Title: Ribbons, Bows and Little Boys
Author: Rube (rube@vitreoushumour.com)
Rating: PG-13 or so. Who knows?
Summary: Draco is almost ten years old, and feels that this grants him the world, or, at the very least, access to his own father's bedroom.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters used herein, and gain no profit.
Author Notes: For Aspen. Ironically, this was supposed to be Really Hot Incest. Alas, I suck.
"Hello?" Draco calls, as if someone is going to answer him. No one does.
He opens the bedroom door a little more, and he flinches at the creaking hinges. Lucius' bedroom is cold and empty; hardly signs that anyone lives and sleeps there, but Draco knows better than that. Trembling, filled with a giddy sort of excitement from knowing he's doing something he shouldn't be, Draco tries to act like he's done this a thousand times.
In reality, his father has only let him inside his bedroom maybe three times, usually for something very important. Draco is almost ten years old, and feels that this grants him the world, or, at the very least, access to his own father's bedroom. "Hello?" he tries again, softer this time. The sound of a sluggishly ticking clock is his only answer.
Draco takes a good look around his father's private rooms. He knows that his mummy doesn't sleep here, not anymore, and finds this deeply fascinating. There's nothing wrong with his mummy that he can see, but Lucius can hardly stand to be around her most of the time. Draco often wonders if he should feel the same way, and even makes half-hearted attempts at pretending he doesn't need anybody or anything – least of all his stupid mum – but then he'll scrape his knee or rip his favourite pair of trousers, and she'll fix it for him.
Draco thinks that maybe Lucius is old enough to fix things all by himself, and that's why he doesn't need Draco's mummy.
Curiously, Draco makes his way to Lucius' dressing table, and pokes around at the little knick-knacks he finds there. He tries desperately to leave everything the way he first saw it, but it is very hard. His hands are shaking, he's very nervous, and any little sound makes him jump. He drops a crystal clock Lucius favours, and falls to his knees in order to catch it. It doesn't break, instead falling into his pudgy little hands. Relieved, he gently places it back on top of the dressing table.
The room smells like it hasn't had the windows opened for a while, so Draco pushes aside the heavy drapes and lets the sun in. There's a soft breeze blowing outside, rustling the trees a touch, and he leans into it for a moment, breathing deeply. But only for a moment.
There's no telling when his father will be home. He has to hurry.
Lucius has two wardrobes. In the first, Draco finds all cloaks and robes, and frilly long jackets that seem to hang dead and ridiculous on their hangers. Draco stifles a giggle, but suddenly remembers how dark and dangerous and, well, scary his father looks in them. He sobers instantly and leaves that particular wardrobe well alone.
In the next, Draco sees all of the clothes Lucius wears around the house. They are very similar to what's in the other wardrobe, only a little less fancy. Draco is young, but Lucius has taught him quality through and through, and so Draco knows almost exactly how much each garment costs, and who made it. He smiles faintly and wonders if this is the sort of stuff he'll wear, when he's grown up.
He wonders if he'll work at the Ministry of Magic. He wonders if he'll have a son. He wonders if he'll like black as much as his father. He wonders if he'll be sorted into Slytherin, when he finally goes to Hogwarts. He wonders if he'll tie his long hair back with velvet ribbons.
Draco has short hair that he slicks back with water. He takes a comb, wets it, and drags it through his silky blond hair. He has to do this several times a day, because his hair is so fine and it dries very easily, ruining his meticulous styling. Draco thinks that he will ask his mummy for a spell or some sort of styling wax when he starts Hogwarts, so he doesn't have to ask to run to the bathroom and slick down his hair in the middle of a lesson.
But Lucius has thick blond hair that he leaves down in a straight fall 'round his shoulders. It is very pretty, and Draco very much envies him. He especially envies that Lucius can tie up his hair, can even braid it and fashion it with one of those velvet ribbons. In forest greens, deep reds, silvers, whites, and the deep black that Lucius likes so much.
Draco wants a black ribbon. He wants one very much, and so he resolves to steal one from his father.
He wants a ribbon, but he has nothing to do with the ribbon. Still, he is a child, and this makes him inventive. When you are a child, your imagination makes you resourceful to the utmost. Draco decides that he will make himself something out of his father's ribbon.
Lucius keeps his black ribbons in the top drawer of his vanity. Draco opens the drawer, peers inside, evaluating his selection, and rummages until he finds the perfect one. It is beautiful, rich and thick beyond measure. Draco can't imagine anything else quite so pretty.
He sits down on the floor with his new ribbon, running his fingers over it. After a while, he grows tired of that little game, and ties it around his wrist like… like a leash. Holding up his skinny arm with the ribbon tied around his skinner wrist, Draco smiles.
"Draco!"
He freezes. "Father?" his tiny voice ricochets off of the walls, amplifying his fear tenfold.
"What in Merlin's name are you doing in here?" Lucius sounds more surprised than angry, and so Draco tries to calm himself.
"I – " he starts, and finds that he cannot finish.
"What's that tied around your wrist?" Ah, now his father sounds angry. His voice has dropped into a low drawl.
"Nothing," Draco says, hiding his hand behind his back.
"Oh?" Draco risks a glance at his father, who is wearing his Ministry work robes, hair tied back with a black ribbon a lot like the one Draco has around his wrist. Lucius frowns at him and crosses the room to where Draco is sitting on the floor. "Draco? What is that around your wrist?" He doesn't have to ask 'show me,' and doesn't have to yank on Draco's arm.
Shivering a little, Draco shows his father the ribbon he's taken. "I'm sorry, father," he whispers.
Instead of lashing out, Lucius only looks amused. "Why did you take my ribbon?" he asks.
Draco thinks for a moment, still quite scared. "Because it's pretty."
"You want a ribbon of your own, I presume?" Draco nods mutely. Lucius tips his chin up so he can look into his small face. "You can have this one, if it pleases," he whispers, and rather unexpectedly, he kisses Draco's temple, who fidgets in surprise.
"Thank you, father," he says, staring down at his ribbon, which looks limp and boring, tied around his wrist like that. He feels like a good for nothing thief, but at least his father was nice enough to indulge his little-boy whimsy. Draco feels himself flush with admiration.
Lucius says nothing, but he gently grabs Draco's wrist, and reties the ribbon into a perfectly shaped bow.