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I wiggle my toes, the warm grass tickling my bare feet. I love summer, playing outside without shoes on, away from the stuffy mansion.
One of our beautiful white peacocks bobs across the lawn towards me, the ends of its tail trailing lightly on the tips of the grass. I sit down so it won’t feel small and scared. No animal likes feeling small and scared. Neither do I. That’s why I have my daddy.
Our peacocks won’t come up to anyone else -- they pretend they’re better then everyone else around here. But they’re just scared. I don’t scare them. The peacock comes right up next to me, bumping into my leg. I pet the top of its head with one finger. They don’t like being petted anywhere else -- just their head. And their neck, too, if they’re in a good mood.
“Felicity?” I hear Grandmother’s voice calling out from the house. She doesn’t like me playing with the peacocks. She thinks of them like bushes and trees and flower gardens, not pets -- and you don’t play with bushes and trees and flower gardens. I giggle at the thought.
“Felicity!” Grandmother calls again, sounding cross. “Are you playing with the peacocks?”
I don’t answer.
“I knew it! Come in this instant, young lady!”
“Lay off her,” I hear Daddy telling her. “She’s only eight. She can play with the peacocks if she wants to.” I love my daddy.
I give the peacock a quick kiss on the head, then get up and run towards the house. “I’m nine in two days!” I call, reminding them.
“I know, Fee,” Daddy says, as I run up the stairs to the porch. He’s standing in the doorway, like he just came out from inside the house. Grandmother’s sitting on one of her curly-cue iron chairs that she takes in in the winter so they don’t get rusted. She’s sipping lemonade from a tall glass.
“Yes, Felicity,” says Grandmother, impatient.
I look at Grandmother from the top of the porch steps. I wonder why she’s never nice to me.
I walk over to Daddy. He picks me up and swings me around, and I giggle in delight.
“Really, Draco,” Grandmother says, sipping lemonade in a fussy sort of way. Her lemonade looks very nice and cold. I wonder if there’s any left.
Daddy stops swinging me, but lets me climb onto his back. I rest me chin on his shoulder, and whisper, “May I have some lemonade, too, Daddy?”
“Of course, Fee,” he whispers back, and turns around and walks into the house with me still on his back.
“Don’t forget to close the door!” Grandmother says. Daddy kicks it closed behind us, and I catch Grandmother giving him a dirty look.
Daddy lets me down in the hall, and we walk through dark stone hallways to the kitchen. He taps the wireless on the counter with his wand, and it begins to tell us the day’s news. I look on enviously. I can’t wait to get my own wand.
“May I have the green one?” I ask, as Daddy’s picking out our glasses.
“Of course.” He smiles at me, and ruffles my hair.
Suddenly, his hand freezes, still on top of my head. He turns to look at the radio, a strange look on his face.
“Daddy?” I ask in a small voice. He doesn’t answer.
The programme fills the silence:
“ . . . and Mr. Potter is now said to be being held in a prison in Siberia. Ministry officials were unaware that such a structure had been built; they are now in a frenzy to rescue Mr. Potter, as are his family and friends. We’ll keep you updated as more knowledge about this story is uncovered.”
“Where’s Siberia?” I ask Daddy, as he taps the radio again, and it goes silent.
“Northern Russia,” he replies, the strange look on his face again.
“Daddy, do you think Harry Potter will be okay?”
He nods. “The whole Ministry’ll be after whoever locked him up.” He rubs his left forearm, something he does a lot when he’s nervous.
“What about his family? He has a big family, doesn’t he? Won’t they be woried? Maybe we should try and help them.”
He raised his eyebrows. That was normal for Daddy, but his face still wasn’t quite right.
“I don’t think they’d want our help,” Daddy says coldly.
“Why not?” I protest.
“Harry Potter and I weren’t friends at school,” Daddy says.
“Why not?” I ask again.
“We were in different Houses. He was a Gryffindor.”
“He was a Gryffindor?" I repeat, wrinkling my nose.
Daddy nods, almost smiling.
“Maybe I don’t like Harry Potter so much.”
He doesn’t do anything for a few seconds, then says, “Come on. Let’s get that lemonade.”
&&&
“Bye, Grandmother,” I say, standing on my toes to kiss her cheek.
“Goodbye, Felicity. Draco, are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Grandmother gives Daddy a sharp look.
“I have my own house, Mother,” Daddy says. I take his hand and start walking towards the door. I don’t like it when Daddy and Grandmother fight.
Grandmother glares at Daddy, until Cappy, her house elf, distracts her. I like Cappy.
“Mistress Narcissa?”
Grandmother looks down in annoyance. “What is it?”
“Would Mistress like red or white wine with her dinner?”
Grandmother sighs, and follows Cappy to the kitchen.
“Come on, Fee,” Daddy says, and gives me a handful of sparkly green Floo powder. “You first.”
I step carefully into the grate and say, “Number 13, Viride Street,” just like Daddy taught me to.
I tumble out on the hard, shiny wood of the kitchen floor. I’ve barely gotten out of the way before Daddy steps gracefully out of fireplace.
“How do you do that?” I ask him enviously.
“What?” he asks. He wasn’t paying attention. I wonder what he’s thinking about.
“How do you not fall over when you Floo?”
“Lots of practice,” he replies, winking at me. “What do you want for dinner?”
“Pasta,” I say.
“We had pasta yesterday.”
I shrug. He Summons a pot and fills it with water.
After dinner, after the table is cleared and the dishes are Charmed to wash themselves, Daddy and I sit in the front room and read. Daddy reads the newspaper. I try to read some story Grandmother gave me, but it’s boring. I like the books that boys are supposed to read. They’re more interesting.
Hours later -- I don’t know when, there isn’t a clock in the front room -- Daddy looks up from his newspaper. “You should go to bed,” he says. I was staring off into the distence because I was bored. I’m not tired.
I tell Daddy that, but he just laughs. “Even if you aren’t, you can at least rest your eyes.”
I cross my arms, and stay on the couch.
Daddy shakes his head, picks me up, and carries me up the stairs to my room. I glare at him, but get ready for bed anyway. Maybe I’m a little bit tired.
Daddy tucks me in, just like he does every night. When he’s about to leave my room, I remember something I was going to ask him.
“Daddy?”
He turns around. “What is it?”
“Daddy, why does Grandmother hate me so much?”
He sits on the end of my bed, and smooths out the quilt. He’s always straightening and fixing and smoothing out. “Your Grandmother doesn’t hate you.”
“Yes, she does.”
“Why do you think that, Fee?” Now he’s wiping dust off of the baseboard.
“She doesn’t smile at me,” I say. “And she’s always complaining that I’m just like my mother.”
“Grandmother didn’t like your mum very much.”
I wait a few seconds, just in case he’s going to say anything else.. Then I ask, “Who is my mum?”
Daddy just keeps dusting the furniture.
“Who is my mum, Daddy?”
He kisses me lightly on the forehead. “Goodnight, Felicity.”
I don’t say anything.
Daddy leaves, turning off the light behind him.
&&&
My Daddy Says by RedChequeredConverse
Chapter Notes: My first story! Hope you like it.
Chapter Endnotes: Please review! I love constructive criticism, kudus . . .anything except flaming, really. So go!