a wide grin on his face. "Many carriages, nice weather… Even when he dies, he's lucky. As in life, so in death."

"Do you really think my father was lucky, uncle?" Lucius scoffed, turning his head to ensure his great-aunt would not hear. "I've never seen such a miser as him."

"Man makes his luck, Lucius, and whatever he does with it after is his business from then on. Why, mourning dresses suit you well, look at that, Cissy dear!" he laughed, lightly squeezing Narcissa's shoulder. "If you'll excuse me, my darling, I'll steal the mourning son for a few moments." His voice turned serious as he spoke, before tapping Lucius on the shoulder, pulling him to a side. Whenever Joachim needed something or someone, there was no denying him - he never gave anyone an occasion to.

"Alas, enough about your old man, and the dead aren't coming back. We venerate them in death, and turn our eyes towards the new generation!"

Lucius nodded as he followed his great-uncle to a corner of the garden, rummaging through his thoughts. The dead may not be coming back, but his own father had left him with so many unanswered questions, that he wished at times they would, even if for a second.

"Say, uncle, has my father ever told you that-"

"Hush. Stories spread like smoke, young man, you have to be careful not to let them choke and strangle you. You know what to do with smoke?"

Lucius furrowed his brows, never having gotten used to Joachim's riddles. He replied with the spell to clear the air, which he was sure was not the correct answer, and his great-uncle confirmed it with a short laugh, before his face resumed its usual mocking grin.

"You put your head low, so you don't inhale it. Say, where's your son? I haven't seen the little lad in ages." Lucius opened his mouth to respond, but before he even had the chance, Joachim already continued speaking, clearly not intending to actually see Draco. "You know, you should send the little one over at ours more often, especially from now on. You and Cissy are more than welcome as well, of course."

"Why, I never knew you or aunt Lucretia enjoyed my presence so much, uncle."

Joachim patted him on the shoulder with an elusive grin, so familiar to him that it made his skin crawl, before saying a few more words that Lucius did not care to listen or pay any sort of attention to, before taking his leave. It seemed no sooner had his father taken his last breath that Joachim was already planning on trying to manoeuvre him -and not only himself, but Draco as well!- from France. At least, with all of his faults, his father had some decorum.

Needing a breath of fresh air, Lucius decided to spend a few more minutes in the garden, and looked around, not quite sure what he was looking for, until he caught sight of her. He had not paid any attention to her during the funeral procession, too busy handling the Minister and other officials, especially with that damned Hippogriff that hurt Draco, too busy minding his son, his wife, and leading the procession, and only now actually took the time to even acknowledge her.

He'd never seen her dressed in black, and almost didn't recognise her with the enormous lace veil covering her head. She was sitting on a bench, smoking a cigarette with a trembling hand, until she took notice of him, and raised her hand lightly, moving aside to give him space next to her.

"In your father's memory." Margarita murmured, and took a long swig of her cigarette as he sat down. "You know, now that he's dead, I can smoke these in peace once again. By Merlin, how I've missed them."

"I've yet to properly thank you for organising most of this, and, well, of course, for taking care of him."

"Don't be ridiculous, now, Lucius. In sickness and in health, and in life… and well, death."

Lucius looked at her face and eyes. He was unsure if he expected her to have red, swollen eyes, or to look awfully wrinkled and tired, but he certainly would have preferred it. He asked her for a cigarette, and took it with the tips of his gloved hands, trying to not put any ash in it. He hadn't smoked since he was a teenager, and back then he couldn't care less. Now, he had certain reputations and facades to maintain.

"At least now you don't have to worry about Abraxas finding out about…hm, how to call it…"

"If you think my father never knew, you are a bigger fool than I thought." he responded to her self-assuredness.

"A fool, is it?" she chuckled. "Why, a fool whose word mattered just enough in the eyes of the Ministry."

The familiarity of Gregorovitch smoking, hunched over, was an odd sight to Lucius. She felt more humane than ever, in an unsightly way - as if she were being profane towards the pedestal she had built out of herself.

"I thought you didn't care about sides and politics. I have to be honest, I was surprised that you, of all people, put in a word with Fudge."

"Family above all, is what Abraxas outlined is becoming of a Malfoy. Malfoys pick and raise their family well. So well, in fact, that as you know, there has not been any in-fighting or any murders. Not any that could be proven, anyway."

Lucius turned to look at her, and pursed his lips. He raised his other hand to her face, and pinched two of his fingers together.

"You were this close to change that, if you care to know." He was not sure what overcame him, but he decided to repay the debt he owed her for being a part of what got him out of Azkaban, and exchange it for a confession. "I had even paid one of my good associates to brew me a potion that would have gone undetected by even the best Healers at St. Mungo's, same as the 'Mori in Valetudo' replacement I sent you. Surely, a pregnant woman of your stature received many letters of congratulations. Perhaps one, or two, or as many as it took, would have been imbued with this concoction."

"What stopped you, then?"

"Certain more important affairs were happening, such that I could not bother myself with such a small thing as your livelihood." he waved her off, hiding that the true reason was that the potion was undetectable, however slow-acting.

Slow enough that she would have probably ended up birthing an orphan - orphaned physically by the mother and emotionally by the father, raised by relatives, much like himself. And as much as he despised the concept of his father's late-aged-fatherhood, Lucius dreaded the thought that there was even the smallest chance of a Malfoy child to be raised by his emotionally distant father, his just as distant aunt and uncle, or even worse, Gregorovitch's Muggle relatives.

"I assume you no longer plan to get through with it anymore, considering your confession."

"Why, Margot?" he scoffed, flicking the cigarette butt onto the ground. "Would you like me to?"

"Perhaps." She adjusted her veil a bit better so it would not catch fire from the cigarette, seemingly reflecting on his words. "I don't plan to see myself an old woman, carrying wrinkles and sagged breasts with rigider corsets and rigider standards. I plan to die before I see the shadow of age, in whichever way I would find fittest."

"People are afraid of death, not aging. There are potions, glamour spells… We are wizards, for Merlin's sake." he sneered at her, finding her beliefs not only laughable, but childish.

"Perhaps. Are you afraid of death?"

"Are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Lucius." she chuckled, before her expression quickly changed into a serious one, appropriate for the occasion, as she noticed two figures approaching.

Lucius stood up as he recognised the figures as belonging to Cornelius Fudge and professor Greyburr. He placed his father's cane on the ground and stood up straight to salute both of the men, wondering why Greyburr, of all, would wish to seek him out specifically to offer his condolences, considering his contentious relationship with his father. Perhaps an apology for the last time he'd seen him and how he treated the Malfoys?

Courteously, he decided to extend an olive branch, especially in the presence of Fudge, and accepted their condolences without a single remark towards Greyburr. As he shook their hands, he turned towards Margot, only to notice her still sitting down on the bench, merely extending her hand towards each of them as they offered their condolences.

"Mrs. Malfoy-" Cornelius Fudge started after him and Greyburr offered their condolences, only to be interrupted by a surprisingly cheerful voice.

"Miss, now."

"Miss Malfoy, then."

"I don't think I quite like that either, Minister. Please, call me Margarita."

"Margarita."

"And I think that should allow me to address you as Cornelius."

"I-" The level of informality and forwardness from the widow of Abraxas Malfoy left Fudge speechless for a moment, especially as the smile that accompanied her words was utterly disarming under the veil of mourning, and the minister found himself sheepishly acquiescing. "Yes. Miss- I mean, uh, Margarita." he stammered, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "I apologise that I'm bringing this matter to you on the day of your- of…" he looked towards Lucius before continuing, uncomfortably clearing his throat again. "Abraxas Malfoy's funeral, however since you are not a British wizarding citizen, and since… well, the matter is quite delicate, I would appreciate it if we could discuss a certain matter now, even if briefly. There have been some… concerns surrounding Abraxas Malfoy's death."

"Have there, now?" Lucius frowned, turning towards Greyburr with a tap of his father's cane. "Concerns raised by whom?"

"This does not matter." the minister continued, nervously looking from one Malfoy to the other. "The death of Abraxas Malfoy does not appear to match the usual pattern of a death caused by Dragon Pox. The case was not advanced enough to cause death at the moment of… well, death."

"And is that your medical opinion, Cornelius?" Lucius scoffed.

"Are you implying I have killed my husband, Cornelius?" Margarita interrupted, turning towards the minister with a surprised face. "Have you found something?"

"W-well, you have to admit it is a bit strange, that you have only declared his death a full day after his last breath."

"So you have investigated his death already, then." she stated, looking from one man to the other.

"We investigate all cases of Dragon Pox-related deaths, mister and miss Malfoy." Greyburr stated coldly. "This one does not match any pattern. If anything, it resembles a 'Mori in Valetudo', which we all very well know has not been granted. And as one was not granted, it raises suspicions of a homicide. However, no poison has been detected in the deceased."

Why, isn't this just what you want to hear right at the funeral of your own father, and to hear him addressed merely as 'the deceased' as well, Lucius thought, furrowing his brows. He decided not to comment out loud, however, and looked over at Margot, who seemed unfazed. She had probably come to terms for weeks, or months with Abraxas's death, even before he gave her the capsules Severus had made for him. Of course they did not find anything, and they'll never find anything. He wished he could have said that out loud - he wished he could have shoved one of those capsules in Greyburr's fat, walrus shaped-face, and ask him to examine it.

"Well then… Did I kill my husband, Cornelius? Did you finish your investigation?"

"Well, that is why we came here. Isn't it, Alastair?"

Greyburr's jaw tensed as she spoke, without him even realising his subconscious reaction until he found that he had to unclench it to respond to Fudge's question. There was just something in the way her mouth moved as she enunciated, something that was so far removed from a widow, that could easily have been mistaken for a woman flirting. She looked from one of them to the other with a smile, before standing up and dropping her smile, revealing a stern, dark expression.

"Then I am afraid you came for nothing, gentlemen." she finally said in a grave tone. "But when you do find this alleged cause of death, please inform me of it as well, as I am more than curious, and I am sure Lucius here is as well. And if I am to be accused of something, I would like to be informed of my motive as well, so I do not die an imbecile, which perhaps you both think I am."

Her gaze turned towards Lucius, and she extended a hand, which he took, and she moved away from both Fudge and Greyburr, latching her hand against his wrist. He took her hand, and saw the whites of her eyes starting to turn red as she stepped away from them.

"If you will excuse us now and have the good will to stop throwing away ridiculous accusations, we have a man to mourn." Lucius stated, pulling Gregorovitch towards the chapel. "Good day, Cornelius. Greyburr."

He stepped away from them, looking back to make sure they were far behind, before turning his head towards Margarita.

"It's all Greyburr." he snarled. "Back from when father-"

"Shh." she squeezed his wrist lightly, before untangling her hand from his. "They may still be listening. You can tell me tomorrow. You need to come to the house anyway, after Claudia leaves in the morning back to Hogwarts would be best. You have some belongings of your father I'd appreciate you taking, as they are now rightfully yours, Lucius. After all of this is over, Clau and I will move out - it's the house of a Malfoy, it's not ours."

"The will has not even been read yet."

"It's the house of a Malfoy." Margarita shook her head, repeating again. "I don't need a will, and even if it was there, I wouldn't want it. But there are some things of your father's in there, especially in his study, that you may want to have a look at."

"Such as?"

"I would have no idea, Lucius, I only have Abraxas's instructions to let you know where they are. I haven't opened a single drawer since he died."