The little twitch that pulled Lucius's mouth up at the corner was born not of amusement, but of genuine irritation. It was one thing to have some washed up fool in a dead-end job going home to tinker with Muggle toys on his own time; it was quite another to have a young man in (or at least sitting next to) the highest levels of the Ministry choose to toss out one of their cultural references like it was the most natural thing in the world. He raised his eyebrows slightly in distaste as he fixed his signature to the second page, and the third.
... And the fourth, and - Merlin, how many were there? And the boy just kept going. He looked up at him, his pen poised stiffly over the paper, his expression flattening. You're enjoying this - aren't you? Brat. He took a little pleasure in imagining the awkwardness this particular Weasley must have faced in having such an absolute screw-up for a father, but the images were only so potent.
He cut in as soon as there seemed to be a lull. "How dreadfully tedious for you," he said, with a rather pointed lack of sympathy. "Let us say I consider myself fully informed. Shall we? I assure you, I have no desire to waste your time with formalities."