A/N: Super fluffy. Some of us may be heading back to school. Uggg I know the pain! But perhaps this cutesy fanfictions will distract you from the horrors of school. Enjoy.
The first time Cosette was handed a children's book and asked to read it she cried.
"Cosette what is wrong?" Valjean asked concerned.
"Nothing, papa," she responded trying to wipe the tears.
"Come now, what saddens those pretty blue eyes? Hmm?" he gently asked.
"It's just, I cannot read. How can I ever fit in if I cannot do such a simple task? How will I be a proper lady?" she asked and looked down ashamed.
Valjean felt a pang of guilt. How thoughtless of him to never consider she never had been taught her letters. But in hindsight it didn't surprise him the Thenardiers never bothered in educating her. He knelt down to her level and looked her in the eye.
"My, love, tis nothing to be ashamed of. I will teach you, so you need not worry. You are so sweet that when after I teach you and will no doubt fit in and be a proper lady," he said.
"Oh, thank you! When shall we start?" Cosette asked smiling.
"Well, right now if you wish," he said.
"Yes please!" she said.
Valjean stood up and held her hand and led her to the small room where the books were kept. From them he took the children's book Cosette clutched and sat in the large armchair. He gestured for her to sit on his lap and she obliged.
"Now, let's start on the first page," he said. He read slowly pointing to each word until it finished. Afterwards he took her off his lap and led her to the kitchen table. There he took some paper and began writing out the letters. Cosette's eyes widened. Each letter was beautiful and new.
After sometime of this, Valjean bought her a slate and some chalk.
"For me?" she asked excitedly.
"Yes, for you my darling," he said smiling.
"Whatever is it for?" she asked.
"It is to practice your letters," he said.
"May I use it right now?" she asked.
"Of course," he said.
Over the few months she progressed with great leaps and bounds. She now knew all of the letters and could write the whole alphabet. But one thing was difficult for her. When Valjean introduced spelling she tripped up.
He would say, "Cosette please spell dog."
She would write in her shaky script. Valjean would look and see she spelt it wrong.
"I am sorry but that is incorrect, try again, remember take your time it is not a race," he said kindly.
Cosette's face would wrinkle and rub out the word and try again. She went on like this and each time she had to erase.
After the third attempt she slammed down the slate and tucked her legs to her forehead.
"Now, now Cosette, it is nothing to get frustrated about. You are just struggling a bit but you will get it soon, I know it," he said.
"What 8 year old cannot spell simple words? What is wrong with me?" she said muffled by her skirt.
"Cosette, I know how this feels. Trust me, you are bright and there is nothing wrong with you," he said patting her back. Valjean did know and meant what he said. He had been illiterate most of his life and only in the galley did he become literate. He took a long time to read basic word and often thought of giving up since he was a convict and never likely to use such knowledge.
After that pep talk she slowly improved. Within the month she could spell longer word and to form simple sentences like See the cat and I can run. Reading after spelling came easier. But what surprised Valjean the most is how well she grasped math. When he introduced adding and subtracting she understood it within a week. After she was proficient he taught her multiplication and division which she got just as easily.
Spelling was still difficult and Cosette kept trying. One day Cosette did something that thoroughly surprised Valjean. One night Valjean was reading in his study and Cosette came out from her room.
"Papa?" she said from the open doorway to his study.
"Yes?" he said looking up smiling.
"May I show you something?" she asked.
"Why of course, come here my child and show papa," he said beckoning her.
She scurried over and handed him her slate. On it were ten word she had had difficulty with. She had struggled with these words for over a week. They were longer and had more syllables.
"My dear! You spelt these correctly!" Valjean said getting up and crouching in front of Cosette.
Cosette smiled and hugged her father.
"Papa is so proud! Your penmanship is your best! Good work!" he exclaimed, eyes beaming.
"Thank you papa. I have been practicing extra hard!" she said.
"I can see that. See, I told giving up was bad," Valjean said proudly and kissed her forehead.
Eventually, she became proficient at spelling and he taught her new things. He taught her geography which amazed her. The thought there was a world outside of the few places she knew astounded her.
"This is France?" she asked one night when Valjean had pulled the atlas out.
"Yes, and here is where we are," he pointed.
"France is small!" she said gleefully.
"It looks that way, but one cannot see from one side to another," he said laughing.
"That is true! But it is smaller than that country. What is it called?" she asked pointing her small finger.
"That is Africa. It is not one country but many. It is like how France is a part of Europe," he explained.
"Oh," she said.
He taught her history, art and read her great works of literature. Cosette loved every minute study because she could be with her papa. She felt his excitement when she was correct and the warmth of love when she was wrong or frustrated.
When the two moved to a convent a few years later, Cosette excelled and when they left Valjean was quite pleased with her. She was now at age level education and no one could tell she hadn't been able to read or write at 8.
Unfortunately Valjean's eyes were weakening at this point. He was elderly and this was natural, but he had always dismissed the thought of being old. At night he sometimes struggled with the feeble candle light. In the day he had good vision but at night he had problems. When this happened he would rub his eyes and close them for a moment. One night when he was having particular trouble, Cosette set down her knitting and leaned over to her father. She knew what his closed eyes meant.
"Papa, let me help you," she said picking up the book and began to read.
Valjean was surprised. His little girl was now needing to help him. He felt a bit ashamed that she did not need him as much and he needed her now. She was a proper lady now. But he closed his eyes and listened her soft words read. Her voice much older but still had the slight cadence of that child he had found in the woods so long ago.