Britain- 450 AD

Falco Aesalon was a rather extraordinary wizard in many ways, even if he did say so himself. His appearance always turned heads, not because he was in any way handsome but because he looked so different to everyone else. Falco was a good foot taller than most other men, and his imposing figure was topped with a mop of deep ruby coloured curls that matched the extravagant goatee which he liked to twirl around his thumb. Falco also had the habit of dressing himself in silk robes of a similar shade of ruby, which ensured that when he lumbered through the crowds, he appeared as a mass of red.

What made Falco particularly extraordinary, however, was not his hair colour and choice of attire, but his intelligence. Ever since he had been a child, Falco had been precociously bright, much to the amazement of his parents, neither of whom was especially skilled at magic. Falco's aptitude resulted in him opening the Diagon Dispensary when he was only twenty four years old. It was initially intended as a pharmacy for magical ailments but had quickly turned into a centre for anyone who needed help from Falco.

The Dispensary was located in Diagon Alley, a little street that was magically protected from nosy Muggles and ensured wizards could go about their business without being harassed.

Today, however, Falco was feeling particularly harassed. Not by irritating Muggles who wanted magical help in order to solve various problems they were having, but by other wizards. The sun had barely risen, yet so far Falco had had fifteen customers, all of whom seemed inapt at performing simple spells themselves.

It was ridiculous, thought Falco as leant against the Dispensary counter, head in his hands; hadn't anyone been taught how to do magic properly? It wasn't difficult to heal an ill donkey, or to reverse the effects of heavy rain fall on crops. Yet everyone seemed to struggle with these menial tasks and constantly required Falco's assistance.

'Good morning, Falco.'

Falco looked up to see that Phillius Regis, owner of the local apothecary and- in Falco's opinion- the only other competent wizard in Britain, had entered the Dispensary.

'Hello, Phillius,' said Falco, attempting pleasantries despite his mood, 'What do you have for me?'

As usual, Phillius conjured a large sack from nowhere and spilled its contents onto the counter; Phillius was Falco's supplier of medical ingredients.

He began discussing his wares and occasionally holding them up, but Falco found his attention slipping. It was all very well Phillius bringing him these, but they would soon all be used up on wizards who couldn't brew simple medical potions themselves; what was the point of the exercise?

'Are you listening to me, Falco?' asked Phillius sharply, evidently noticing the glazed look in his companion's eyes, 'Do you know how long it took me to catch this unicorn and get its horn?'

'Sorry,' said Falco quickly, not wishing to appear rude.

'You look ill,' said Phillius with typical bluntness as he scanned Falco's face, which was always pale because of the contrast to his ruby hair, but which seemed especially off-colour today.

'I am,' admitted Falco, 'or I'm over-worked at the very least. This morning a man came in asking for a Boil-Curing Potion. That must be the simplest potion to make in the entire wizarding world? Yet I had to waste half an hour making it for him!'

Phillius shook his head and looked sympathetic, 'I agree. What's the point in us having magic if most wizards don't know how to use it properly? They keep talking about founding a school, and I for one wish they'd just hurry up and do it.'

Falco nodded his head in agreement, and then shuddered as he thought at the momentous task faced by any fool stupid enough to take on a teaching post at said school.

'You need a holiday,' decided Phillius, pilling his ingredients back in the sack and handing it to Falco.

Falco snorted in response, 'Firstly, the wizarding population would fall apart without me, and secondly… where would I go?'

'Italy,' shrugged Phillius, 'Apparently the Italian wizarding population is a lot more competent than over here. Julius Caesar's decree is still in place- all young wizards must undertake four years of magical schooling.'

Falco considered this for a moment; it would be a relief to spend a few weeks away from the Dispensary and do some travelling.

'I've heard the Colosseum is worth a visit,' agreed Falco, and then he thought of something, 'oh wait, apparently they're beginning to build a church in the amphitheatre there.'

Phillius pulled a face, 'On second thoughts, give that a miss unless you plan on spending your holiday being burnt at the stake. What about Egypt instead?'

'No,' said Falco immediately. He may have had many complaints about Britain, but the weather was not one of them. Unlike most people, Falco liked his days to be cool and rainy, so the thought of spending time in a desert environment did not appeal to him in the slightest. Besides, Egyptian wizards were rumoured to be highly skilled in the field of Parseltongue, and Falco had an irrational but intense fear of snakes.

'Well I'm running out of suggestions,' sighed Phillius, giving Falco an exasperated look.

'I suppose I'll be staying here,' muttered Falco as he picked up the sack of ingredients and placed it under the counter, no doubt for use later that day.

'At least you can take comfort from the fact that you're helping people,' said Phillius briskly, 'Right I'd better be off. A live dragon's been captured up North and I want to get there before all the best bits go.'

Phillius turned back towards the Dispensary door and was just about to open it when someone ran in from the street, nearly knocking Phillius to the ground.

'Falco, help, help!' yelled the recently arrived young man, whose hair was spectacularly on fire.

'Aguamenti!' said Falco calmly, pointing his wand at the man's head.

A jet of water burst from the wand and immediately extinguished the fire, although Falco personally thought this a mistake since the young man's hair had almost entirely been burnt off and his scalp was rather scabby.

'Thank you!' blubbered the young man, wringing Falco' hand enthusiastically, 'I was trying to light a fire but my wand slipped and I got my hair instead. And then I couldn't remember the spell to put it out, and I tried to summon a pail of water but it didn't work, and then-'

Falco looked over the singed head of the young man, 'Phillius, when does the next boat leave for Egypt?'

Prompts used: Falco Aesalon, Egypt, Colosseum, Julius Caesar, The Diagon Dispensary, Parseltongue, Augamenti, Deep Ruby