Open I Hear Your Voice Aloud in My Heart

[Celia Vuong]

Plot ID #113688​

There were many things Celia hated about Hogwarts, but near the top of the list was the forced reliance on physical mail to communicate. She had thought the summer break would give her a respite from this nuisance, but it seemed the universe had other plans for her. The first letter had arrived a few weeks ago, shortly after she'd gotten the news that her dad had pled guilty to all charges. Curiously, it had arrived by muggle post, not owl, but the reason for that became apparent when she saw that the return address was a correctional institution.

Celia had burned the letter but that hadn't stopped more from coming. Her dad had sent her more letters in the past three weeks than he had during her entire time at Hogwarts. Celia wasn't sure why. Was he bored sitting in jail? Did he think these letters — all of which were monitored — would somehow earn him sympathy from the judge responsible for deciding his sentence? Was he feeling guilty for all those years of silence? There were many potential reasons for this sudden influx in correspondence, but Celia knew that none of them included the one she wanted the most. Several times, Celia had considered asking her mom to tell her dad to stop writing. But she could never bring herself to do it, and so she settled for destroying the letters as they arrived.

Tonight, Celia was burning one of those letters by the canal in the 19th. In Paris, a city of manicured parks and intricate architecture, the 19th was perhaps a strange choice for a favorite spot. But she loved the way the canal banks filled with people in the evenings, the whole city seemingly flocking to the waters to picnic and while away the long hours until sunset. As Celia took a seat by the water, she took a second to appreciate the soft pink skies before dipping her hand into her bag. She frowned. The letter was there, but she couldn't find her lighter. She glanced around, her gaze settling on someone sitting nearby. "Excusez-moi, vous avez...*" Celia stopped, realizing she didn't know the French word for "lighter." "A lighter?" she mimed flicking one on, grimacing a little. She'd learned early on this summer that her French was even more limited than she'd thought. "Un petit feu?**" Hopefully they would get the message.

*Excuse me, do you have...
**a small fire​

 

[Simone Moreau-Chen]

Simone loved being in Paris. It was the city she felt most at home in. Traveling for all her qudditch games was getting exhausting and she was considering a career change. She had to admit the idea terrified her and the thought of leaving Nadine behind stung too. But those were thoughts for another time and her newly charmed camera hung around her neck has she headed to a skatepark she knew was around here. Somewhere. Or it had been last time she had checked. She had been waiting for months to have the free time to test out her new camera and finally the day had come. Simone had stopped to check the map on her phone when she heard someone ask her a question. She raised an eyebrow when she saw just how young the girl asking for a lighter was. Who apparently took her confusion for a language barrier. But when she tried to find the right word and failed Simone broke out in a fit of giggles. "Un petit feu?" she laughed. "What do you need a lighter for?" she asked in English that sounded nearly accent-less after spending so much of her time growing up in New York.

 

[Celia Vuong]

Celia flushed a little as the woman laughed. She'd mostly gotten used to people laughing at her poor attempts at French — it turned out that correspondence courses were not the best way to learn a foreign language — but it was still embarrassing. Thankfully, the woman spoke English. A lot of French people did, but it was the accent that really caught Celia's attention. "You're American," she said, surprised. Most of the French people she knew spoke English with either a French accent or a British one, so she assumed this woman must be from the U.S. "What is the French word for lighter anyways?"

She hesitated a little at the woman's question. It wasn't really one she'd anticipated since smoking seemed to be much more common here, even among older teenagers. Of course, that wasn't why she needed a lighter. "I have to burn this," Celia said simply, holding up the letter. She didn't see any point in lying. The woman would have found out the truth anyways — if she did in fact have a lighter to lend.

 

[Simone Moreau-Chen]

Simone shrugged when the girl assumed she was American. "Partially." she said and angled her hand back and forth for added emphasis. If she could get away with not claiming her father's side she would. Especially now that he was dating a girl not much older her. She hadn't met the woman but part of her wondered if their paths had ever crossed during her brief stint at Ilvermorny. But the girl in front of her now seemed rather persistent and Simone grinned. "Le briquet." she answered and leaned into the French accent almost obnoxiously.

But she also wasn't sure if she had a lighter. Absentmindedly Simone started to pat down her pockets and hesitated when she landed on her wand. It was a shame she couldn't just wield it in public. A quick charm would do the trick but she didn't need that kind of head ache today. She kept looking until she found one in her back pocket. She had no idea where it had come from but that didn't matter. She pulled it out and gave it a few firm flicks before the flame finally caught. But before she gave it over she narrowed her eyes as the girl held up what looked like a letter. Simone gave her a curious look. "And why do you want to burn it?" she asked. "Who's it from? An ex? Did they wrong you and this is now your revenge?" she teased but was excited at the thought.

 

[Celia Vuong]

Celia nodded in understanding at the woman's answer. As an Asian American who lived in Vietnam and went to school in New Zealand, she was no stranger to partial identities. The "where are you from?" question was always a tricky one, especially when her answer didn't match the asker's assumptions. "Le briquet," she repeated carefully. The word rang a bell, and Celia figured she must have come across it when she'd bought her lighter at a tabac. The prohibitions on underage magic were a major nuisance.

The woman produced a lighter, and Celia gave a hollow laugh at her question. "I don't think burning a letter is a very good form of revenge." If this was about vengeance, she was sure she could come up with something better. Maybe burn them. "It's from someone worse. My father," she said, giving the woman a sharp smile. It was easy being honest to a complete stranger in a foreign country; she would never see this woman again. "He's an as*hole," she added by way of explanation, hoping to preempt any further questions. Celia was well-aware that she probably sounded like any other jaded teenager, but she figured she'd earned the right to call her dad an as*hole after he'd essentially abandoned her and then embarrassed the entire family by landing himself on the front page of the Times for being a fraud — not that she planned on mentioning any of this to the woman.

 

[Simone Moreau-Chen]

Simone nodded approvingly as the girl repeated after her. "Not bad." she chuckled. She seemed to have a decent grasp of French which was more than could be said for a lot of the tourist she ran into. She continued to hold out the lighter in the space between them even though she had let the flame die a while ago. She waited patiently for the girl's response and raised and eyebrow when she laughed at her question. Revenge might not have been the right word but it's not like burning a letter was an unemotional response. Then it was Simone's turn to laugh, again. Tossing her head back and enjoying the coincidence. "Well in that case I wish I had some firecrackers and we could blow it up." she joked and tossed the girl the lighter. "You're not the only one out there with a crappy dad." she confided and waited to see what she would do next. But looking at the other girl it really struck her again just how young she looked. "Are you in school?" she asked and had to remind herself that it was normal for kids to be on break this time of year.

 

[Celia Vuong]

The thought of blowing up the letter made Celia smile, even if she didn't think her dad deserved anything as grandiose or celebratory as a firecracker. "Thanks," she said, catching the lighter. She gave it a practiced flick before touching the letter to the flame. The fire caught, and she handed the lighter back. Celia kept her eyes on the burning paper, which she carefully held over the water, though she did have to glance sideways at the woman's comment. It was one that invited questions, but she didn't want to get any in return. "Hopefully yours writes better letters," Celia said with a thin smile, figuring that was enough of an opening if the woman wanted to elaborate. She turned her gaze back to the fire and nodded at the woman's next question. "I am, but my school's on break. I'm here for an internship." Celia knew she looked young, was young, but hopefully her answer would make the woman think she was a college student at the very least. "Do you live in Paris?"

 

[Simone Moreau-Chen]

Simone watched with mild amusement as the girl took the lighter and wasted no time setting the letter on fire. They sat in silence for a moment and she was entranced by the flames. She took back her lighter and was almost too distracted by the flames and nearly missed what the girl said next. Simone let out a snorting laugh. "He doesn't write at all." she said dryly. Instead he just called at times he knew she would be asleep and leave disappointing voicemails. But she was happy to avoid him back. "Do you go to school around here?" she wondered out loud as the girl confirmed she was in school. Her French was ok but probably not good enough for a regular school but she also knew there were plenty of international schools around that catered to kids from all over. "What kind of internship?" she asked too, curious now. "I do, but I travel a lot." she explained. "Spent a lot of time in New York growing up though. I case you were wondering about the accent." she laughed.

 

[Celia Vuong]

"You're lucky then," Celia said, bitterness edging her tone. "I wish mine would stop." There had been a period when her dad didn't write at all, save for store-bought greeting cards sent on birthdays and holidays. It had hurt, but at least she'd gotten used to it. These new letters not only reeked of insincerity, but they also reopened old wounds. And she hated that he was using them to soothe his guilty conscience.

The fire had consumed most of the paper, and Celia delicately dropped the remaining scrap in the water. She felt calmer now, having seen the flames eat away her dad's words, reducing them to ashes. "No, I go to school in New Zealand," she said, turning her gaze back to the woman. She knew her answer would likely be a surprise, but she couldn't really help the fact that a bunch of old wizards had decided to randomly build a school in New Zealand of all places. At least Australia would make more sense. "It's a fashion design internship for a brand based in New Zealand. They have an office here," she explained. Celia listened a little enviously as the woman described her life. Living in Paris but traveling the world? It sounded like a dream. "Oh, I love New York," she said with a genuine smile. "I grew up in Boston, so we'd usually go a couple times a year. I spent the summer there last year, taking classes." It had been one of the best summers of her life, and Celia couldn't wait to return when she finally graduated.