Chapter Text
Magnus first met Alexander Lightwood when the boy was just a wee little brat. He was six and a half to be exact, and by then Magnus was already a few hundred years old. He was doing his High Warlock duties and helping out the Clave when he was assigned to the Institute that the Lightwoods were in charge of. He’d recall that the exact request from the Clave goes along the lines of, “a son was born to the Lightwoods a few years back, their first born. There have been…complications, with the boy. It would be of great help if you could, check on the boy.”
Magnus had raised an eyebrow at the request, saying, “Well, since you asked nicely…”
So there he was, sitting on the couch across Maryse Lightwood, sipping tea very hastily served to him. He could see from the bags under her eyes and her pale complexion that she was laden with fatigue. He assumes it had to do with the boy.
“So, I’ve heard your boy Alexander,” he pauses to sip his tea, “had some ‘complications’ since his birth a few years back?”
Maryse was looking anywhere but at Magnus, visibly fidgeting with her fingers. Whatever it was, he assumes it’s something big, big enough to draw the whole Clave’s attention. Even enough for them to request help from a Warlock. He guesses the issue must be quite problematic, maybe even shameful, seeing as the boys Mother is this nervous to confide in anyone.
“Yes, he,” Maryse pauses doubtfully, “he was born with a, a mark.”
That took Magnus’ interest. “Mark? You mean a rune?”
Maryse didn’t answer. Magnus cleared his throat and stood up. “May I take a look?”
Maryse stood up and nodded nervously. She proceeds to lead the way, Magnus close behind her. They eventually found their way to a door at the far end of the hall. Maryse took out a key, and unlocked the door. Magnus frowns at that. Why did she have to lock her son’s door from the outside?
The inside of the room was dark, the lights turned off. Even without looking he could already feel the boy’s soul, his presence. It’s flickering, like it’s fighting something. He snaps his fingers, turning on a small light. Maryse flinched.
Magnus eyes found a small boy at the corner of the room, leaning on the wall in fetal position. There was a white sheet wrapped around him, the boy desperately clutching hard at them.
“Mother?” a small, trembling voice peeked out of the ball of white. Maryse looked away. Magnus saw something in her expression. Was it guilt?
“I’ll leave you to it,” she says before leaving the room in a hurry. Again, he frowns at her un-motherlike action. With that he was left in the room alone, with the Nephilim boy.
“Who are you?” the boy asked in a threatening tone, betrayed by a slight tremor.
“Magnus,” Magnus introduced himself, “Magnus Bane.”
“Get out,” he growls back. Magnus moved forward, trying to get a better look at the boy while at the same trying to sense his presence. It was still flickering.
“Alexander,” he says, remembering the boy's name. He was moving forward, slowly but his steps sure. “I’m here to help.”
At that, two watery eyes peeked out to meet his. Magnus tilts his head at the sight. One of the boy’s eyes had a different color than the other. One was blue, so strikingly blue, but the other was red, blood red. Now that he’s gotten closer there was something about his soul, his presence; there were two.
“I, I can’t,” Alexander says in a small, shaky voice, “it won’t go.”
Magnus leans over at the boy, kneeling down to meet his gaze. He looks closely, there was a small -but evident- mark, on his red iris. He reaches out a hand to hold the boy’s chin up at him. The boy was panting harder, his dark hair damp with sweat. He was most obviously panicking
“Alright Alexander, I’ll need you to breath with me,” Magnus says, in an effort to calm the boy down, “I need you to stop fighting it.”
“It’s gonna,” the boy chokes out, “it’s gonna win.”
Magnus was now running his hand down the boy’s back, stroking it gently as a gesture of comfort. He feels the two souls fighting, clashing with great aggression. He looks at the boy surely, “I won’t let it.”
With that, he feels the boy let go as the sound of the two clashing souls drowns his senses. It was so incredibly loud to him, he couldn’t believe the boy’s been enduring it alone for this long. He struggles to keep his hand on the boy as he feels his glamour fading, revealing his warlock eyes. The boy was now grasping his wrist desperately, tears welling up to his eyes. The whites of his red eyes were invaded with swirls of black.
“Fuck,” Magnus winces, as he tries to numb out the incredible flow of darkness that’s begun to overwhelm him. He lets more of his glamour fade, gripping into the boy’s hand, trying to take in the darkness.
He grabs both sides of the boy’s face. “Look at me, Alexander. Stay with me.”
The boy obeys, looking straight at Magnus with great effort and determination. There was trust in his eyes, and desperation. Magnus remembers to breathe, trying to pick out the dark energy from the light. If he didn’t do this right, he wasn’t sure the boy will be left with much of his soul.
The internal war eventually ends, leaving Magnus heaving for breath and the boy in tears. He took his arm around the boy, holding him tightly as he sobbed out the pain.
“You did well, Alexander,” Magnus whispers, stroking his hair, “You did so well.”
He needs to have a very serious chat with Maryse Lightwood.
-
When the storm calmed, the room turns peacefully silent. Magnus held the Nephilim boy in his arms, gently stroking his back. His tears had stopped and Magnus’ breath had evened. He looks down at the boy, his eyes were open, but looked, oh so terribly tired. Magnus didn’t blame him. He’d taken in less than half of the darkness from the boy and that’d made him keel over. He could only imagine how the six-year-old is feeling right now.
He clenches his teeth, jaw hardening, as he thinks about the way Maryse Lightwood had treated her son. She’d locked him up at the far corner of the Institute, where no one could hear him scream. And that look on her face, that guilt. He had a feeling that Maryse isn’t entirely innocent in the “complications” Alexander has.
He remembers hearing that there are two Lightwood children. She had probably locked this one as far away from the other child as possible out of fear. Magnus could see why Maryse would perceive such danger from the boy. He did have such strong magical power - even Magnus was surprised that the boy was able to reduce the raging war inside him into a small flicker of the soul -, which leads him to the next, very important question; how?
It’s almost impossible for Nephilim to have such strong raw magical powers, even without the unmistakable demonic shade of it. Maryse couldn’t possibly have made some kind of horrific deal, could she?
Just when he thought the boy was asleep, he feels the boy stir, slowly leaving his hold. He sits in front of Magnus, facing him. One of the boy’s iris is still red, but the black swirls invading his sclera had faded. He takes it as a good sign and offers the boy a reassuring smile. The boy’s face flushes in embarrassment as a response.
“S-Sorry, about that,” the boy says shyly, voice rough from crying. He grabs a lump of hair in an effort to hide his right eye, the red one, as if scared that Magnus would scorn him for it. He frowns again.
“Nothing for you to apologize about Alexander. It wasn’t your fault,” he replies, and can’t help pushing back the lump of hair that the boy just placed in front of his eye. He was hoping that it would imply his acceptance of the situation. “A mere word of thanks would be enough."
“I-It’s just, Alec,” the boy says, “and thanks. I didn’t, I didn’t know how to…”
“Again, not your fault,” Magnus reassures firmly, and for more affect he adds, “Alec.”
The boy’s face flushes an even darker shade of red, if that was possible. Magnus finds it quite adorable. He finds himself muttering, “Well, aren’t you just a charmer.”
“I-I’m not,” the boy tries responding, still very visibly embarrassed. Magnus laughs at that, and he laughs even harder when the boy calls him “Mr. Bane”.
“Oh god, no,” he says, with fake exasperation, “I’m not that old. Just Magnus is fine.”
That earns him a giggle, which was -okay- very adorable. The giggle -again, very adorably- developed into a yawn. But then he notices the dark circle under Alec’s eyes.
“When did you last sleep?” Magnus frowns. Alec looks down, searching through his head. “It was Tuesday. It was when, it started.”
Magnus gets up and picks up the boy in his arms, finding him awfully light for his age. “That’s not good, you need some sleep. Today’s Friday sweetheart."
"I didn't realize," the boy replied as Magnus carries him to his bed. "I, I couldn't sleep. It was too loud."
Magnus scowls, of course Maryse would leave him alone for four days. What, did she think he’d be sleeping peacefully? Did he even eat?
Alec fell asleep almost immediately after Magnus tucks him in. He let his fingers brush through Alec's temple, rendering him into a magically-induced dreamless sleep. He checks the boy for any physical damage and when he's satisfied he snaps his fingers, magicking them both clean. He also slowly builds up his glamour to conceal the bare minimum.
He needs to look presentable when he verbally beats Maryse into a pulp.
-
When Magnus found Maryse she was sat in the living room, hands folded together. When she sees him, her face was a mixture of worry, guilt and shame.
"I believe you owe me an explanation, Mrs. Lightwood," was what came out of his mouth as she approaches him.
"What do you-"
"Please do cut to the chase," he says, referring to his nonexistent watch, "I believe you've kept me here long enough to deal with your son's - I don't know where to begin - very demonic magical powers."
"I don't know what you're talking about." There was steel in her voice.
"Oh, but you do," Magnus replies simply, trying his best to not let her get to him, "You see, being Nephilim renders it impossible for you or any Shadowhunter to have demonic powers without combusting mentally, or physically, your son included. He's very obviosly not a warlock, that would rule him out of being a mix, though I wouldn't put it past you,” he provokes, which earned him a glare, "But somehow he has dark magic similar to a downworlder's. You obviously have noticed that, since you happen to have placed him in the farthest room you could find in the whole Institute, locked him in, and added protective runes around his room, not to keep anyone from entering, but to keep him from going out. Now, if he was born with it, as you’ve truly said, I could only assume that this happened due to some horrific misfortune by the Angel, or,” he pauses, grimacing, “you -or your husband- made some devilish deal and became somehow cursed. So do pray tell.”
When Maryse wouldn’t budge, Magnus sighs. “I’ve seen the Mark… somewhere before. Now, if you want to save yourself some dignity by the time we’re finished talking, or, if you have any concern for your son’s well being, I do suggest you confess right now.”
After what seemed like an infinity of staring, Magnus could see Maryse cave in. “Morgenstern.”
Magnus was exhausted already, his head already nauseated at the mention of the name. He just about resists the urge to do a face palm. Just how much more trouble will the Clave bring upon itself?
All things considered, although he may not look it, Magnus is still busy being the High Warlock of Brooklyn. He really can’t afford to be dragged into yet another Clave - no, Lightwood - problem. But then he thinks about the desperate way the -oh so small- Lightwood boy, had gripped his arm, and he couldn’t bring himself to turn a blind eye to the problem. With Morgenstern involved, he wasn’t sure the Clave knows the entire story. He imagines the boy will be raised as his parents’s dirty little secret his whole life. And no that just won’t do, now wouldn’t it?
“There was an experiment that went on, with the purpose of creating a new species,” Maryse grimaced, “of Shadowhunters. A mix between Endarkened Shadowhunters and purebred ones. It was going on for a while in the Circle.”
“You did not offer your first born to such experiments,” Magnus says, baffled and shocked. It wasn’t a question.
“I didn’t!” Maryse was quick to defend herself, “the study was halted due to the disbanding of the Circle. I didn’t, know how… how they could have gotten Alec before that. The moment he was born with that, that accursed eye, I knew. Because I’ve seen them on others before.”
“None survived,” Magnus says, filling in what she didn’t say. From her expression, he knew that she too, assumed that Alec would die. She’s very obviously withholding some crucial information from him. Information that he will be finding out.
“None as old as Alec,” she says, quietly, “He’s the first, the only one that I know of.”
Magnus frowns. It almost sounds like she had expected her own son to die. What is wrong with these Shadowhunters? He didn’t understand and never want to understand.
“Is there anything that you can do?” Maryse asked, eyes clearly hesitant.
“I'll find out,” Magnus replies, already snapping a portal into view. He’s getting nauseated just from being there, talking with Maryse. He’s got some books to read and some people to talk with.
As he steps into the portal he gives Maryse one final look, letting the glamour on his eyes fade for more effect. “You now owe me a huge favor, Maryse Lightwood."