Lucius Malfoy totally did not have an outfit today.

Three walk-in closets, and there was nothing.

Really.

Nothing.

He couldn't wear the robes with sparkly gold stars- could you say cheesy? He already wore the purple robes last week, and if he wore them again so early, his wife and son would definitely think that he had no clothes, when the opposite was true. He could consider the sparkly robes, but he wondered if it was cool to wear sparkly robes without an occasion. Everyone might think he was gay. Which he wasn't. He had no problem with gay people or bisexual people or trans people (it was only stupid Mudbloods and Muggles that got on his nerves), but he certainly wasn't one of them. Sure, he liked clothes, and sometimes he liked fooling around with make-up charms when no one was looking, and occasionally he dreamed of an alternate career as a fashion designer, but when it came down to it, Lucius Malfoy really was not gay.

Fabulous, stylish, amazing; yes.

Gay? No.

It was called metrosexual. Being very concerned with your appearance, that was all. Lucius had a family name to live up to; he couldn't besmirch his ancestors by wearing, ugh, out-of-date fashion styles or, even more ugh, mis-matched clothes. That was mostly why he hated Arthur Weasley so much. Weasley's family was poor, yes, but can no one afford reasonable looking clothes these days? God, Weasley thought patched up trousers was something you could wear in public!

No.

Sense.

At all.

Lucius flipped through a few more robes hanging on wire hooks and sighed.

Maybe he should start with the basics. Who would see him today? What could he stand to be seen in by those people?

His son and wife, certainly, although neither had his fabulous fashion taste. His wife did okay when she tried, but mostly she didn't. True, she stayed in the house a lot, but that was no excuse not to be stylish! His son, on the other hand, was a different matter. For Draco, it was black sweater, black pants, black robes, black everything, all the time, every hour of the day. Occasionally a Slytherin tie. But that was it. It was terrible. Lucius hated it. He left all sorts of new clothes and accessories at his boy's door as a subtle hint, but they just piled up until Narcissa sighed and cleaned them up.

Who else would see him today?

Lord Voldemort.

God above, Lucius remembered he had an appointment with Lord Voldemort today, and he didn't have anything to wear.

Nothing?

Lucius scanned the shelves of his walk-in closet and groaned.

Nothing.

Draco appeared at the door, rolling his eyes. He muttered a few words about breakfast being ready and left quickly before his father could remark on his terrible taste.

Again.

That was how it was: Lucius' family kind of avoided him now. But that was okay. Let them suffer in their horribly chosen attire, their out-of-season dress. Lucius wasn't going to sacrifice style for the two incredibly stupid people who unfortunately was his only remaining family.

He was a Slytherin, after all. Slytherins didn't care about other people!

Also, Lucius read in a magazine once that Salazar Slytherin himself was a pretty snappy dresser.

Lucius sighed and pulled on plain black robes, the least offensive of what he currently owned. He really wished he hadn't chosen them to wear as soon as he inspected himself in the mirror, but by then he figured that he was probably going to be late to Lord Voldemort if he spent any more time mulling over robes.

So then he started on his hair.

Long hair like Lucius' was rare. Most wizards cut theirs short, but why? Why chop off natural beauty? Lucius kept his long, and he liked it that way. He tried to enforce it on his son, too, but that proved to be too much. It was a pity, really. Teenagers. Such ignorant, stuck-up stupidheads.

He combed it a few times over to make sure his hair didn't appear tangled or messed-up, like the hair of that Potter boy. God almighty, that Potter boy was a fashion disaster. Did he even give a snitch about his own appearance? Did ANYONE even give a snitch about their own appearance anymore?

Lucius picked up his hair spray. Clearly, at least HE still cared. He would always be fabulous, even if everyone else wasn't.

It was a depressing sight. Lucius could barely look at his own family as he sat down to breakfast at the table. Why did he ever marry that Narcissa? Did she not know that that particular robe cut was deemed to be for less fashionably-educated witches? And his son! Overkill on the hairspray! And slicked-back hair in its own right was so last year!

Lucius wanted to cry right into his bowl of Wizard Munchie Chocolate Brownie Extra Delight with 45% More Fiber, to tell the truth.

Narcissa pushed around her oatmeal (Oatmeal! Ugh! So...bland!) and put down her spoon. "Lord Voldemort is waiting in the next room, when you're ready." She avoided eye contact with him, because she knew that vehement disapproval was in her husband's eyes.

Draco, however, looked straight at Lucius and smirked. Before his son could say anything else, Lucius stated, "I couldn't find anything else to wear and I'm certainly changing after my meeting with the Dark Lord. God, I've no idea how you survive in plain black. It's drab! It says nothing about you!"

Draco rolled his eyes, and Lucius, annoyed at clothes, his family, life, everything in general, spat, "You think I'm obsessed, but you don't think anything's wrong with yourself when you hole yourself up in your room and play with your dolls!"

Draco's eyes narrowed to slits, and Narcissa sucked in her breath.

It was the lowest blow Lucius could deliver.

Because it was entirely true.

But no one was supposed to say anything about it. It was a family secret. Outside the family, no one was supposed to know that Lucius was subscribed to Wizard Fashion Weekly or that Draco had the best collection of Barbies in the country. Even in the family, no one liked to mention it.

"I collect," Draco breathed dangerously. "Not play."

"You play," Lucius said, and stood up, pushing back his chair. He was so upset that he couldn't even finish his breakfast.

So tragic. He deserved his own soap opera.

As he swept out of the room to drown his disappointments in the pleasure of meeting with Lord Voldemort, Lucius said over his shoulder, "And 'breathed dangerously' is a stupid dialogue tag, son. Find something better."

"DON'T YOU DARE INSULT ME ON MY DIALOGUE TAGS WHEN ALL YOU USE IS 'SAID,'" Draco screamed viciously and angrily.

Lucius stopped exiting the room for a moment, enjoying himself. He didn't feel bad picking on his only child because fashion misfits had no souls, in his (and Wizard Fashion Weekly's) opinion.

"That's not any better, son. Too many adverbs."

Draco stood up, flinging down his napkin. "Like you're the lord of dialogue tags! Whatever! I'm leaving! Stupid family! [Lucius privately agreed.] Stupid everything! Angst! I'm going to my room!"

"Too many exclamation marks," Lucius called as his son ran out of the room.