Five things Lucius Malfoy won't admit he likes.
Narcissa's cooking. She has always been far less demanding of their house-elves than he; Merlin knows why. On occasion she'll give them an evening free form making dinner altogether and take it upon herself. Stop looking at him like that – he can't quite explain it, but he loves to watch her – she always looks so solemn, focused, that he can't resist sneaking up behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder and stealing a taste of whatever is on the counter or stovetop in front of her. This always earns him a scolding, not to mention a few burnt fingertips, but it's well worth observing her sure, steady fingers wrapped around the handle of a knife, the way her brow knits when she's concentrating. She'll swat him away with a dishtowel, murmuring, "You are a child, Lucius Malfoy," every time – his only response is to plant a kiss on the side of her neck and turn away before she can catch him smiling.
His hair (stop looking at him like that). It's not like he's vain. Long hair is a status symbol, and when one has status such as his... he's got reason to let people know who they're dealing with, thank you very much.
Quidditch. Not that he'll ever admit this one, but it started at Hogwarts – he hadn't played, but Slytherin won the House Cup six years out of the seven he attended, and he wasn't without a certain amount of house pride. Still isn't, in fact – it's not just because of Draco that he still watches the school games. There is no reason whatsoever anyone should know this, however; really, he's not about to paint his chest in the Tutshill Tornados colours or some such thing. He is a Malfoy, after all, and there are certain – what is that you're muttering about? ...Whatever you think you may have seen at the Ireland-Bulgaria World Cup game... only went because Draco wouldn't stop talking about it, and he could hardly have expected Narcissa to take him, could he... he had nothing to do with that unfortunate incident involving Muggles and certain gentlemen in masks and hoods, and you will kindly refrain from mentioning it again.
Long showers. No, this doesn't have to do with narcissism, either, they're simply therapeutic. He supposes it has something to do with the fact that in the early days of their marriage Narcissa would join him more often than not... Given that she is a little less apt to do so now, however, he prefers to take advantage of the time alone – to think, he is quick to clarify disdainfully, stop giggling. There's something... calming... about the clouds of steam, the steady sound of water hitting the tile, his tired, tense muscles unravelling under the spray... No, there will be no need to "give us a moment," honestly.
His grandson. Scorpius is his father in miniature; there's something strange about seeing shadows of his own features in the little face. Narcissa dotes on him – Lucius can't quite bring himself to do the same, but when they visit, Astoria tends to get wrapped up with her in whatever it is women talk about, and Draco is given to falling asleep in the sitting room the second dinner's finished. Thus, more often than not Lucius finds himself telling stories – of his own time at Hogwarts (Scorpius is due to start in a few weeks' time – is he really eleven, already?), of Draco's Quidditch games, of Diagon Alley and King's Cross. Scorpius invariably falls asleep in Lucius's lap after an hour or two, and as Lucius looks down at him he can only try to suppress the knowledge that Draco had never experienced this. He swallows a lump in his throat as the women join them, Astoria announcing that they must be going, and thank you for dinner. She nudges her husband and son awake; they say their goodbyes, a little bleary-eyed. Scorpius hugs Lucius, briefly and tightly, leaving him a bit confused and determined to ignore Narcissa's knowing look.