The Devil | D.M 18+

Chapter 9

"Again."

At this point, Evie was ready to shove the quill into Blaise's eyeball. At least then he'd be matching with Draco.

Evie rolled her shoulders back and took a deep breath.

"Unus, infusionem absinthii add. Duo, adde radicem pulveris Asphodel—"

Blaise groaned. "You need to work on your r's."

Defeated, Evie gave him a look. "I've been practicing all day yesterday y'know. Feels like my tongue's turned into jelly."

It wasn't as if she had a few days to perfect it or anything. Or had other matters to worry about.

"Well," Blaise said, adding a one-sided shrug, "try harder."

"It isn't easy rolling your r's."

"Yes, it is."

She slammed her quill on the parchment. "Are you all Death Eaters painfully blunt like this?"

Blaise chuckled. Muse glistened in his eyes. He leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. "No," he said. "But you always got angry at us when we did. Seems like that's something you haven't lost."

"Well, stop it," Evie warned, feeling a little flustered.

He shook his head, laughing, and pulled the potion book closer. "If you want to learn Latin, you're going to need to learn how to roll your r's. It's the same for almost every other European country."

"How many languages do you speak?" Evie asked. Her eyes widened when he answered with seven. "Merlin's beard."

"Everyone needs to learn at least four. Makes negotiating business easier."

She hadn't realised it was a requirement for all pureblood families. Blaise only mentioned that she'd been the smartest of the group and spoke ten, whilst Draco stood in second place with nine.

The only one they had in common, was one no one else commonly used themselves, making it a perfect scapegoat when they had to speak of private matters in front of others. Manx Gaelic. Blaise made an abundantly clear argument how frustrating it was whenever they hung out throughout school.

Blaise didn't tell her any other languages Draco knew, for it was something he could tell her himself. Whatever questions she had, were either about her or their interpersonal relationship and Blaise was offering none of it.

Evie didn't prompt anything, for she was surprised he'd answered her letter rather quickly. At first, Blaise thought the letter must've been a mistake. Some sort of joke — quite like Theodore had. But when Theodore said he received a similar letter, he realised she was serious.

Unfortunately due to Blaise's temperamental schedule, his time was much more limited than anyone else's. He too, never mentioned details of what his occupancy requirements were.

Rolling her r's and familiarising herself with accents proved to be her biggest task currently. Tongues didn't naturally roll like that, surely. Each sentence structure and sending the same daily letter in every language was like running drills on a Quidditch pitch.

French was the hardest to understand the linguistics of. Bulgarian the hardest to write, Latin the hardest to speak, and often confused Cantonese with Mandarin whilst listening to the radio or re-writing the Daily Prophet.

She wasn't ready for Blaise to hear those yet.

Blaise checked his pocket watch. "I think that'll be enough for today. I've got a meeting in an hour in Small Heath. Keep practicing and you'll get there eventually."