Twelve Days of Fruk

Day Six: Magic AU

Getting kicked out of the institute wasn't as bad as people made it out to be. Francis was doing just fine!

But everyone knew that was a lie and a half.

He had been attending a magical institution in the south of France near Avignon, something he had spent years trying to get into since he was seventeen, and now he was thirty five. He was now working in a dead fortune telling shop, his actual powers used on lost tourists he managed to convince to give it a try.

Just as he was turning off the neon 'open' sign above the door, he noticed a man who seemed to be stumbling around in the alleyway, probably drunk.

Now, Francis wasn't one to drop everything for a stranger, but he couldn't let himself just let this man just wander around the streets of Paris by himself at night.

"Bonjour?" He called out. "Est-ce que tu vas bien? Monsieur?" The man turned around, giving him a quizzical look.

"Huh? Sorry, what?" His thick English accent was slightly slurred, but Francis wasn't sure if it was because of alcohol or his slightly wonky teeth.

"Oh, what I said was: Are you alright?" Francis repeated in English.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, just a little-" he ended up running into a pole, making Francis wince. It looked like it hurt.

"No you're not!" Francis stated firmly, walking over to the Englishman. "And I won't let you wander like this!"

"No need! I'm fine!" The man protested weakly, letting himself be led/dragged by Francis to the Fortune shop.

Opening the door, he flicked on the dim, orange and red lights. The clear door shut behind him as he set the man down on the old leather couch, orange and red beads clinking against the smudged glass.

"Okay, what's your name, mystery-man?" Francis chuckled as he grabbed a glass of water from the sink in the back.

"Arthur," the man yawned, curling up on the couch.

"Oh no you don't! You're not sleeping, it isn't wise to fall asleep after you hit your head," Francis warned, sitting the man up on the couch. He was surprisingly light, and Francis wondered if he was just naturally skinny, or if he wasn't eating well. He didn't look too sick?

"Oh, yeah," he muttered. "Right." He grabbed the cup of water from Francis, drinking slowly and sleepily. "Sorry for messing up your night, Sir Oracle," he yawned again.

"Oh, just call me Francis," he said, setting down the cup Arthur finished.

Francis made sure he didn't fall asleep for a while, even if he had heard that it didn't make a difference. He wasn't going to let a random man slip into a coma in his shop. But, as soon as Arthur fell asleep on the worn leather couch, Francis began to work his magic. Pressing his middle finger to the other man's temple, he projected his recent memories into the darkened air. He saw Arthur at the bar down the street, drinking with what looked like a son? The other blond had a distinct cowlick in his hair, and pretty blue eyes behind wire-framed glasses. Speeding through, he saw Arthur leaving the bar later that night, stumbling around for a while until meeting Francis. The whole thing was slightly blurry, showing that the man actually was drunk.

Getting up, he shut off the lights, deciding to sleep on the identical couch across from Arthur in the dusty waiting room.

•

The next morning, Francis woke up the sounds of beads clinking against metal, and a doorknob being twisted in vain.

"You know," Francis started, startling the man. "I've had people try to break in, but never out!"