Grace of the Devil
Part Fifteen:
After her second year of school, Grace stopped hanging out with the girls in her dormitory. Though none of them ever mentioned "the incident" again, and acted cordial, even friendly, towards each other, Grace never forgot it...or completly forgave them. She'd lost her faith in other girls, and turned to the boys for companionship.
And so, Grace went into her third year with much Quidditch knowledge, in order to hold up a conversation with the boys in her house. They took her in, more willingly then the girls would've, because boys don't seem to put much stock into gossip. Even though most of what is said is true, Grace thought bitterly. But she forgot her bitterness, and had fun talking Quidditch stratgies and playing Wizard's Chess and Cobblestones with her new friends.
On the second week of school, a sign came up on the Ravenclaw common room bulletin board, announcing that the house Quidditch team was looking for a new Seeker and Beater. Grace was tempted to sign the list with her other friends, except for one little problem.
She didn't have a broom.
"No problem," Micheal said that evening, as they sat in the library together. "You can borrow mine until you get your own."
"I don't know HOW to fly," Grace admitted in an embarressed whisper, and Micheal had to smile.
"No problem. Flying is the greatest thing in the world. Sign the list tomorrow morning, and after dinner I'll let you try out my broom. It's brand new, a Metallic Bolt."
"Oh, Micheal, thank you!" Grace cried, wrapping her best friend in a tight hug.
The next day, Grace signed her name under the sign up sheet. But when she came to the spot that asked what position she should sign on for, she was stuck. Being a Seeker would be cool, but it would be so much responsibility. And being a Beater would be fun, but it was also dangerous. In the end, Grace decided to sign up for Seeker. She didn't really expect to make the team, anyway: it would just be fun to try out.
The day went by slower then any other Grace had ever had at Hogwarts. She was impatienly waiting for the evening, and was tempted to ask Micheal to skip dinner and go to the Quidditch pitch early. It was only her own hunger that made her wait until after the Great Hall began to clear out.
She found Micheal waiting in the front hall, and he got his broom from behind the wardrobe where he'd stored it. Grace took a moment to hold it and examine it's every features: the silver shine of the painted wood, the glimmer of the perfectly-trimmed tail, the moving front that helped do the steering. "I don't know if I'll be able to ride this thing," she said nervously as she handed the broom back to Micheal.
"No problem," Micheal said, hoisting it over his shoulder as they headed out the front doors. "It's practically idiot proof. Oh, on second thought..."
"Jerk," she mumbled, with a smile as she knocked into him. He knocked back into her, and she waved her arms to keep her balance, laughing. Excitement filled her up, making her full stomach ache slightly as they drew closer to the pitch.
They stood in the middle of it, with the stands all around them and the goal posts on either side of them. "Okay," Micheal said, setting the broom on the ground. "All you have to do is stand over the broom, like this." He demonstrated. "Then, you say, "Up"."
"Up?" Grace remembered all of the complicated, Latin-based spells in her Charms and Transfiguration classes. This seemed too easy. She stood over it, as Micheal had shown her, and said, "Up."
And the broom did not rise.
"You sound scared," Micheal said with a laugh.
"The broom doesn't like me," Grace said, discouraged.
"No, that's not it," Micheal said jovially. "Don't get upset, Grace, it was your first try. And did you see, it rolled over? Took me nearly the whole first afternoon I got it to make it do that."
"Yeah, right."
"Try again," Micheal said. "You'll get it soon, I know you will. Just think...confidence."
"Okay, confidence," Grace said, to herself. She positioned herself beside the broom again, putting her hand over it. "UP!" she cried, and she clearly saw the broom roll over. "It moved!" she cried excitedly.
"See?" Micheal said, beaming. "You're a natural. You'll have it in no time. Try again."
It only took a few more tries to make the broom float under Grace's hand, and she was so excited that she made it fall again. But as soon as she had it, she was able to summon it up again easily.
"Now, you swing you left leg over the side, like a horse. You've ridden a horse?"
"Yes," Grace said, vaguely remembering the horse they'd had at Malfoy Manor. When it had bucked her off, her father had sent her inside. She later learned, from the gossiping house elves, that her father had killed it.
"Okay, climb on."
Grace swung herself over the broom, and wrapped her legs around it. "See? You're a natural!" Micheal said, beaming with pride. Though Grace suspected that he was more proud of his teaching abilities then his student's accomplishments. "You're ready to fly. Just...push off the ground and go."
Grace put her feet on the ground, and pushed off...and screamed as she flew into the air. But her fear at falling up subsided quickly when she realized: she was FLYING! She flew around the pitch, around the goal posts on either side, making sharp turns and coming in for an impressivly good landing, for a beginner, right next to Micheal, who clapped his hands in delight.
"You did it, you did it!" he cried, nearly tackling her as he hugged her.
"I FLEW!" she cried, as excited as a small child. "Did you see me?"
"You're a natural!" Micheal said proudly. "I think you'd make a good Seeker, you really know how to lean forward just right for the right amount of speed. And you..." Micheal went on and on and on about things Grace had done to be a good flyer, and she hadn't even realized she was doing them. She'd just gotten up there and done it. I flew! she thought happily. I can't believe it!
"If they don't make you Seeker, they're insane!"
"But I'm only in third year," Grace said sadly. "Besides, lots of the others who signed up against me have much more flying experience."
"Experience doesn't make natural talent like yours," Micheal said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Tell you what: the tryouts for Ravenclaw are in a week, right? Well, we'll come out to the pitch every evening to practice flying. You'll be as good as any of them by the try-outs!"
"You really think so?"
"'Course! You're great!"
Grace flushed with embarressment. She'd never been happier in her life.
Now, two weeks later, she'd never been more HUMILIATED in her life.
In the past two weeks, so much had happened. She'd gone from being a first-time broom flyer to the Seeker of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. How that happened, she would never know. All she knew was that her name was called off as the Seeker, and she was presented with a set of blue Quidditch robes.
Since she didn't have her own broom, Grace wrote a letter home, explaining that she needed a broom for the team. Grace was sure that her father would come through: after all, he'd even told her once that Draco, the brother she never knew, was a Seeker for the Slytherin team back in his day. Runs in the family, she thought proudly. Even though I'm in a different house...
Grace had asked specifically for a Metallic Bolt, because that's the kind she was used to after riding Micheal's so often. But, she'd written, she could probably ride a Meteor Shower or an older model of the Blinking Star series, if they were still avaliable. Ever since Grace made the team, she'd become an expert of not only the game of Quidditch, but of the popular brooms that the professional teams used.
So when Grace's own came with the post a week later, and there wasn't a long, narrow parcel attached to it's leg, she was confused. Until she saw what WAS attached to it.
A red envelope.
A Howler.
Everyone at the table gapped at her, and Grace scrambled to her feet, holding the Howler in front of her. What had she done? There must be a mistake: how could Dadddy do this? she wondered as she dashed from the Great Hall. She barely made it out when the Howler exploded and her father's voice, a hundred times it's normal volume, sounded out.
"A BROOMSTICK! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND? QUIDDITCH! MY GODS! SUCH RECKLESS BEHAVIOR! IT'S NO WONDER YOUR GRADES HAVE BEEN SUFFERING!"
Grace rushed up the stairs to her common room as the letter continued to sound out. How could he do this? she thought as angry tears filled her eyes. How could he?
He was obviously drunk: Grace could tell by the slurring of his language. She wondered if he was drunk BEFORE he'd recieved her letter, asking for a broom, or was drunk as a RESULT of the letter.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO, GET YOURSELF KILLED? MERLIN'S BEARD, CHILD! YOU ARE TO NEVER RIDE A BROOM AGAIN, IS THAT UNDERSTOOD? NO DAUGHTER OF MINE...WHY, I'VE A MIND TO COME DOWN THERE MYSELF AND STRANGLE WHOEVER LENT YOU THEIR BROOM. THE SHAME! I WILL NOT LET YOU PUT YOUR LIFE IN YOUR HANDS, LENORE GRACE MALFOY. DO NOT MAKE ME WRITE ANOTHER ONE OF THESE."
Just as Grace reached the common room, the letter burst into flames in her hands. She dropped it, and it disappeared. With a scream of rage and humiliation, Grace grabbed the nearest object, someone's Arthimancy book, and flung it to the opposite wall. Then, she ran up to her room.
She did not cry. What would crying do? She'd been humiliated, but she'd gotten out of there. Nobody heard the worst of it, she told herself.
Suddenly, disapointment took over. She had to give up her position! After she'd worked so hard...why does Daddy have to be so stubborn? she thought bitterly. Why won't he trust me? He still thinks I'm some dumb kid. I can handle Quidditch, I can!
But there was nothing she could do. That afternoon, she turned in her robes to the Quidditch captain, Trent Mahoney, who seemed disapointed to loose her so soon. But the position for Seeker went to a fifth year, Jupiter Moonlight, and the issue was forgotten.
Not to Grace, though. She would never forget what her father had done to her, just as she never forgot how the other girls treated her. But, as with that situation, she would push it aside and move on.
Part Fifteen:
After her second year of school, Grace stopped hanging out with the girls in her dormitory. Though none of them ever mentioned "the incident" again, and acted cordial, even friendly, towards each other, Grace never forgot it...or completly forgave them. She'd lost her faith in other girls, and turned to the boys for companionship.
And so, Grace went into her third year with much Quidditch knowledge, in order to hold up a conversation with the boys in her house. They took her in, more willingly then the girls would've, because boys don't seem to put much stock into gossip. Even though most of what is said is true, Grace thought bitterly. But she forgot her bitterness, and had fun talking Quidditch stratgies and playing Wizard's Chess and Cobblestones with her new friends.
On the second week of school, a sign came up on the Ravenclaw common room bulletin board, announcing that the house Quidditch team was looking for a new Seeker and Beater. Grace was tempted to sign the list with her other friends, except for one little problem.
She didn't have a broom.
"No problem," Micheal said that evening, as they sat in the library together. "You can borrow mine until you get your own."
"I don't know HOW to fly," Grace admitted in an embarressed whisper, and Micheal had to smile.
"No problem. Flying is the greatest thing in the world. Sign the list tomorrow morning, and after dinner I'll let you try out my broom. It's brand new, a Metallic Bolt."
"Oh, Micheal, thank you!" Grace cried, wrapping her best friend in a tight hug.
The next day, Grace signed her name under the sign up sheet. But when she came to the spot that asked what position she should sign on for, she was stuck. Being a Seeker would be cool, but it would be so much responsibility. And being a Beater would be fun, but it was also dangerous. In the end, Grace decided to sign up for Seeker. She didn't really expect to make the team, anyway: it would just be fun to try out.
The day went by slower then any other Grace had ever had at Hogwarts. She was impatienly waiting for the evening, and was tempted to ask Micheal to skip dinner and go to the Quidditch pitch early. It was only her own hunger that made her wait until after the Great Hall began to clear out.
She found Micheal waiting in the front hall, and he got his broom from behind the wardrobe where he'd stored it. Grace took a moment to hold it and examine it's every features: the silver shine of the painted wood, the glimmer of the perfectly-trimmed tail, the moving front that helped do the steering. "I don't know if I'll be able to ride this thing," she said nervously as she handed the broom back to Micheal.
"No problem," Micheal said, hoisting it over his shoulder as they headed out the front doors. "It's practically idiot proof. Oh, on second thought..."
"Jerk," she mumbled, with a smile as she knocked into him. He knocked back into her, and she waved her arms to keep her balance, laughing. Excitement filled her up, making her full stomach ache slightly as they drew closer to the pitch.
They stood in the middle of it, with the stands all around them and the goal posts on either side of them. "Okay," Micheal said, setting the broom on the ground. "All you have to do is stand over the broom, like this." He demonstrated. "Then, you say, "Up"."
"Up?" Grace remembered all of the complicated, Latin-based spells in her Charms and Transfiguration classes. This seemed too easy. She stood over it, as Micheal had shown her, and said, "Up."
And the broom did not rise.
"You sound scared," Micheal said with a laugh.
"The broom doesn't like me," Grace said, discouraged.
"No, that's not it," Micheal said jovially. "Don't get upset, Grace, it was your first try. And did you see, it rolled over? Took me nearly the whole first afternoon I got it to make it do that."
"Yeah, right."
"Try again," Micheal said. "You'll get it soon, I know you will. Just think...confidence."
"Okay, confidence," Grace said, to herself. She positioned herself beside the broom again, putting her hand over it. "UP!" she cried, and she clearly saw the broom roll over. "It moved!" she cried excitedly.
"See?" Micheal said, beaming. "You're a natural. You'll have it in no time. Try again."
It only took a few more tries to make the broom float under Grace's hand, and she was so excited that she made it fall again. But as soon as she had it, she was able to summon it up again easily.
"Now, you swing you left leg over the side, like a horse. You've ridden a horse?"
"Yes," Grace said, vaguely remembering the horse they'd had at Malfoy Manor. When it had bucked her off, her father had sent her inside. She later learned, from the gossiping house elves, that her father had killed it.
"Okay, climb on."
Grace swung herself over the broom, and wrapped her legs around it. "See? You're a natural!" Micheal said, beaming with pride. Though Grace suspected that he was more proud of his teaching abilities then his student's accomplishments. "You're ready to fly. Just...push off the ground and go."
Grace put her feet on the ground, and pushed off...and screamed as she flew into the air. But her fear at falling up subsided quickly when she realized: she was FLYING! She flew around the pitch, around the goal posts on either side, making sharp turns and coming in for an impressivly good landing, for a beginner, right next to Micheal, who clapped his hands in delight.
"You did it, you did it!" he cried, nearly tackling her as he hugged her.
"I FLEW!" she cried, as excited as a small child. "Did you see me?"
"You're a natural!" Micheal said proudly. "I think you'd make a good Seeker, you really know how to lean forward just right for the right amount of speed. And you..." Micheal went on and on and on about things Grace had done to be a good flyer, and she hadn't even realized she was doing them. She'd just gotten up there and done it. I flew! she thought happily. I can't believe it!
"If they don't make you Seeker, they're insane!"
"But I'm only in third year," Grace said sadly. "Besides, lots of the others who signed up against me have much more flying experience."
"Experience doesn't make natural talent like yours," Micheal said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Tell you what: the tryouts for Ravenclaw are in a week, right? Well, we'll come out to the pitch every evening to practice flying. You'll be as good as any of them by the try-outs!"
"You really think so?"
"'Course! You're great!"
Grace flushed with embarressment. She'd never been happier in her life.
Now, two weeks later, she'd never been more HUMILIATED in her life.
In the past two weeks, so much had happened. She'd gone from being a first-time broom flyer to the Seeker of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. How that happened, she would never know. All she knew was that her name was called off as the Seeker, and she was presented with a set of blue Quidditch robes.
Since she didn't have her own broom, Grace wrote a letter home, explaining that she needed a broom for the team. Grace was sure that her father would come through: after all, he'd even told her once that Draco, the brother she never knew, was a Seeker for the Slytherin team back in his day. Runs in the family, she thought proudly. Even though I'm in a different house...
Grace had asked specifically for a Metallic Bolt, because that's the kind she was used to after riding Micheal's so often. But, she'd written, she could probably ride a Meteor Shower or an older model of the Blinking Star series, if they were still avaliable. Ever since Grace made the team, she'd become an expert of not only the game of Quidditch, but of the popular brooms that the professional teams used.
So when Grace's own came with the post a week later, and there wasn't a long, narrow parcel attached to it's leg, she was confused. Until she saw what WAS attached to it.
A red envelope.
A Howler.
Everyone at the table gapped at her, and Grace scrambled to her feet, holding the Howler in front of her. What had she done? There must be a mistake: how could Dadddy do this? she wondered as she dashed from the Great Hall. She barely made it out when the Howler exploded and her father's voice, a hundred times it's normal volume, sounded out.
"A BROOMSTICK! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND? QUIDDITCH! MY GODS! SUCH RECKLESS BEHAVIOR! IT'S NO WONDER YOUR GRADES HAVE BEEN SUFFERING!"
Grace rushed up the stairs to her common room as the letter continued to sound out. How could he do this? she thought as angry tears filled her eyes. How could he?
He was obviously drunk: Grace could tell by the slurring of his language. She wondered if he was drunk BEFORE he'd recieved her letter, asking for a broom, or was drunk as a RESULT of the letter.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO, GET YOURSELF KILLED? MERLIN'S BEARD, CHILD! YOU ARE TO NEVER RIDE A BROOM AGAIN, IS THAT UNDERSTOOD? NO DAUGHTER OF MINE...WHY, I'VE A MIND TO COME DOWN THERE MYSELF AND STRANGLE WHOEVER LENT YOU THEIR BROOM. THE SHAME! I WILL NOT LET YOU PUT YOUR LIFE IN YOUR HANDS, LENORE GRACE MALFOY. DO NOT MAKE ME WRITE ANOTHER ONE OF THESE."
Just as Grace reached the common room, the letter burst into flames in her hands. She dropped it, and it disappeared. With a scream of rage and humiliation, Grace grabbed the nearest object, someone's Arthimancy book, and flung it to the opposite wall. Then, she ran up to her room.
She did not cry. What would crying do? She'd been humiliated, but she'd gotten out of there. Nobody heard the worst of it, she told herself.
Suddenly, disapointment took over. She had to give up her position! After she'd worked so hard...why does Daddy have to be so stubborn? she thought bitterly. Why won't he trust me? He still thinks I'm some dumb kid. I can handle Quidditch, I can!
But there was nothing she could do. That afternoon, she turned in her robes to the Quidditch captain, Trent Mahoney, who seemed disapointed to loose her so soon. But the position for Seeker went to a fifth year, Jupiter Moonlight, and the issue was forgotten.
Not to Grace, though. She would never forget what her father had done to her, just as she never forgot how the other girls treated her. But, as with that situation, she would push it aside and move on.