Chapter One: My Will Be Done

Author note: This story is the seventieth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "Last Chance Miracles".

Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own Flashpoint, Harry Potter, Narnia, or Merlin.

On a side note - by a quirk of fate (and the Lord's sense of humor), this story is starting on April Fools Day. I acknowledge the common practice of tricking folks (and pulling pranks) on this day, but this story and chapter is not an April Fools Joke.

That said...enjoy the show!

The man in a warm jacket, a knit-pullover, and a flannel-lined pair of jeans checked his watch, pressing down on its Indiglo button to illuminate the face. Well after eleven o'clock at night – he should be back at home, safe in bed, and dreaming of life with his fiancé, but something had drawn him here. His gut churned, torn between the alarm pumping through his veins and an instinctive wariness of how he'd been lured out of his apartment to this dark, closed park near his apartment in the middle of the night. The last time something like this had happened…

He shook his head, though his stance adjusted, prepared for fight or flight in equal measure. Closing his eyes, he listened, trying to pin down the elusive tug in his soul. Nothing. Just the night, the subtle rustling of tree leaves, and the constant background sounds of the city he called home. With a scowl, the stocky man turned, one hand checking to make sure his jacket was zipped all the way up for the trek home. He'd already played this game once; he wasn't up for round two, thanks.

Stalking towards the same entrance he'd come in through, an odd sensation made him pause. Without thinking, he turned his head and sensitive hearing caught a tiny sniffle. Human, not animal. Caution rose, but… But there was something about that sound that tugged at him. Not malicious…whoever it was, they were crying. In his experience, someone who was crying – well, they might still be a threat, but it was typically more of a con-artist threat than a physical threat.

With a quick nod to himself, the man followed the sound, though his movements remained utterly noiseless. No need to blunder in, possibly frightening whoever he was tracking. Besides, if he was wrong, best to keep the advantage of stealth as long as possible. Ahead of him, the sniffles grew louder, joined with a muted sob or two. It took another minute of walking to reach the crier, but with every fresh sound, his heart twanged, anguish he couldn't understand slicing through his soul. Why was he reacting so fiercely to a stranger's grief? Why did it feel like an assault on someone he loved?

She was sitting on a park bench, right under a street light. A good, strong one that illuminated not only the bench, but the area around it for almost a meter in every direction. Good girl; harder to take someone unawares in a well-lit area, even at night. As her observer approached, he cataloged her out of habit. Teenager, good coat, nice jeans, a pair of boots instead of sneakers…getting closer to her sixteenth birthday by the day – why was he so sure of that? Long red hair, flowing down to her shoulders, though it looked like she'd left home without styling it – unusual, she always had her hair in that half-wild, half-tame look she'd perfected… How did he know that? Eye color unknown, not with the way she'd curled up with her face hidden by her hands and knees. Ignoring the little voice at the back of his head helpfully offering up a likely shade, the man deliberately shifted his stance to make noise as he walked.

Her head whipped up as soon as leaves crunched underfoot, staring up at him with wide, tear-stained eyes. Disbelief and hope so impossible it was painful. Her lips moved, forming words, but he could only hear the second. His name? As he reached her, he crouched down to talk face-to-face. "Hi there."

The girl's expression crumpled, but she gamely replied, "Hi."

"Kinda late to be out all by yourself, isn't it?"

Tentative, she nodded.

Deliberately, he paused, studying her again. "I'm sure your parents are already worried about you, sweetheart." Sweetheart? Getting a little personal there, aren't you? he thought wryly to himself.

She shook her head, tears budding. One hand fiddled with the hem of her coat and old grief rang. "They're dead."

He cringed at his inadvertent faux pas. "Sorry to hear that."

Red hair frothed as she looked down, sniffling anew.

"Did you run away from home?" Blunt, blunter than he'd intended.

Again she shook her head. "Can't," she whispered.

"Can't what, sweetie?"

Fresh tears fell down her cheeks. "Can't go home."

Gentle, he coaxed, "Could you tell me why not?"

Curling in on herself, she shifted back towards the bench, trying to shut him out of her grief. The renewed sobs sent daggers through his heart and he fought the urge to pull her into a hug. She wasn't his daughter, wasn't related to him at all; he had no right to comfort her. Yet his soul cried out and he found himself reaching out anyway, resting a hand on her shoulder. She snapped back, a single droplet flying as she stared at him, torn by anguish he couldn't understand.

"You can't stay out here forever," he chided. "How's this sound: you tell me your name and we'll get out of here, get you all warmed up, and then we'll figure out how to get you home. Does that sound good, sweetheart?"

Her violet eyes widened for an instant, right before her face fell, utterly crushed, though by what, he had no idea. Drawing breath, she focused on him, longing and heartfelt plea lacing every word. "It's me, Uncle Greg. It's Alanna."

Uncle?

249 hours earlier (11 days earlier)

Lancelot Artorius Calvin sat at a picnic table in the park near his uncle's new apartment with a notebook open in front of him. Slowly, he paged through it, evaluating every word, double-checking every part of the complicated ritual spell. With so many factors to account for, he couldn't risk missing even one tiny little thing. Pages and pages had been dedicated to ensuring there would be no…unintended consequences…from the ritual. Once he set everything in place, it would be done, no take backs unless he wanted to scrap it and start over from the very beginning.

When he reached the end of the notebook, he stared blankly at the final page he'd written on. Two phrases, one in Narnian and one in plain English. One to set all in motion and the other to end it. He'd always planned on the first, but… Sapphire squeezed shut as the young man wished, yet again, that he'd gone with his original plan. A time limit sounded much safer, but… He was right; if he used a time limit, it would be dishonorable. He had to keep his word, even if it meant risking everything. Broadening shoulders slumped and one finger reached out, running over the two phrases. They held no power, not yet, but he fancied he could still feel them tingling with that potential.

Drawing in a deep breath, Lance used his finger to lift the page, checking to see if there were any blank pages left in his notebook. Just one. Well, and the discard page right at the end, but it was rather battered after so many days dragging the notebook hither, thither, and yon. He would have to make sure he didn't screw up that one page. It was the only thing he'd kept to himself, a spark of rebelliousness and his last faint hope that maybe he was wrong.

For several minutes, the teenager stared blankly at that last page, gleaming white with faint blue lines running across its surface. At last, he gritted his teeth and pulled his old-fashioned ink pen from his backpack, the one Uncle Greg had given to him in honor of surviving St. John's Summer School. With sure, unfaltering movement, the young man bent to the page, writing swiftly as he poured out words the recipient would probably never read.

"You set it all up?"

"It's ready."

Alanna Victoria Calvin frowned as she pulled her feet up on her bed; serious violet eyes regarded her brother as he leaned against the bookcase in her room. "We could talk to him," she suggested.

"He already bought her a ring," Lance pointed out, tone dull. "Plus that necklace you spotted and the bracelet."

The redhead sighed heavily, bringing her knees up to brace her chin. "She hasn't moved in yet."

"Yet." The single word was deadpan, backed by a matter-of-fact arched eyebrow.

Slim shoulders slumped in recognition of his point. "What about the others?"

"They're still mad at him," Lance replied, letting himself lean a bit further back. "I don't know what he said to them, but he hasn't gone on any hot calls since then; I asked Winnie."

"That explains why he's always in a bad mood," Alanna muttered.

Her brother nodded; their guardian needed to be on the front lines, but he'd willingly cut himself off from that crucial outlet for reasons he wouldn't explain. The longer it went, the worse he got, but he still refused to acknowledge that fact. Worse from the siblings' point of view, their uncle was spending more and more time with his girlfriend; every time they tried to talk to him, Miss Marina was right there, her very presence cutting off any chance to air their concerns.

"Maybe we wait until she leaves one night," Alanna suggested.

"We'll just get sent to bed," Lance countered. "I tried the other night, got a whole litany about how I should be in bed on a school night and if I had any problems, I should bring them up when she's here, so she can help out."

Alanna's face fell, but she tilted her head in acknowledgement. "What if we give him those pamphlets she gave us?"

"And what if he decides it's a great idea? You wanna drag Dean in there with us, too?" Lance turned away. "Face it, sis. He came home for us, but he didn't. Not really."

"He was there for us at first," Alanna retorted.

The brunet shook his head. "And how many weekends have we gotten without her ever since that first week we moved here?"

Alanna bit her lip; they both knew the answer was none.

"You remember how Dean asked if we could go to the museum? Sounded really fun, right?"

The redhead cringed. It had taken all of thirty seconds for the outing to go from a 'family-only' outing to yet another Marina-dominated outing. Uncle Greg still hadn't realized that his nipotes had gotten left behind halfway through the first exhibit and ended up wandering around on their own until they'd gotten hungry and spent the rest of the day gravitating between the museum's cafeteria and souvenir shop. Dean had apologized later, just like he always did, but it was hard to smile, nod, and accept those apologies when Miss Marina didn't have a problem with him. Only them.

"If they find out what you did, they'll be mad at you," the girl pointed out.

There was an odd light in his sapphire eyes. "Will they?" Lance asked. "I triple-checked all my calculations, covered every contingency. Nothing will change for them." A tiny shrug. "Maybe Miss Marina can get Uncle Greg and Uncle Ed talking again."

"But they're our family!" Alanna wailed.

Her brother stiffened and turned to her bookcase, pulling out a familiar black album. Turning, he hefted it onto the bed, right in front of her. "Take a good look, sis. That's our family, what's left of it. Yeah, they took us in, but they were never our family." Sapphire regarded her coolly. "I'm going to do it tonight. Then I'll go talk to her tomorrow. Make sure you've got everything packed, okay?"

"And what if you're wrong?"

His eyes flickered. "I want to be. Lion's Mane, sis, I'd give anything to be wrong. But I'm not and you know it. We already tried everything else."

"We could tell them what's going on," Alanna suggested.

"Even if they talk to him, it doesn't change a thing," Lance replied, tone flat. "He loves her, Alanna, and she loves him. Like Mom and Dad loved each other. We can't compete with that; we never could." He stopped for an instant and his voice finally cracked. "At least…at least this is on our terms." A tear slipped down and he wiped it away. "I know we helped Uncle Lou and Uncle Wordy, sis, but in the end, we destroyed them. All of them."

There was nothing Alanna could say to that. After a minute, she nodded once, tears of her own slipping down. "Where are we meeting?"

"I'll meet you after school," Lance promised. "I got a Time-Turner from Silvergrip; we'll be able to get all our stuff out of here if you pack your electronics tonight."

"Okay," she whispered. One more night and one more morning. She wished it could be different, but then, they both wished that. It didn't change anything.

The next morning, Alanna hugged Uncle Greg as hard as she could; he couldn't. All he could do was shrug at Uncle Greg's querying glance and turn away, checking to make sure everything was tucked in his backpack. Ready for another day at school. Not that he was actually going to be in school; in among his books was a note claiming he had several appointments that couldn't be pushed back or delayed until the weekend.

The ritual had gone just as it was supposed to and the monitoring spell he'd been taught worked perfectly, ensuring every single spell had taken affect. He'd even made sure they wouldn't activate unless and until the trigger phrase was spoken. Only one part was left, the final nail in the coffin of the dream they'd had all those years ago when they'd first come to Toronto. Funny how things worked out. They'd had everything they ever could've wanted, but they'd traded it all away for nothing. Less than nothing. Lance wished, more and more, that it could've been different. If he could go back to the beginning, there was only one thing he'd tell his younger self. No matter what, don't ever use your Wild Magic again. Too late – and everyone he loved had paid the price, his sister most of all.

Keeping his head down, the teenager listened to the rumble of the SUV's engine and the buzz of traffic as his uncle drove him and Alanna to school. Dean could take the bus, but St. John's didn't have a bus service, one of the private school's few drawbacks. Gazing down at his backpack, he ran through all the steps he still needed to take once they arrived, biting down on the irrational urge to start sobbing. He was all Alanna had now; he needed to be strong for her.

When they arrived, Uncle Greg parked the SUV and clambered out along with his nipotes to give them one last hug before heading off to work. Alanna nestled into his hold and her brother longed to do the same, knowing it was the last time, but again, he resisted. He allowed the hug, but pulled away in short order, maintaining his dignity, even when Uncle Greg ruffled his hair. "Have a good day at school, mio nipotes."

The smile felt false. "Copy that, Uncle Greg."

His uncle laughed and tried to ruffle his hair again; Lance ducked away, regret twisting his heart. "See you this evening, guys."

As the stocky man returned to his SUV, the siblings moved away, watching him go. Then Alanna took the note her brother passed her and they nodded to each other before Lance slipped into the nearby crowd of milling students and parents, vanishing in moments.

He'd already looked up where Miss Marina's business was, so he was able to go directly there. The security her business used didn't surprise him – after the hot call that had brought Miss Marina into his uncle's life, he would've been shocked if she hadn't increased security as much as humanly possible. Still, it was straightforward; he told the lady at the front desk who he had come to see, passing over his driver's license to confirm his identity, and asked the receptionist to tell Miss Marina that it was about his uncle. Not a lie; it was about his uncle and how life would work going forward. One way or another, things would never be the same again.

It took another few minutes to be admitted into Miss Marina's office; she eyed him with a mix of concern and contempt. Once the door shut, she demanded, "Is Greg all right?"

"He's just fine, Miss Marina," Lance replied, swinging his backpack off even as he remained standing. "Should be at work right now."

Her eyes narrowed. "So you made up a story."

"No, ma'am," the young man countered firmly. "This is about Uncle Greg. And you."

"If you think you're going to get in between us," Miss Marina began, standing up.

"Please, Miss Marina, let me explain." His earnest expression met her angry gaze. She studied him intently, neither of them paying attention to the ticking of the clock on her wall. When Miss Marina nodded and sat back down, Lance pulled out his battered notebook and set it on the edge of her desk. "You know about my abilities, don't you? And my sister's?"

"I have picked up a few things, yes," Miss Marina confirmed, tone dry. "What unnatural thing have you done this time?"

He refused to flinch, but gave her a challenging look. "I know you don't like us, Miss Marina. I know you'd prefer it if we went away and never came back. As far as you're concerned, we're the worst thing to ever happen to Uncle Greg."

"Perhaps not quite that bad," Miss Marina observed, eyeing him thoughtfully. Steepling her fingers together, she asked, "So this is an intervention?"

"Maybe. If you want it to be," Lance admitted. "We both know Uncle Greg loves you, Miss Marina. It's only a matter of time until, well…" He looked down, shoulders hunching. Drawing in a deep breath, he brought his head back up. "If we keep going like we have been, we're going to hurt him, Miss Marina."

She nodded, studying him without comment.

"So I came up with an idea." No turning back now. "I can give you what you want. You can have Uncle Greg and Dean all to yourself, without me or my sister in the way."

Miss Marina stiffened. "What did you do to them?"

Grim, he shook his head. "I set it up, but nothing's changed for them. Not yet."

"And let me guess, nothing will happen, so long as I give up Greg?"

"What? No, that's not it at all, Miss Marina." Sapphire gazed right at her, pleading anew. "I mean it; you want us gone and I can give you that."

"At what cost?" the blonde bit back, stiff with outrage.

The young man's eyes dropped to her desk. "They wouldn't remember us, Miss Marina. It would be as if we never met them in the first place."

Miss Marina froze. "And what else would change?" she hissed.

"Nothing," Lance insisted. "I made sure of that." One hand rested on his notebook. "This isn't a whim, Miss Marina. I spent weeks making sure there wouldn't be any unintended consequences from this." He swallowed hard, meeting her eyes. "Any changes we caused, I tracked them all down and made sure they'll still be there even if we aren't."

The blonde studied him closely. "What else? Surely there has to be a cost for what you're doing."

Swallowing again, Lance nodded. "They wouldn't know, but you would, Miss Marina. It's…it's not part of what I did, but…"

"I would always know that there used to be two more people in Greg and Dean's lives," Miss Marina concluded. Thoughtful, she regarded his notebook, partially intrigued even as she remained wary. "What else? Does this have a time limit?"

The brunet shook his head. "No, no time limit, Miss Marina. But…" He hesitated, then forged on at her demanding expression. "There is a way to break what I've done. If…if that happens, Uncle Greg will know. He will know what I did and he will know what you did." Gently, he tapped his notebook. "I've set everything up, Miss Marina, but I won't trigger it. Neither will Alanna."

"So you want me to trigger this," Miss Marina observed, an angry edge to her voice. "You want me to be the one who betrays him."

"No, I don't," Lance countered, keeping his tone low. Soft. "I don't want you to use this, Miss Marina. I want you to give me and my sister a chance. I know you don't like us and I know we made a really bad first impression, but you've never given us a chance to show you we aren't spoiled little brats mad about our uncle dating you." Both hands spread, wide open in silent plea. "So. You can have everything you want, Miss Marina. They'll never know any different, so long as it never breaks." His chin came up, defiance shining. "We could pass them on the street and they wouldn't even glance at us." Cocking his head to the side, he finished, "The only thing is: you gotta do it, 'cause I won't. My sister won't."

"Or you could go with the other option," Miss Marina suggested.

"No, we can't." Of that, Lance was sure. "I don't care what you do, Miss Marina; those pamphlets you gave us are not happening. Not now, not ever."

"So instead of that, you prefer this?" Incredulity rang. "You'd rather tamper with the people you claim to love?" Miss Marina stared at him, disgust clear. "For someone who wants another chance at a first impression, you're not inspiring any confidence."

Lance winced at the direct hit and all the defiance drained away. Staring down at her desk, his shoulders hunched. "I do love him," the teenager whispered. "I love him just as much as I loved my Dad." Tears stung at his eyes and he forced his chin up. "But you know what, Miss Marina? He loves you more than he loves me. You're better for him than I am; you can be there for him like we can't." A rough swallow. "So you're right, I am betraying him and I am hurting him, but he puts family first. He always puts family first."

Miss Marina stilled.

"He knows we don't like you and he knows you don't like us," Lance explained. "You haven't told him about what you gave us, have you?"

Almost against her will, Miss Marina breathed, "No, I haven't."

Teary-eyed, Lance nodded. "If you tell him what you want for us, he'll have to make a choice, Miss Marina. And neither one of you will like it." A single tear escaped. "He deserves a family, Miss Marina. A real family, not just two little orphans who got shoved in his front door at 3 AM." Anguish rang. "You can give him that, Miss Marina, but you gotta choose. Are you gonna accept us, too, or would you rather just have him?"

Emotionless, Miss Marina studied him. "If what you're telling me is true, you're on the cusp of having everything you want. Why give all of that up?"

Numbness surrounded him, but he pushed the words out. "If you love them, let them go," he whispered.

The blonde snorted, drawing back as if he'd slapped her. "You've never loved anything besides yourself in your entire life," she snapped, rising to her feet. "How do I do it?"

Lance's hand trembled as he pulled a white note card from his notebook. He wanted to cry, wanted to beg her not to do it, but that would make a mockery of everything he'd done. So instead he latched onto the family honor and held the note card out, not responding at all to Miss Marina's insult. "All you gotta do is say it."

She snatched the card away, staring at the words written on it. "What is this?"

"It had to be the same language," the brunet replied, though he crossed his fingers behind his back. He just hadn't wanted her to know what the phrase meant. "Pronunciation doesn't matter, Miss Marina. It will work."

For a long moment, Miss Marina studied the card, then she lifted her head, spitting out each word. "Mín ġeþanc wíere."

Power hummed and Lance felt the ritual activate; even without magic of her own, Miss Marina shivered at the sudden shift in the air. Drawing in a deep breath, the young pureblood lord threw his shoulders back, plastering confidence he didn't feel in place. "So. That's it. As far as Uncle Greg is concerned, my sister and I never existed."

Cold gray regarded him. "I suppose you expect me to thank you?"

The young man shook his head and tucked his notebook back in his backpack. Hesitating, he struggled for a moment, then said, "I, um, if you can get him to talk to Team One again, that…um…"

"Yes?"

It was hard to talk around the lump in his throat. "They're his best friends, but for some reason, he's pushing them away. Just so you know." With that, he swung his backpack up, settling it in place. Pushing away the pain, he gazed right into Miss Marina's eyes. "You said I don't love anything except myself. You're wrong; even if what I did lasts the rest of their lives and never breaks, I'll still love them. My sister will still love them. I just wish you'd been able to accept that Uncle Greg didn't love you any less just because he loved us, too." He swallowed hard, then ducked his head a tiny bit farther. "May Aslan bless you and those you love, Miss Marina."

Without waiting for a reply, the young man left, nodding politely to the receptionist on his way out. Once outside the building, he hitched his backpack up and walked away, already turning his steps towards where he and Alanna were planning to meet. His heart wrenched in his chest, but he couldn't afford any regrets. He'd done what he'd done and that was it. The only thing he could do now was look after his sister. Just like he'd promised their father.