"SHARING A COMMON LANGUAGE"
10TH OF AUGUST, 2019

That morning, Elodie had awoken to find a rolled up piece of parchment beside her bed. Unfolding it carefully, she had read the instructions, written in jade-green ink, then frowned, confused, and bewildered. She had read it once again, and then a third time. And yet, the note’s message still confounded her. Elodie had then dressed herself, made breakfast, and washed the dishes. For a fourth time, she had read the note.

Box of dust on top of the fireplace, it had read. Throw in fireplace, say ‘Diagon Alley’, and step in. Get your school stuff. Do not buy anything else, be back by night-time.

Elodie’s father was not at home. This was usual, it would be more of a mystery if he were at home. Elodie was not quite sure what her father did, but it was something covert and enigmatic. The man had informed his daughter of the magical world no more than a year ago, when she had accidentally set the arm of the dinner table on fire. So Elodie had been prepared for the arrival of her Hogwarts acceptance letter. However, because of the scarcity of her father, she had been unable inform him of the letter’s existence, and she had grown worried, thinking that maybe she would not be able to attend the school of magic as her father had told her she would.

Cautiously, Elodie had walked over to the fireplace. The note had calmed some of her nerves once she had understood its meaning. Her father seemed to have realised that she had gotten the letter. On top of the fireplace, always dead and never lit, lay a small, wooden box. Beside it lay a collection of coins. Elodie collected her letter from where it lay in her bedroom, and tucked it in her pockets, shoving the small collection of silver and bronze coins, foreign to Elodie, in there as well. She then opened the box, to find powdery dust inside. She picked up a handful of the fine stuff, and threw it in the fireplace. To her astonishment, the fireplace blazed to life, the flames strong and green-coloured.

“Diagon Alley,” Elodie told the fire hesitantly, feeling ridiculous.

Then, she had stepped in, closing her eyes in fear. Suddenly, she had been pulled by some unknown force downwards, as if she were water swirling down a drain. Then, as quickly as it had started, the feeling stopped. Elodie opened her eyes slowly. And there she stood, in Diagon Alley. It looked like a historical city preserved from the outside world, the bright, early morning sun giving it a fairy tale feel. “C'est pas possible. This is impossible.” Elodie said quietly under her breath. How was she here? A couple of moments she had been in Manchester, and now... Elodie turned around slowly, not quite sure where she was. Feelings of loneliness washed over her, and she yearned for a parent to turn to. And yet she was still alone.

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Roleplaying as Nadya Andrulevičus

"I have a chocolate-chip ice creme please," Nadya told the man working at the ice cream store. Her English was horrible, broken and in need of strengthening, but better than most Latvian's could claim.

Her father, a proud Latvian, had ensured that his children spoke not only Latvian, but also Russian and French. Russian was a practical language to learn, as they lived in eastern Europe, but French was a more unusual choice. Her father had chosen French because many years ago, French had become the unoffical language of the aristocracy in Russia, following the conquer of Russia by the French in the 18th century. And Nadya's father, ever the aristocrat, wanted his children to be as royal as one could appear in 21st-century Latvia. Unfortunately for Nadya, Andrejs Andrulevičus did not seem it necessary for his children to learn English.

She, along with her four older sisters, younger brother, and mother, had set out for a week-long holiday to the United Kingdom, as a short holiday before school resumed again. Her mother, Karina, had been the one to insist on the trip. Always wanting to be on top of the latest trends, Karina had discovered that a holiday to the U.K. was the latest trend there was. So, naturally, Karina had persuaded her husband to take the children on a holiday. In reality, Karina wasn't a motherly figure, and had invited a dozen of her high-class friends to share the trip with. The children, who Karina thought of as a waste of space, were left to their own devices. And so Nadya had been left alone, wandering magical London all by herself. Nevertheless, Nadya was slightly glad that she was able to escape the family home for the week before school started. Her father was a strict and harsh man, and it was a nice break from him. But Nadya still found herself wishing school would hurry up and start. The language barrier was providing a tricky one.

As the ice cream man handed over a double scoop of black and white ice cream, Nadya heard from behind her, a voice. “C'est pas possible.” Nadya turned quickly, her heart beating quickly with excitement. A French speaker!

Behind her stood a girl, with dark brown skin and black, braided hair tied up in a bun. She was clearly the French speaker, and Nadya approached her cautiously, ice cream in hand, nerves sky-high. It would be nice to be able to have a conversation again, a conversation that she could understand, and reply with ease. Still, Nadya was a timid girl. Her fears nearly outweighed the advantages. Nearly, but not completely.

"Excusez moi, mais est ce que vous parlez français?" Excuse me, but do you speak French? Nadya asked politely, quietly. Her free hand clutched the rim of her dress, and she fiddled with it nervously, worried that she would regret speaking up.

Elodie dusted herself down, patting, pushing and hitting her thick coat, leggings and black boots. It was the boots Elodie was most worried about. They were a prized possession of hers, jet black and shiny, but the fireplace trip had left them covered in dust and ash. She worked on them furiously, spitting into the palm of her hands and rubbing it against the leather surface. When Elodie felt she had done as much as she could, she stood up, straightening her disheveled coat and properly examining the area around her.

It was an old street, with cobbled streets and shops that seemed to be straight out of 17th-century London. People bustled about, chatting and laughing, laden with their purchases. The sky was bright blue, dotted with lazy stretches of white clouds that floated hazily ago, the warm sunlight warmed Elodie up. The shops had curious names, Eeylops' Owl Emporium, Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Quality Quidditch Supplies, but flowed rhythmically. Colours like dark green, navy, orange, red and purple seemed to make up the majority of the colour scheme, while colours like white, peach, light blue, grey and pastels were rarely seen. The customers themselves, Elodie noted, wore long robes. Curious.

"Excusez moi, mais est ce que vous parlez français?" Excuse me, but do you speak French?

Elodie spun around quickly. Behind her stood a girl. White, with thin, stringy blonde hair and luminous, light blue eyes, almost see through. She was thin, thinner than Elodie, and didn't have the same wiry muscle Elodie had. She had an upturned nose, and pale, warm-toned skin. She was dressed in a thick, fashionable dress, collared and ruffled, patterned with red and white shapes. She was definitely a wealthy girl, Elodie concluded.

“Oui, j'avais,” Elodie confirmed, her voice quiet with the shyness that so often plagued her. She fell silent for a second, before adding a question, out of curiosity. “Êtes-vous français? Je ne suis pas, ma maman vient du Gabon. Are you French? I 'm not, my mum is from Gabon.”

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Roleplaying as Nadya Andrulevičus

The girl spin around to face Nadya quickly when she heard her speak. She was a short, thin girl, but not as short or as thin as Nadya: this girl was thin and wiry, while Nadya was thin and sickly. She had large and luminous eyes, fringed by dark eyelashes, and pretty young looking, Nadya guessed that she was roughly the same age as she was. The girl was wearing a black top, black jeans (slightly faded to a dark grey), a furry coat coloured pink, red and brown, and she wore black leather boots that shone in the sunlight.

“Oui, j'avais. Êtes-vous français? Je ne suis pas, ma maman vient du Gabon."

As she spoke, the girl seemed curious. She wasn't a loud, outgoing girl, but much more verbal than Nadya could claim. Nadya herself found herself plagued with a new found set of fears. She fears were not things she could express, it was just there. Filling her with trepidation, apprehension and dread every time she faced a new person. It was the same at school - when Nadya first reached Drumstrang, she had been unable to even talk to the students around her. Slowly, as the year went on, Nadya was able to make friends (or, more accurately, other students made friends with Nadya). She was still unable to hold a conversation to adults, teachers and the such, but she was taking baby steps. Nadya breathed slowly in through her nose, then breathed out through her mouth.

"Je ne suis pas français. Je viens de Lettonie. Je parle français parce que mon père voulait que j'apprenne français. I'm not French. I come from Latvia. I speak French because my father wanted me to learn French." Nadya then fell short, pausing, unsure. The girl still stood there, listening attentively, so she continued, albeit hesitantly. "Je parle russe aussi, et letton. I speak Russian too, and Latvian."

Nadya then fell silent, unable to continue. She looked down at her sandels, and the cobbled path below it. Fears raced into her thoughts, and she fruitlessly tried to quench her worries.

Latvian and Russian? Elodie could assume that Nadya was from Latvia, as she knew no other country that spoke Latvian, before Nadya told her. She had an extensive knowledge of countries and languages around the world, and Latvia was a part of her storage of knowledge. Admittedly, she didn't know much about the country, but she did know something. A small country in western Europe, nestled next to Russia, and squished between Lithuania and Estonia. It had originally been part of the Soviet Bloc in 1940, and was rid of sometime in the late 20th century, but a strong Russian influence remained in the country. Elodie assumed this was the reason why Nadya spoke Russian. It was a curious thing that Nadya spoke French as well. Elodie had read War and Peace before, so knew that, in Napoleon times, French was considered quite an aristocratic language in Russia. But it was no longer Napoleon times, and Nadya did not live in French. So why would Nadya speak French? Why would here father want her to learn it? It was a curious thing.

"Oh, tu parles russe aussi? Pourqoi? Oh, you speak Russian too? Why?" Elodie asked curiously. With a start, she realised that she had used the friendly pronoun 'tu' instead of the more formal one, vous. She became uncertain and unsure for a second, but forced herself to continue talking. She did not want to seem uncertain in front of this new girl. Of who I still do not her name she thought to herself.

"Je parle anglais et le Fang langue aussi. Et, désolé, mais quel est votre nom?"I speak English and the Fang language too. And, sorry, but what is your name?"

Elodie switched back the the most polite vous, afraid that she had made a mistake. She wasn't used to switching between tu and vous when she met people, as she had only spoken in French to her family. She fumbled with the hem of her coat nervously, and waited for a reply.

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Roleplaying as Nadya Andrulevičus

The girl wasn't try to be rude, or nosy, in any way when she asked why Nadya knew how to speak Russian, but the question was an uncomfortable one. It brought back images of her father, long, dark blonde hair on top of starch white skin. His ice green eyes, seemingly always narrowed, stared with the ferocity of a tiger and the class of a king. Sharp features and elf-like ears completed the regal appearance. He would stand beside his children's tutor, eyebrows furrowed, and watch as the lesson progress. The man was not entirely sane, and prone to bursts of anger. If he was not happy with the level of teaching, Nadya's father would get rid of the tutor, and hire another. Nadya replied hesitantly, placing the words carefully.

"Mon mon père, il m'a appris. Il - il... My father, he taught me. He - he..." Nadya tried to continue, but then lapsed into silence. She struggled for a second, trying to find a word, any word, to finish the sentence. She soon gave up, and looked helplessly at Elodie, unsure what to do.

Thankfully, Elodie spoke again, speaking of the languages she spoke. Nadya noted that she had gone from 'tu' o 'vous'. She had noted that Elodie had changed to 'tu' when she asked about Nadya's Russian ability, but had not thought it too weird. But she found it curious that Elodie would switch back to 'vous'. She pushed the thought from her mind, unsure what it meant but sure that it didn't mean something. She instead focused on what Elodie said. If Elodie's mother was from Gabon, that would make clear the reason why she spoke French. Nadya did not know of the Fang language, however, and was slightly curious about it. She gathered the courage to speak, and asked the question.

"Et... est-ce que tu parles le Fang langue? Puis-je demander pourquoi? And... do you speak the Fang language? Can I ask why?"