A/N: I started this off as a humor one-shot, but then it turned a bit angsty…so…I don't know, that's a really weird combination…this is a weird one-shot. Weird and really, really short. )

A Day in the Life of an Incarcerated Death Eater
Lucius Malfoy sighed as he ran his fingers through his long locks of light blonde hair. The time spent in Azkaban had roughened them up. Second-rate hair brushes (he had paid five galleons to the prison chaplain for that pathetic excuse for a comb. When he got out of this stodgy and disgusting hell hole, he would crucio that man right off the island that held Azkaban prison), combined with the absence of the TLC his lovely wife Narcissa had always given his tresses had resulted in a head of very worn out, split-end-infested hair. And it positively killed him.

Not that he was complaining or anything. It was an honor for him to bid time like this in the name of the Dark Lord, of course. An absolutely fan-bloody-tastic honor to rot away in this prison cell in this helpless manner. Sure, his hair was going to undergo some serious intensive care conditioning when he got out, and he was separated from his could-have-been-a-supermodel wife. Hell, he even missed his son's annoying, hovering, I-want-to-be-like-you-in-the-"cat's-in-the-cradle"-sort-of-way presence. He was no longer Lucius, the big, bad muggle terrorist extraordinaire. He was just Lucius, prisoner number 148.

One - Four - Eight.

Narcissa's birthday was 148. Every fourteenth of August he would do something special for Narcissa. Last year it was a party at their house. He thought they'd try being "fun" and made it a costume party. Narcissa had used a lengthening potion for her hair, given her skin a light green tint, and dressed as a banshee. It was on that single night that his resolve against half-breeds had weakened ever so slightly, for Narcissa was - well, you couldn't say it without sounding indelicate - one mink of a banshee. Lucius had dressed as a vampire. The party had been a hit, and Lucius planned on throwing Narcissa an even grander party this summer. But that plan, obviously, had gone to hell. Narcissa's birthday had taken place last week; all he had managed to do was arrange for a bouquet of roses to be sent to her. It was all he could do, considering the ridiculous rates the Azkaban chaplain charged for doing him special "favors."

As Lucius stared tiredly out the tiny window of his cell that overlooked the furious tides of the sea that guarded his prison, he wondered what would happen to Draco. He desperately wanted to become a death eater. Prove himself a man. Play with the big boys. Get his petty revenge on Harry Potter and his mudblood gal pal Granger. That's all it was to Draco, he knew. All he wanted to do was raise the stakes in his little game of pettiness. The stakes, he thought ruefully, were probably already raised.

He tried not to think about it though, because there was nothing he could do. He was helpless right now and could do nothing to ensure the safety of his wife and son. Narcissa was strong though. She would manage. Lucius was sure of that. Or at least he managed to convince himself that he was sure. He didn't dwell on it much otherwise, because there wasn't really any point. He was helpless to them, so the only thing he could do was try to ensure his own safety. Ensure his own sanity as he sat there in that prison cell. For instance, he took great joy in contemplating the future, and the things he would do once he was out of prison. He already had a mental list going of what he would do the moment he was freed:

1. Make sure Narcissa and Draco were alive and safe.

2. Shower.

3. Celebrate his return with Narcissa and Draco. A lot of champagne will be drunk.

4. Give Draco a lot of money and send him off to Diagon Alley with his friends.

5. Make love to Narcissa. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

6. Get hair done.

6a. Trim

6b. Olive oil massage

6c. Shampoo

6d. Condition

6e. Rinse.

6f. Condition again.

6g. Rinse again.

7. Have Narcissa massage scalp.

8. Make love again.

9. Get in touch with Bella. Figure out what the hell is going on.

10. If the Dark Lord was mad at him, come up with a few excuses. Being in Azkaban probably won't fly.

At the thought of the Dark Lord, Lucius shuddered. All the other fantastic things on his list flew from his memory as he contemplated the consequences he would have to face once he was out of prison. He was screwed, and he knew it. Not lethally screwed, of course. He was one the Dark Lord's most loyal servants, and was unlikely to be killed in a fit of anger for botching up OPERATION PROPHESY. At the very least, he would have to endure a few unforgivable crucios. At worst...Lucius shuddered to think of what he might come home to. He really did want Narcissa and Draco to be safe. They would be, he told himself. It's what he told himself every night, every day. It's what kept him banging his head into the wall, begging for freedom, crying for his mother, the way other prisoners did. The thought of his family in safety kept him going. That, and his recurring dreams of being lathered in a tub of moisture-locking, pro-vitamin, anti-dandruff, anti-breakage, volumizing shampoo.