June 01, 2020, 08:11:06 PM

Author Topic:  doesn't time fly when..? [filomena]  (Read 15 times)

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Fabien Sanxay [ French Ministry ]
10 Posts  •  22  •  Heterosexual  •  played by Carys
doesn't time fly when..? [filomena]
« on: May 19, 2020, 09:52:33 PM »
It had been a long, busy week and Fabien was glad it was finally over. He'd spent a quiet evening in his apartment, busy with a block of wood and knife late into the evening, and had retired to bed satisfied with the result. He'd slept later than he intended on Saturday morning, showered, dressed and made the short trip to his favourite cafe for breakfast, which in Fabien's case meant several cups of freshly brewed coffee and a single croissant. Sitting in the cafe - which was a muggle one, but the really did brew the best coffee for six streets in any direction - he had relaxed for too long and thus when he finally noticed the time it was just a few minutes before 11am.

Moments later, he slipped unseen down a Parisian alleyway and pulled his wand from its carved slot in his walking stick. His original plan to take the Floo network abandoned, he turned on the spot, arriving seconds later in the residential arrondissement of Chatoeil. The wide, leafy residential roads were a refreshing change from the busy streets of the French capital and he took a moment to get his bearings before heading for the home of his old professor, Healer Bellantoni.

It seemed strange that Fabien of all people had kept in touch with a teacher. Certainly he hadn't been a good student; sullen and unco-operative, he hadn't even really tried until his 5th year, but the Italian had recognised his aptitude for her subject and encouraged his interest, with the result that he'd gained one of his best grades for medical studies.

When she'd said keep in touch he assumed it was one of those things a teacher said to all their students. Surely she didn't really mean it? But almost two years after graduating, he had needed a friend. Feeling ridiculous, he'd written to her, not saying much beyond asking if she remembered him and that he hoped she was well, expecting not to hear another thing. Within a few days she'd replied, saying how delighted she was to hear from him. And it sounded as if she'd meant it. Fabien had written again, this time admitting that he had argued with his family, but not wanting to share details. Again she'd replied, and the young man had felt comforted. That Christmas, he'd sent a card and a small box of chocolates.

Since then the unlikely pair had written...if not regularly, then certainly consistently. Fabien had found himself telling the old woman about his studies, his work...things that nobody outside his family knew. Indeed, during the period when he had had no contact with his family, his former professor had almost come to feel like a surrogate aunt or grandmother. Yet at no point had he visited her home, not until today, and now as he rang the bell he felt like a teenager again, waiting outside the woman's study to find out his latest essay grade. In the seconds before the door opened, he smoothed down his hair and brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his shirt.

@Filomena Bellantoni


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