Chapter Two: Broken Dreams

Lancelot Artorius Calvin slipped away from school without anyone paying any notice to the teen. He wouldn't be missed; Aunt Shelley thought he was in class and the school thought he was home sick. Although a part of him felt guilty over the deception, the rest of him was beyond caring. He wasn't a little kid anymore, in need of constant supervision; he was an adult, with adult problems and an adult need to put contingency plans in place for the future.

They didn't have much time left. Aunt Shelley had shown him the list of prospective apartments and Uncle Greg would probably be up to checking at least a few of them out before he went back to work on Monday. Another week, maybe two, and Uncle Greg would have a new apartment. Once he did, Lance was sure that Miss Marina would be moving in – and once she moved in, he and his sister weren't going to be welcome any more. No, they'd be welcome…welcome to move out.

So he needed to have another option lined up, preferably in the tech world where he and his sister couldn't be legally discriminated against. For as long as Alanna was still in school, it would need to be an apartment fairly close to the school, but once she graduated, they could move to wherever they wanted and look into their options. It wouldn't be the same, not without their adoptive family, but they'd blown that to heck and gone all by themselves. Just like they'd blown their chances in the magical world by not hiding their Wild Magic better.

The young man kept his chin high as he walked, refusing to let any of his inner turmoil show. Once away from the school, he found an alley and Apparated straight to the Golden Prime Inn. He paused in the inn long enough to pull on robes, then strode out into the magical mall's sunlight and headed for Gringotts.

Inside the bank, the pureblood settled into line, chin still high and a haughty mask on his face. His robes, embroidered with his House's crest high on the shoulder and done in full color, made clear that he was untouchable, especially within Gringotts' walls; not a single one of the other customers gave him any trouble. When he reached the front, he greeted the teller by name and requested a meeting with Silvergrip, the Junior Account Manager for the Ancient and Noble House of Calvin.

Silvergrip was much like his father, though the young goblin still retained a full head of hair and his skin was a slightly lighter shade of green than Silnok's. Unlike the first few times Lance had met with the goblin, he remained in his chair behind his desk as the young pureblood lord was ushered in. Shrewd dark eyes regarded the teenager, but he remained silent until the other goblin had left.

"Well?" Lance asked quietly.

A harrumph and a grumble. "I have made the arrangements, Lord Calvin," Silvergrip remarked. Brisk, he opened a folder on his desk and withdrew several sheets of paper. "Once you sign these, the lease on the apartment I have found will commence. We will move the furniture in this week and I will supply you with the keys."

The wizard breathed out in relief. "Thank you, Silvergrip," he murmured. "Is the landlord aware that my sister and I won't be moving in immediately?"

"I have informed them," the goblin replied. "As you have instructed, the rent will be paid for the duration of the lease regardless of whether you and your noble sister require the premises. If not, notice will be given next year prior to the end of the lease and the furniture will be returned to storage."

Lance tilted his head in acknowledgement. In his head, he knew the apartment would be needed, sooner rather than later, but his heart kept whispering that he was being foolish. So he had asked Silvergrip to find an apartment, rent it, and furnish it, but to advise the landlord that it might be some time before it was occupied. The brunet knew the landlord wouldn't care one way or the other, so long as he got paid, but his own sense of honor demanded he be upfront and honest.

Before signing the paperwork, Lance read it over, scrutinizing each and every word to be sure he understood his rights and obligations under the lease. Inwardly, he frowned; he'd expected the lease to be far more detailed than what he was reading. He'd also expected it to be proof-read, but he was finding grammar and spelling mistakes that he could've spotted as a first year at Hogwarts. Frankly, it didn't seem to be the sort of lease he'd anticipated, given Silvergrip's report on the apartment. Surely an apartment located in a respectable, affluent area of Toronto had better written leases than this.

Still, in spite of his misgivings, Lance signed the lease as soon as he'd finished reading it and handed it back to Silvergrip. "Your father is aware of this?" he asked as the goblin tapped the pages to make a copy for the young lord to take with him.

"Of course, Lord Calvin," Silvergrip reassured him. "He understands the circumstances and has promised not to treat your cousin or his teammates any differently."

"Good," Lance murmured, nodding. "None of this is their fault."

Silvergrip jerked a nod. "Is there anything else you require of us, Lord Calvin?"

"No, but thank you." Lance rose from his seat, dipping his head in a respectful partial bow as he collected his copy of the paperwork. "Good profit to you."

Although the young Wild Mage never noticed, Silvergrip did not speak as he departed. The goblin's dark eyes watched him leave, a sneer appearing as soon as Lance's back was turned.

Lance made his way back to the tech side of the mall before stopping for lunch. He opted not to read the lease over again and instead tucked the documents away in his backpack. The keys would be owled to him once all was said and done, so…that was it. He and his sister had an apartment of their own, well away from Uncle Greg and Team One. The utility bills were in his name, but it wasn't entirely unheard of for seventeen year olds to make their own way in the world. The goblins would see to it that his payments were never late, even if he and Alanna never even stepped foot on the property.

His heart kept right on whispering that he was being stupid, that Uncle Greg and the rest loved them and would never, ever turn on them, but…he couldn't be sure any more. Before, that thought had scared him, but now he'd gotten used to it. It was true, after all, he couldn't be sure. Uncle Greg had left them once already, who was to say he wouldn't do it again?

Besides, why would Uncle Greg pick them over Miss Marina? They'd caused him nothing but trouble since the day they'd arrived. Lance had watched him with Miss Marina, heart sinking in his chest at the way he deferred to her, in subtle movements and gestures only another gryphon Animagus could understand. Uncle Greg loved her, plain and simple. He and Alanna couldn't compete with that – and Miss Marina had made it clear where they stood with her. They were interlopers, tolerated only because she and Uncle Greg weren't living together yet. Since he had no intention of letting Miss Marina dictate to himself or his sister, that left just one option. A place of their own.

Once they were out of Uncle Greg's life, there was no reason for Team One to keep treating them like family. Well, technically they were related to Uncle Wordy, but given the way Uncle Wordy hated the Lestranges, he was probably going to be just fine with the last two reminders of his sire's family disappearing out of his life for good. It hurt like heck, but Lance had simply come to accept that pain. Truth was, their family had died five years ago and they'd just been fooling themselves to think that anyone would want two little orphan Wild Mage rejects.

When Aunt Shelley got the call from Uncle Wordy that she needed to take all of them out of town until he called them again, she packed all five kids up and took them to her in-laws. Her own family lived nearby, but the Wordsworths had a larger house. Since most of the family lived in the same neighborhood they'd grown up in, Alanna and the girls were swept up by the female Wordsworth cousins while Lance ended up wandering outside to play with the boys.

It had gone just fine until Lance had made an offhand comment, referring to his 'Uncle Wordy', only for the biggest of the other boys to angrily accuse him of trying to steal his uncle. Indignant, Lance countered that Uncle Wordy let him use that name and he wasn't stealing anyone. His antagonist sneered and jeered at him, calling him a little orphan reject; the other kids jeered just as loudly, openly turning away from the 'interloper' who wasn't related to them at all.

As Lance retreated, flushing bright red in shame, he spied an older man so similar to Uncle Wordy that he had to be Uncle Wordy's adoptive father. The man looked him right in the eye, then turned away without speaking. There could be no doubt that he'd heard the whole thing. In that moment, Lance understood. He and Alanna…they were interlopers, unwelcome burdens that weren't wanted. Or loved.

The young man bowed his head over what was left of his food and allowed a few tears to slip down his cheeks. Then his expression hardened as he packaged up all the pain, grief, and sorrow. Mentally, he folded it up tight into a tiny box and shoved it to the very back of his mind. He couldn't, wouldn't let his emotions get the better of him. He'd promised his father that he would look after Alanna and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Whatever the cost.

Morgana le Fay hissed to herself as she entered the so-called 'Golden Prime Inn'. She really should've stayed with her scrying bowl and kept searching for her misbegotten half-brother and his miserable entourage, but with her stomach screaming at her, the Witch had tabled her search for one night so she could find some decent food.

Much as she missed her own time and place, that was one good thing about the world she'd landed in. No one knew who she was or remembered her ancient deeds, so she could go wherever she pleased and purchase whatever she wished without any fear of the knights or guards or even a particularly daring civilian would-be hero interrupting her. Even better, the sheer variety of goods available for purchase astounded the ancient Witch.

While the quality was rarely as fine as Camelot's best, it was nothing to sniff at and the food available at this humble tavern was almost comparable to Uther's everyday dining. The inn's fare couldn't match Camelot's best feasts, but Morgana wasn't about to quibble. Perhaps one day she could reclaim Camelot's glory, but for now, she was satisfied with the peasants' food.

She ordered her meal, paying for it upfront, and was most pleased when it arrived within minutes. Morgana ate swiftly, but with an in-born grace she'd cultivated all throughout her childhood. Not that the peasants were likely to appreciate her noble's manners. When she was finished, she rose and went to the innkeep, a genuine smile appearing on her face as she leaned forward and thanked him for the excellent meal. Her emerald eyes gleamed, with a warmth that few had seen since the day Merlin had poisoned her.

Hunger and manners satisfied, Morgana left the inn and strolled out into the twilight hours. The shops around her were closing down, but the paths were still available for anyone to walk through. Morgana let her feet take her where they would as her mind began to work through her latest set of problems. She knew Arthur and his sycophants were alive; her spells had confirmed that much. The Witch ground her teeth; Uther was still dead and while she certainly wouldn't weep, she had so looked forward to rubbing Uther's nose in magic's continued existence and triumph over the non-magical world. To be robbed of that opportunity grated – she hadn't been done with her revenge on him, even if she had provided the means for his death.

As for Arthur, his trail had begun at the Lake of Avalon and vanished partway along the English road that ran near the sacred lake. Of the others, there was no sign at all. Morgana had scoured England for them, hunting high and low for the Knights of the Round Table and her former maidservant. Nothing. It was infuriating, she knew they had to be somewhere and England made sense. How could Arthur and his 'court' reclaim Camelot without being in England? Not even ash remained of the once proud kingdom, but the Great Dragon's prophecy had been clear. The Once and Future King; Arthur could hardly be the King of any kingdom save Camelot. So why weren't his men in England?

Thwarted in her efforts to locate her miserable half-brother and his men, Morgana had retreated to a handy hideaway near Toronto and begun scrying for her enemies. The sheer distance had allowed her to scry England, bypassing the island's many ley lines which otherwise would've obscured her vision. Despite several weeks of intense, focused scrying, the Witch had found nothing.

Frustration and fury boiled in Morgana's veins. Months of effort, all in vain. She wouldn't give up, but the forced inaction that came with scrying for so long… It was infuriating. Growling to herself, Morgana sought to set her frustration aside, determined to enjoy her evening out. Unfortunately, that just allowed another frustration to come to the forefront of her mind. Namely, the Toronto peasants who dared to cross a High Priestess of the Old Religion.

It had started with the spell she'd cast, a spell that should've forced magic out of hiding and back into the open. Merlin had interfered, setting all to right and preventing Magic's Return. Well… Morgana's lips curled in a smile. Almost all to right, a mistake her ancient foe would live to regret. In truth, she did not blame the peasants for calling on the ancient warlock for help; Merlin had been the one to thwart her and he would pay for it.

No, her fury had far more to do with the peasants' flagrant dismissal of her authority and her vengeance on their miserable, Goddess-forsaken leader. How dare they tamper with her Judgment on the man most responsible for Merlin's return from his self-imposed exile! How had they even found him? She'd sent him halfway across the continent; it should've been more than enough to ensure the pest stayed dead. A living death, trapped in his animal form, the perfect punishment for Merlin's little sycophant.

Perhaps, Morgana mused, she should've simply left the man to his fate in that burning warehouse. He'd been unconscious – helpless in the face of the blaze raging around him and his fallen opponents. But there had been something so delicious about leaving him alive, trapped in his animal form and impossibly far from home while his fellow peasants grieved a death that had never occurred. She had even ensured he couldn't possibly communicate his survival via the magical links that bound the peasants together. It should've been foolproof, gifting her hours of diversion and entertainment as she reveled in their grief. Instead, her Judgment had lasted barely two months, ending in a joyous reunion and yet another setback in Magic's Return.

As the Witch continued to walk, she seethed, letting her emotions rise within her. Hatred and fury swirled, fermenting her resentment until it was a fine wine, perfectly complimenting her budding plan to put the peasants in their place, once and for all. A cruel smile spread across Morgana's face and her emerald eyes lit with dark glee. If she couldn't find Arthur, then sporting with Toronto's insolent peasants was the next best thing.