Lucius Malfoy was the perfect example of class and wealth. His every move was planned, carefully thought out in mere seconds. Very little surprised him anymore. His greatest skill had always been his ability to predict others. It was a skill he knew how to wield masterfully. In a way, it became him, and he became it. A cold, calculating perfection, perfect for manipulating others to do his will. His almost obsessive attention to detail and tendency to overthink made him the perfect model of... well, perfection. Of course, his scathing words against those he disliked, and his petty desires for revenge against the smallest defense made his personality less than perfect. His image, however, remains a calculated perfection.
His head always held high to sneer at others and to keep his long hair straight. His hands on his wand disguised as a walking stick, always ready to attack, as if in constant paranoia. His clothes of the finest materials, always in the wizard of fashion, assuring everyone that saw him that he would never stoop so low as to even wear something that Muggles styled. Patterns upon patterns, his clothes revealed some more of his perfectionist and obsessive needs. Everything was perfectly placed and tightly wrapped, nothing could move out of order. He was never able to move in any way that wasn't proper, his clothes assured him of that. And Lucius Malfoy was quite content being the epitome of calculated perfection.
Narcissa Black Malfoy was, and still remains the definition the class and elegance. Raised in the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black and married into the Malfoy family, Narcissa was layers upon layers control. Her nice brown hair had been bleached to blonde as she gradually became more Malfoy than Black. It was carefully brushed and pinned every day, retouched every few weeks to keep her roots hidden, originally in an attempt to please her mother-in-law. Her face betrayed her however, as she still had brown eyes, eyebrows a darker shade than her hair, and almost adorably pouting lips. She could have easily hidden those features. She was a witch, after all. Yet something was to be said about her loyalty to both families.
As soon as she married, maybe even before she even knew Lucius, she adopted the Malfoy posture and way of walking. Head held up high, hands on her side, constantly sneering down at whoev- whatever wasn't good enough to be in her presence. However, while the Malfoys preferred their wands in a type of holster, she kept it hidden in her sleeve or in her pocket, another Black habit. Another show of the paranoia that plagued all respected (hated?) people. The final result was a perfect mixture of the Malfoy and Black families. The definition of class and elegance.
Lucius Malfoy no longer looked down on people. In fact, it was a miracle he ever looked at anyone straight in the face anymore. He'd developed a habit of looking at shoulders while talking to others. His hair, no longer long and straight, stood chopped to his ears, revealing a small tattoo. A memento of his time in Azkaban. There were shadows under his eyes... or were those bruises? His walk was the same. Long strides, hands to his side unless he was holding a glass of elf-made wine. It was a habit. He knew no other way of walking, for he'd never been anything other than calculating perfection.
Narcissa showed her roots. No longer young and carefree, her hair grew into brown peppered with some gray, the ends of her hair remaining the blonde she'd dyed it not so long ago. Her was always pinned carefully, her nails trimmed and painted, her lips red. But her eyes were no longer the same. Still a beautiful deep brown, they resembled a ghost more than a puppy as they had before (as the Malfoy couple did not share the same blonde hair anymore, their blank and defeated stares became their new shared trait). She was finding it hard to look at herself in the mirror, and even more difficult to look at her husband. Although these hardships were brought by her dislike of pity, her newfound difficulty of looking at Bella and the other Death Eaters' faces derived from different roots- fear and revulsion. She found that the only person she could truly look at was Draco. Still, that was out of her duty as a mother to take care of her son. She wanted nothing but to turn her head in shame.