"Grace of the Devil"
Part Nine:
Grace drew herself further into the shadows and put a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. She could hear the heavy footsteps of her nurse elf, Trixie, as she searched the room. "Miss Grace, stop this! Master is waiting for you downstairs!" Grace giggled again as the elf drew nearer.
"Boo!" Grace cried, jumping out from her hiding place. Trixie jumped back with a hand over her chest.
"Miss Grace, you is a naughty girl!" she scolded, still holding her chest as Grace laughed. "Now, put on your dress. Master is waiting." In spite of her scoldings, Grace could see affection in the old elf's eyes as she helped the little girl into her blue velvet dress. After tying a matching ribbon in her black curls, Trixie sent Grace down the stairs to meet her father in the dining room.
As Grace entered the large room, she saw her father look up from his plate and smile. "Good morning, beautiful," he greeted her as she came to the side of her chair.
"Morning," Grace sang happily before planting a kiss on her father's pale cheek. Lucius looked at her.
"Grace, step back for a moment." He took his daughter's hands gently and held her away at an arm's length to examine her. "Is that a new dress?"
Grace giggled in proud delight. "Yup."
"It's so lovely," he said admirably. "You're such a pretty girl, Gracie."
"Thank you, Daddy."
"Sit down, darling, before your breakfast gets cold."
Grace sat down quickly, and carefully put her napkin in her lap before eatting. She saw her father's smile of approval: he always told her to use her manners and be a little lady. And Grace wanted to please her father, because he was kind to her and bought her presents. Mother isn't nice to me, she thought bitterly. She barely knew her mother, who was always gone on trips. But when she was home, she wasn't nice to Grace.
"Darling? What's the matter?" Lucius had noticed that his daughter had grown quiet.
Grace quickly shot him a smile. "Nothing, Daddy."
"Don't lie, Grace. I always know when you lie."
"I'm not lying," Grace lied, again. She turned to her breakfast to avoid her father's suspicious, disapproving eyes. As much as she loved to please him, she hated to disapoint him more. But Lucius always forgot his daughter's bad points and enhanced her good ones. To him, she was perfect.
"After breakfast, shall we work on your French?" Lucius asked, changing the subject. Grace sighed and nodded. "Now, Gracie," he said patiently, "French is very important. Your grandmother was from France."
"The one I'm named after?" Grace asked, even though she knew the answer.
"Yes, darling, the one you're named after," Lucius answered kindly, though he'd told her that dozens of times. "Don't you want to speak French like her?"
"Yes, Daddy," Grace said dutifully. The truth was, she didn't particualary care for French. At such a young age, she couldn't grasp the language. Lucius understood, and was a patient teacher. But he was eager to instill the language in her. Grace liked to hear her father speak French: his voice was soothing, and it was such a pretty language. As she stumbled through the language, her father spoke it with a flowing perfection that made her struggles worth it, just to hear him.
After breakfast was finished, the kitchen elves cleared away the dishes. Grace always had a kind word for the little creatures, because they, too, were kind to her, spoiling her almost as badly as her father did, in their own way. Nollie would sneak her extra treats after dinner, and Jingle always made sure that Grace's favorite foods were prepared, going against Lucius's orders for dinner. But Lucius would never be upset when he saw how delighted his daughter was at the food. The only elf that didn't spoil Grace was Trixie, who was the only creature in the manor, man or elf, to ever punish her. But her punishments were stern yet gentle, and Grace adored her as she did any other elf.
When Nollie came to clear away the dishes, Grace patted him on the head. "Did you enjoy your breakfast, Miss Grace?" the elf squeaked curtiously.
"Oh, yes. Tell all the elves thank you," Grace said. Nollie bowed and went away to the kitchen, grinning. The elves always gloated proudly to each other after being petted by Miss Grace.
"Come, Gracie," Lucius called. Grace waved to the working elves and took her father's arm. Together, they walked out of the kitchen to the library down the hall. As they went, Lucius spoke lovingly but sternly to his daughter. "Gracie, my sweet, I wish you wouldn't baby the elves. They need to be treated like our servants."
"But, Daddy, they're so nice to me," Grace argued.
"They have to be nice to you, Darling. They're our slaves."
Tears filled Grace's eyes, before she could fight then back. Lucius looked at his daughter's wet eyes and trembling lips and frowned. "I'm sorry, Gracie, I'm sorry."
"I like them, Daddy," Grace whimpered as a tear fell down her face.
"Oh, I know you do, darling," Lucius said quickly and soothing. He stopped walking and knelt down the wipe away his daughter's tear. "You treat them any way you want to. I didn't mean to critisize."
"What is cri-cri-ti..."
Lucius smiled. "I mean, tell you what to do," he amended. "Forgive me?"
Grace nodded, and Lucius picked her up and carried her to the rest of the way to the library. Lucius always gave in to what Grace wanted: all it took was a tear or two for his heart to melt and him to grant her any wish. Grace never faked crying to get what she wanted: she was a sensitive child, and Lucius knew this. He treated her much more gently then he'd ever treated Draco. He didn't think that his daughter would grow up to be a wimp or a cry-baby...she was just a sweet little girl.
They sat at a small rounded table in the middle of the small library. Lucius spead the French book out between them. "Listen carefully, darling," he said, and he began to read. Grace put her head on the desk and listened to her father's soothing voice, speaking in a language she didn't understand, but it sounded so lovely. Finally, he stopped reading and Grace's head snapped up. "What did I just read, Grace?"
Grace tryed to casually lean over to read from the book, but Lucius shut it. "Ah ah ah," he scolded teasingly. "From memory."
"I...I don't know," Grace muttered in shame. Lucius looked disapointed again, and Grace hung her head.
"It's alright, Grace. You're really too young for this, anyway." Grace hated the resigning tone of her father's voice, and she felt a little pang of guilt.
"Sorry, Daddy," she mumbled.
"It's alright, darling," he repeated, wrapping her in a hug. "Oh, I love you, Gracie."
"Love you, Daddy," Grace said, her spirits quickly rising.
Lucius released his little girl and stood up. "I'll put the French away. We can do our history now." Lucius was teaching his daughter about the history of magical people, and they were currantly covering the wizards of the Roman Empire. Grace didn't understand any of it, but Lucius seemed to enjoy trying to teach her.
As he searched for the right book on the shelves, Grace watched her father. She loved her Daddy, more then anything in the world. She may not've had her mother's love, but she certainly had his. At such a young age, she already knew and treasured this.
Part Nine:
Grace drew herself further into the shadows and put a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. She could hear the heavy footsteps of her nurse elf, Trixie, as she searched the room. "Miss Grace, stop this! Master is waiting for you downstairs!" Grace giggled again as the elf drew nearer.
"Boo!" Grace cried, jumping out from her hiding place. Trixie jumped back with a hand over her chest.
"Miss Grace, you is a naughty girl!" she scolded, still holding her chest as Grace laughed. "Now, put on your dress. Master is waiting." In spite of her scoldings, Grace could see affection in the old elf's eyes as she helped the little girl into her blue velvet dress. After tying a matching ribbon in her black curls, Trixie sent Grace down the stairs to meet her father in the dining room.
As Grace entered the large room, she saw her father look up from his plate and smile. "Good morning, beautiful," he greeted her as she came to the side of her chair.
"Morning," Grace sang happily before planting a kiss on her father's pale cheek. Lucius looked at her.
"Grace, step back for a moment." He took his daughter's hands gently and held her away at an arm's length to examine her. "Is that a new dress?"
Grace giggled in proud delight. "Yup."
"It's so lovely," he said admirably. "You're such a pretty girl, Gracie."
"Thank you, Daddy."
"Sit down, darling, before your breakfast gets cold."
Grace sat down quickly, and carefully put her napkin in her lap before eatting. She saw her father's smile of approval: he always told her to use her manners and be a little lady. And Grace wanted to please her father, because he was kind to her and bought her presents. Mother isn't nice to me, she thought bitterly. She barely knew her mother, who was always gone on trips. But when she was home, she wasn't nice to Grace.
"Darling? What's the matter?" Lucius had noticed that his daughter had grown quiet.
Grace quickly shot him a smile. "Nothing, Daddy."
"Don't lie, Grace. I always know when you lie."
"I'm not lying," Grace lied, again. She turned to her breakfast to avoid her father's suspicious, disapproving eyes. As much as she loved to please him, she hated to disapoint him more. But Lucius always forgot his daughter's bad points and enhanced her good ones. To him, she was perfect.
"After breakfast, shall we work on your French?" Lucius asked, changing the subject. Grace sighed and nodded. "Now, Gracie," he said patiently, "French is very important. Your grandmother was from France."
"The one I'm named after?" Grace asked, even though she knew the answer.
"Yes, darling, the one you're named after," Lucius answered kindly, though he'd told her that dozens of times. "Don't you want to speak French like her?"
"Yes, Daddy," Grace said dutifully. The truth was, she didn't particualary care for French. At such a young age, she couldn't grasp the language. Lucius understood, and was a patient teacher. But he was eager to instill the language in her. Grace liked to hear her father speak French: his voice was soothing, and it was such a pretty language. As she stumbled through the language, her father spoke it with a flowing perfection that made her struggles worth it, just to hear him.
After breakfast was finished, the kitchen elves cleared away the dishes. Grace always had a kind word for the little creatures, because they, too, were kind to her, spoiling her almost as badly as her father did, in their own way. Nollie would sneak her extra treats after dinner, and Jingle always made sure that Grace's favorite foods were prepared, going against Lucius's orders for dinner. But Lucius would never be upset when he saw how delighted his daughter was at the food. The only elf that didn't spoil Grace was Trixie, who was the only creature in the manor, man or elf, to ever punish her. But her punishments were stern yet gentle, and Grace adored her as she did any other elf.
When Nollie came to clear away the dishes, Grace patted him on the head. "Did you enjoy your breakfast, Miss Grace?" the elf squeaked curtiously.
"Oh, yes. Tell all the elves thank you," Grace said. Nollie bowed and went away to the kitchen, grinning. The elves always gloated proudly to each other after being petted by Miss Grace.
"Come, Gracie," Lucius called. Grace waved to the working elves and took her father's arm. Together, they walked out of the kitchen to the library down the hall. As they went, Lucius spoke lovingly but sternly to his daughter. "Gracie, my sweet, I wish you wouldn't baby the elves. They need to be treated like our servants."
"But, Daddy, they're so nice to me," Grace argued.
"They have to be nice to you, Darling. They're our slaves."
Tears filled Grace's eyes, before she could fight then back. Lucius looked at his daughter's wet eyes and trembling lips and frowned. "I'm sorry, Gracie, I'm sorry."
"I like them, Daddy," Grace whimpered as a tear fell down her face.
"Oh, I know you do, darling," Lucius said quickly and soothing. He stopped walking and knelt down the wipe away his daughter's tear. "You treat them any way you want to. I didn't mean to critisize."
"What is cri-cri-ti..."
Lucius smiled. "I mean, tell you what to do," he amended. "Forgive me?"
Grace nodded, and Lucius picked her up and carried her to the rest of the way to the library. Lucius always gave in to what Grace wanted: all it took was a tear or two for his heart to melt and him to grant her any wish. Grace never faked crying to get what she wanted: she was a sensitive child, and Lucius knew this. He treated her much more gently then he'd ever treated Draco. He didn't think that his daughter would grow up to be a wimp or a cry-baby...she was just a sweet little girl.
They sat at a small rounded table in the middle of the small library. Lucius spead the French book out between them. "Listen carefully, darling," he said, and he began to read. Grace put her head on the desk and listened to her father's soothing voice, speaking in a language she didn't understand, but it sounded so lovely. Finally, he stopped reading and Grace's head snapped up. "What did I just read, Grace?"
Grace tryed to casually lean over to read from the book, but Lucius shut it. "Ah ah ah," he scolded teasingly. "From memory."
"I...I don't know," Grace muttered in shame. Lucius looked disapointed again, and Grace hung her head.
"It's alright, Grace. You're really too young for this, anyway." Grace hated the resigning tone of her father's voice, and she felt a little pang of guilt.
"Sorry, Daddy," she mumbled.
"It's alright, darling," he repeated, wrapping her in a hug. "Oh, I love you, Gracie."
"Love you, Daddy," Grace said, her spirits quickly rising.
Lucius released his little girl and stood up. "I'll put the French away. We can do our history now." Lucius was teaching his daughter about the history of magical people, and they were currantly covering the wizards of the Roman Empire. Grace didn't understand any of it, but Lucius seemed to enjoy trying to teach her.
As he searched for the right book on the shelves, Grace watched her father. She loved her Daddy, more then anything in the world. She may not've had her mother's love, but she certainly had his. At such a young age, she already knew and treasured this.