The day began as another glorious day full of pureblood supremacy and intrigue for Lucius Malfoy. He'd actually managed to get back into his wife's good graces after that whole incident with Draco and slept relatively well. It made the fact that his water was just a tad bit hotter than he wished less unbearable (not that the house elf responsible got away scot-free. He expected those iron burns wrapped for at least a week). But apart from the fiasco with the water that was .001 degree Celsius too hot, everything that fresh winter morning went just as planned.
When Narcissa made herself scarce of their bedroom, Lucius walked in and took a seat in front of their lavish mirror and started his last (and most important) morning ritual before a fine weekend breakfast: brushing long, silky, blonde locks hundred times exactly with his favorite ivory hairbrush. It was a must for everyday to be good for Lucius. Whenever he rushed through this ritual, someone like Arthur Weasley would get a compliment while he would be unable to sway Fudge on the latest piece of frivolous legislation. The last time he didn't even make it past fifty brushes, the Dark Lord returned.
Not that he would ever think of rebelling against the Dark Lord--he couldn't! It was a foolish and life-preserving decision to follow the ugly bald wizard, but he had to regardless now that he was branded. Besides, it meant he could abuse those muggleborns more than usual. Even he had to admit that the years without the Dark Lord proved rather dull when it came to recreation. Although an elegant wizard, Lucius Malfoy could not handle a sedentary political life for long. He always found people he disliked and they always happened to be muggle-lovers or muggleborn. The only way he could vent out such frustrations was through the killing of some of those kind, which he did regularly now at nightly raids that Fudge always turned a blind eye to.
He was just thinking about the possibility of joining another raid that evening after work when something glinted strangely in the sun. His brush stopped at the sixty-sixth stroke and he stood up abruptly and grabbed the nearest hand mirror. Panic had yet to set in completely on the frowning wizard as he set down his brush and took out a few locks of his long hair near the mirror.
Two seconds later, that the same mirror shattered on the floor as Lucius cried out in horror.
"NARCISSA! NARCISSA!" he roared as he dove out of their room frantically, robes askew, face pale, still holding onto a particular lock of his beautiful hair.
Upon reaching the dining room, he went straight to her and showed her that particular lock of his hair.
"Narcissa! Do you see it? Do you see it?!"
He didn't let his puzzled wife respond, cutting her off in his terrific excitement:
"There is a strand of white hair!"