Lucius pushed the door open and stood on the threshold, radiating distaste. He was tremendously uncomfortable intruding on the wretchedly bureaucratic world behind all the gilt and mirrors, and looked as though he thought everything from the walls to the furniture to the jumped-up clerk seated at the desk might be contagious. He found himself almost absurdly affronted when the boy failed to do so much as pick up his head. His jaw tensed slightly, and his fingers tightened around the door handle.
"Ah, yes," he said quietly, with a dismissive glance around the rest of the office. "You're one of the middle ones, aren't you." He remembered his face, and even if he hadn't - scribbling away hopelessly behind closed doors was the family way, wasn't it? And probably proud of it, goodness knew. "If you have a moment, Weasley." He wasn't going to stand waiting any longer this afternoon - he'd had his fill of that.