Lucius' expression softened, "Hmm...not so much me. You're a menace to the house elves, however...and my peacocks. Though, of course, you're adamant that you have nothing to do with their ruffled feathers..." The thought of his eight-year-old son playing innocent made Lucius smile, and as he glanced across the desk at the eighteen-year-old in front of him, he tried to convince himself that this was the very same boy. He looked like Draco, of course, but Draco was a child and it was hard to think of him as anything else. Any familiarity would be welcome.
"Do you still enjoy riding a broom? You were rather passionate about it at eight...with no concern for your poor Father's nerves, of course." It was common knowledge within the family that Lucius had issues with heights, and watching his only son swish about on a broomstick had made him incredibly anxious.