Voldemort stormed into Malfoy Manor, his black robes billowing. He stopped dead. Lucius Malfoy was standing by the window, doing something incredibly strange with his hair. "Lucius," said Voldemort coldly, "what exactly are you doing?"

Lucius didn’t answer right away. Instead, he continued to flip his blonde hair back and forth. Voldemort had never seen him act this way before. Death Eaters weren’t supposed to preen like peacocks.

"My Lord," Lucius said in an oddly cheerful voice, still not looking at him. "Have you ever wondered how I maintain such lustrous locks, even during our darkest campaigns?"

Voldemort's snake-like eyes narrowed. "I don't see how this is relevant to our plans for—"

"L'Oréal Elvive," Lucius interrupted, finally turning around with a dazzling smile. "Because even Death Eaters are worth it."

Someone coughed behind a curtain. Voldemort turned sharply, but saw nothing except a strange black box that quickly disappeared.

"Look at this shine," Lucius continued, inexplicably producing a bottle of Muggle shampoo from his robes. "The innovative formula with pro-keratin complex repairs damaged hair from the inside out. Perfect for those long nights of terrorizing Muggles or kneeling before your Dark Lord."

Bellatrix, who had been lurking in the corner, suddenly perked up. "Oh yes, cousin! Ever since I escaped Azkaban, I've been wondering how you kept your hair so... manageable."

Voldemort felt a headache coming on. "Crucio," he muttered, pointing his wand at Lucius.

Nothing happened.

"Available at all leading supermarkets," Lucius continued, as if he hadn't noticed the failed curse. "And if you order now—"

"ENOUGH!" shouted Voldemort. But Lucius kept going, demonstrating proper hair-washing technique to thin air.

"My Lord," Narcissa called from the doorway. "The tea is ready in the east drawing room. The lighting— I mean, the ambiance is better there."

Voldemort frowned. Lately, everyone seemed oddly concerned about lighting and room positioning. Even Wormtail had suggested moving their last meeting "just three steps to the left, my Lord, for better... atmosphere."

At least he could count on Potter to be normal at their next duel, though the boy had been strangely insistent about his shoes during their last fight...

(Basically, if Tom was just delusional and stuck in a Truman Show-esque scenario.)