Lucius had many problems, but there was one that only Narcissa knew about. She would call it an addiction, and it sometimes caused her to worry about her husband. He would wake extremely early in the morning and sit in front of her vanity to brush his hair. Not just until it looked good, no, he would brush his hair with 394 strokes of the brush. No more, no less. She had believed it was just habitual before the second wizarding war, but afterwards was a different story. He had to brush his hair three times a day, always 394 strokes each time. If he didn't he would get twitchy, lashing out at those nearest him and display what she could only call paranoid behavior. His last fit had caused Draco to move out of the manor. She didn't know what to do, the healers at St. Mungo's had just shrugged their shoulders when she had gone to ask about his illness.
Narcissa was desperate for her husband to get help, and she knew not to bring up to him again. She had done so once, only to be sneered at and receive harsh, cold words towards her own 'unkempt' appearance. Something was wrong with him, very wrong. If the healers wouldn't help then she would reach out to muggles and see if they had invented anything that would aid him in his problem. Draco had suggested that she write to Hermione Granger for help and guidance on the muggle world. Narcissa was debating to write the letter or not, she was torn between her love for her husband and her pride as a pureblood.
She wandered into the bedroom with a glass of red elf wine, her own addiction she recently developed to deal with Lucius' antics. She stood there and watched him, in his clothes, sitting ram rod straight as he brushed his hair and audibly counted each brush stroke.
"Three hundred twenty-eight."
Her eye twitched.
"Three hundred twenty-nine."
She took a deep breath.
"Three hundred thirty."
Her hand tightened on her wine glass.
"Three hundred thirty-one."
Another deep breath as she fought her irritation.
"Three hundred thirty-two."
Her free hand squeezed into a tense fist.
"Three hundred thirty-three."
She lost it, slamming her wine glass to the floor. Lucius didn't take note of her as her shoes crunched over the broken glass and red wine that was staining the cream carpet of their bedroom. She stormed over to him, flicking her wand to open the window before snatching the hairbrush from his grasp. She snapped it, lit it on fire and tossed it out the window.
"ENOUGH! Lucius no more!"
Her husband froze, and slowly turned to her with a raised eyebrow.
"'Cissy, now I shall have to use my fingers."
Then he was back at it, picking up right where he left off.
"Three hundred thirty-six."
She let out a frustrated screech before stalking out. She would send a letter to Hermione and beg for help on her husbands behalf. Lucius would get help if it was the last thing she did.
AN: Written for Ash's monthly challenge; November. Prompt: Addiction.