Faux Amis (A Café)

Two books on his lap, and two more on the small, elevated, round table he was occupying, plus the cup of strong Cuban coffee, plate of unfinished cinnamon roll and a haphazard pile of notes made Roger look like a complete mess of a scholar. Thankfully, it was not an uncommon practice in that part of Brittany, the café Faux Amis he was currently in being in close proximity of the University of Western Brittany.

Contrary to his untidy setup, Roger's mind had never been clearer. This was a conducive atmosphere for him. He knew the location of every item in his messy pile of notes, and, alternating between nursing the cup of coffee and using a fork to take a piece of roll into his mouth with his left hand, his right hand could freely flip through each open book. He'd much rather be sitting on the floor with everything spread out in front of him, but as much of an appealing alternative that way, he'd simply look uncouth in public.

Flip. Flip. Sip of coffee. Sigh. Yum. Flip.

The book on his left thigh was a botanist's published manuscript on ancient poisons, while the one on his right thigh was a grimoire of a potioneer, outlining venomous ingredients. He was trying to find a correlation, checking each identifiable historical event the botanist had written and locating it on a timeline in the third book on the table, while at the same time using the same method and taking into account wizarding events the potioneer had mentioned and pinpointing it on a timeline on the fourth book.

He should have had a fifth book, a book on pureblood House trees, but he couldn't acquire an accurate enough one on such short notice. If he could find every commonly occurring venom in both worlds Muggle and Wizarding, create a timeline and check each pureblood Potions master who existed during those times, he'd be able to significantly narrow down the list of suspect Houses who might be using the highly potent, untreatable, untraceable poison for illegal means.

He wasn't a detective, but only a few people in Wizarding Britain could use symptoms to identify poisons, because the books on his lap had no name for the poisons, only their effects on the body.

He really shouldn't be partaking this project alone, but he couldn't find a patient and at the same time competent enough Healer or Potions Master to join him in his tome scanning.

Such was the life that Roger chose for himself. If he sat still everytime and stayed in his flat, or went through charts at St. Mungo's everyday and did everything routinely, Roger would sooner kill himself than die of old age. He was aware that he was having some sort of mid-life crisis, or, he supposed, a quarter-life crisis, but he hadn't the faintest idea how to do something about it. All he knew was that he was aching for something to do or happen or anything for the matter, and he felt so sick and needy and lonely and frustrated with himself all the time that any moment it could turn self-destructive.

Rivah stepped out of the French Ministry, and paused to take a deep breath of fresh air. She'd just spent the last three hours straight in a stuffy conference room filled with politicians, important figures of the French government, and for the last hour, the French Minister of Magic. All had gone well in the meeting, but that sort of thing took more that a moment of sunlight to properly recover from.

Rolling her shoulders and starting down the street towards her hotel, all the Department Head could really think was how she really needed coffee. Figuring a slight detour would hardly matter, the witch slipped into the nearest café, not bothering to look at its name. If she had, the woman probably would have laughed. Being fluent in French, the blonde would've had no problem in translating the place's name to The False Friend Café. The name was quite a stroke of intelligence, considering that coffee often seemed like it was helping a person, when doing the opposite.

Not even bothering to look around, the woman walked straight up to a waiter that had just served two teenagers. "Hello, I'd like a black coffee, quick as you can," Rivah said, French flowing easily. Glancing around to track down a table, Rivah almost gaped when she spotted a familiar face.

"Roger Connington!" she exclaimed, walking towards the man briskly and slipping into the empty chair at his table, "I haven't seen you in months! You disappear out of nowhere, and now I find you out of the blue in France! I will be nice and give you ten seconds to provide me with a good reason for all this."

After speaking, the blonde leant back in her chair, and studied the face of her best friend. He didn't look any different, not that she had expected him to. He was wearing fairly casual clothes, by her standards anyway, and was clearly comfortable. The man was eating a cinnamon roll. Without even thinking about it, Rivah's hand shot out to grab a tiny piece off his plate and pop it into her mouth.

Wiping her fingers delicately on a napkin that had been laying on the table, half hidden under a book, the witch didn't meet Roger's eyes. She could only hope that his vanishing act would prevent him from teasing her about that.

Running her eyes over the books and notes that the Healer had spread out all over the table, Rivah realized that it was actually interesting stuff. Spinning around the book closest to her, the witch began to skim the opened pages. The woman already knew some of the information given on the single two pages looked at, but not all of it. Rivah had a brain for facts, she absorbed everything like a sponge, and loved knowledge like nothing else. The blonde had been a more than decent Ravenclaw in her day.

"Roger Connington!" Roger started quite spectacularly at his name being called, cursing loudly as the two books on his lap fell with two different thumps onto the carpeted floor. He quickly bent down to get them and brought his head back up to glare at the person responsible, who was already in the middle of a rant. Roger's frown quickly changed into a full-blown grin.

"I haven't seen you in months! You disappear out of nowhere, and now I find you out of the blue in France! I will be nice and give you ten seconds to provide me with a good reason for all this."

Roger blinked. Time always seemed to escape him when he was buried in work. It was part of the reason why he liked using it to run away from shit.

"I, well ..." he started, fumbling for words. "Ah, not my cinammon roll, Rivah , darl ..."

Roger sighed, drinking some coffee before replying. "I'm working. Isn't it obvious? Something's turned up. Some blokes from Law Enforcement have been rolling stark naked in the mud trying to figure who's been poisoning a select number of people, Wizard and Muggle. It's relatively recent and hush hush, and they wanted someone from St. Mungo's to help. I signed up for the job. Same intriguing new poison, different victims. I've pretty much narrowed it down to some Houses, though I can't be sure ..."

In the process of explaining, Roger had pulled out maybe six or so pieces of parchment from the pile and spread it around for Rivah to see, completely messing up the table even more. His eyes were alight with eagerness at having someone there to listen to what he's found so far. Rivah. The both of them have been through so many things it was hard to picture life without her.

"Rivah," Roger cut off, smiling at her. "How are you? I'm quite sorry, I haven't realized it's been that long ..."

Rivah surveyed the man for a minute. Eyes narrowed and lips pursed, she simply stared at her best friend. "Only you," the witch sighed out eventually. Roger knew her well enough to recognize that as the forgiveness it was, even if he had run off without a word. Just because she forgave him though, didn't mean that she was planning of forgetting. Rivah would be bringing this up for months to come.

The witch let out an exasperated sigh, that completely conflicted with the emotion in her eyes. Her eyes were alight with interest, Roger had always gotten himself involved in the most fascinating things. It was one of the many reasons why they had been drawn to each other, it wasn't easy to find someone willing to listen as you went on about magical theories. It was even harder to find someone who was intelligent and interested enough to talk back. They'd bonded from there.

Completely ignoring his previous statement, Rivah reached over the messy table to rip herself another piece of cinnamon roll. "You've missed a lot in the last few months Roger," the woman said simply, "I'm a big bad Department Head now and everything." The witch wondered what her best friend would think of that.

"Alright, catch me up on all this," Rivah ordered lightly, gesturing to the mess on the table, "or at least tell me where you are right now, and I'll try to help." Even working in completely different fields, the two friends had almost always been able to help each other when stuck on something work related, or a simple side project. They were both intelligent people, and had never been afraid to bounce ideas off of the other.

Eyes skimming over the table, Rivah couldn't help but wince. Books and notes really were scattered everywhere. The witch wasn't quite a neat freak, but she'd always had a thing about keeping work organized. Her office was practically always looking neat and tidy. Roger had never cared about that sort of thing while trying to figure something out, and the woman had long ago given up upon trying to rub off on him.

"Only you," she sighed out, and Roger took that as 'I'm letting you off for now'. Roger smiled at him, ducking his head apologetically. It would do no good to simply jump back into work, seeing as Rivah was there. He had missed her, and talking with her seemed to shoot up in his list of priorities.

"You've missed a lot in the last few months Roger," the woman said simply, "I'm a big bad Department Head now and everything."

"Alright, catch me up on all this," Rivah ordered lightly, gesturing to the mess on the table, "or at least tell me where you are right now, and I'll try to help."

Roger shook his head hastily. "That doesn't matter right now. You're a department head! Of what, pray tell? When were you planning on telling me? And don't tell me you sent an owl because you know I despise those bloody featherballs. Have I been so out of the loop these days?"

Roger sat back in disbelief and ran a hand down his face. The things he forgot to catch up on had a certain way of either catching up on him instead or completely disappearing from his life.

"Merlin, I'm an idiot. I forgot to call a few people. My Mother must be worried! And damn, I didn't return Gerald's call--he's probably F***' pissed, there. There's goes another one. Oh dear ..." he stopped. "And here I am talking about myself again. How selfish of me. Tell me everything, Rivah."

Letting out something between a chuckle and a giggle as Roger went off on a tangent, Rivah gave into temptation and reached across the table to grab the plate of cinnamon roll. As soon as her best friend realized what she'd done, she'd probably hear about it, but for now she was content to nibble.

Clearing her throat and putting on her most self-important voice, the woman stated, "you are currently in conversation with the new Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures." Allowing her tone to return to normal, the witch rolled her eyes and said, "honestly Roger, which Department did you think? I've only been working in this one since I graduated Hogwarts."

Slipping her light jacket off her shoulders and onto the back of her chair, the blonde turned back to her friend. "And of course I sent you an owl. I'm fully aware you can't stand them, but it's not like I had any other way to contact you, having no idea where you were," Rivah told her the male, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

As she chewed on another piece of cinnamon roll, she blonde wondered if she would finish the thing before Roger could even realize it had been stolen.