Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Magnus could feel something was wrong. His magic had been unquiet all week; tingling, stirring, waiting for something. He dove into work, trying to exhaust himself out of that feeling, but it wouldn't go away. Somehow, he knew something big was going to happen, and he was afraid he wasn't ready for it. It was strange, he hadn't felt unprepared in a very long time. 

Magnus regrets staying up all night. He knows tiredness isn't a good look on him. He spaced out during the whole check-in meeting with other high warlocks, playing with his earring, lost in thoughts.

It took him a minute to react to someone calling his name. Ethera, he noticed, High Warlock of France. A young gem with too great hopes for the future, always fighting twice as hard as most to make herself heard. 

As of right now, judging by the look on her face, it wasn't the first time she called him. 

“Magnus Bane? We need to talk."

Magnus hadn't noticed that the meeting was over, but now he could see the others portalling home or talking in the corners of the room.

As soon as they went to a more quiet space to have privacy, Magnus put on his best charming smile. "I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention, my dear." He took her hand on his and kissed it, then leaned on a bookshelf of what seemed to be an old library. "Can you blame me, though? These old men are all deadly tedious." He scoffed and grinned. For half a second, she smiled despite herself.

"That's… not what this is about." Magnus hummed curiously, but otherwise made no attempt to interrupt. "I need your help. It's a secret, and you're the only warlock powerful enough to help that I know I can trust."

"Of course, what do you need? I can get you some of almost anything. For a fair price, of course." He grinned.

"I need you to help me find dragons."

The noise Magnus made at that would be going to the tomb with him.

"Look, I know what you're gonna say," she continued in a rush, putting a curl of hair behind her ear and gesturing, "'dragons were instinct millenials ago', but people are talking , Magnus. Rumor has it a mundane found one and is messing with magic to expose it. I know it sounds crazy, but I also know that if there's the slightest possibility the whispers are right, we have to do something. Humans are far too cruel to handle legends like this, lost to time and myth. Someone has to stop them. But I can't do this alone."

Maybe how passionate she sounded with her mission was convincing. Maybe Magnus couldn't say no to a friend asking for help. Maybe he was curious, after all, dragons were always rare, and they were gone for so long no one knew much about the creatures.

"Grab your pitchfork, then, dear. I guess we're going on an old-fashioned witch-hunt." 

Maybe, deep down, he just knew it was something he needed to do.

…

Magnus Bane had influence. No one could ever doubt that. He caught the eye, was powerful and wise, always stood up for what he believed, always protected his people, and always kept his word. Reputation gives him power. Power gives him contacts. Contacts give him information. 

Well, money helps too. 

But his sources didn't get him the most important piece of information: how to find the damn thing. This resulted in a twice as determined pair of warlocks, but Magnus was starting to think they had their backs against the wall. Still, he wasn't going to give up that easily.

"Can you stop pacing? It's distracting me," a voice interrupted.

He made a pause to rub his face in frustration. "Okay, my brain stopped working. Let's go from the start. What do we have until now?"

Ethera stopped biting her pen and looked up from where she was sitting on the chair behind the table of his office. They were so tired it was depressing, yet, he could almost hear her brain working non-stop.

" 'kay, recap. Mundane with the sight cried dragon, no one believed him. He was desperate and willing to trust anyone who said could prove he wasn't going crazy. He made a bad deal and was killed when no longer useful." she summarized with an unimpressed voice. "The demon’s free, anonymous, and with the dragon. We know nothing about them.”

“I don't know how one manages to capture such a creature, but she can't keep a live dragon for too long, can she?” Magnus asks, not really expecting an answer.

“We'd know if it had been killed already. Maybe she's waiting on a buyer?"

"But if she's a magic dealer of some kind, why does no one know her?" Magnus sighs, laying on the nearest couch. It wasn't the first time they got to that question. "Maybe she got in as a date or an employee..." 

“We checked everyone with access already. There's not one person, downworlder or demon around that we haven't followed, interrogated, bribed... interrogated a bit more violently—" 

"Ethera!" 

"You know I gotta do what I gotta do." She shrugged. "Don't worry, my friend, just the sketchy people. They won't be causing trouble anymore." Her smile was dangerous and Magnus wasn't sure whether to be afraid or impressed.

"Have we tried the nephilim?"

"Magnus, the current head of the New York Institute is the oldest Lightwood boy." She continued carefully, "We don't... we don't want to bring the followers of Valentine into this." Magnus grimaced at the family name and all the history of bloodshed that came with it. 

"You're right. I'm not thinking straight." He shook his head. "They're not worth the trouble. Shadowhunters don't interact with the demon blooded. And we can't trust them not to kill the dragon on sight as soon as we find it. I just fear I have run out of ideas, dear."

Ethera held back a distressed whine. She wanted to be strong, impress the older warlock, but they both knew time wasn’t in their favor.

They had gone after almost every single person in the city and always came up empty handed. How can someone be so sneaky?

Chairman Meow came and rubbed himself in Magnus’ hanging hand, looking smug with the attention when his owner petted him. Suddenly, Magnus sat up, scaring the cat who ran to another room.

"My dear Lilith, what if it wasn't a someone?!” A raised eyebrow. A beat of silence. Like a joke falling flat, except… “I’m serious! What better way to go unnoticed while selling an animal if not turning yourself into one?"

"You think it's a shape-shifter? Great, just great. Let's turn every rat in New York human and ask if they have, by any chance, seen a dragon somewhere.”

"Ethera, hear me out!" Magnus raised one hand, then cringed for yelling and interrupting her. "Sorry. Just. You asked me to trust you, before. Now I need you to trust me when I say it's important, somehow. Did anyone describe something odd in her? Shapeshifters do always carry an aura of suspicion for whoever looks closely.”

"Two warlocks mentioned reptile eyes and weird-looking black scales. Dark as night, but oddly sparkly" she recalled her notes on auto-pilot, confused. "You won't tell me you know the demon now, will you? Second cousin?"

"Not quite, but…" Magnus summoned an old photo to his hands and turned it for her to see.

It showed Magnus taunting a pissed Ragnor Fell with a snake curled around his arm. It's dated before she was born.

"I might know what she turns into. I was given one of these by a seelie girl I was seeing some decades ago. Very interesting, singular and expensive creatures. The darkest black scales known, but they shine, see? She could turn and make her way to possible buyers for a bigger, rarer, more fire-blower reptile. It's not much, but at least we got something to look for again.”

"It.. makes sense, actually." She blinked slowly. "A lead. I almost forgot how these felt like. Magnus, you're brilliant, did you know that?"

"I do, actually,” he jokes. "Now… where are those things illegally sold?”

"I think I know how to get us there. Or who will." She stood up, hugged him in thanks, and sprinted out of his loft, assuring him she'd call as soon as she solved this.

Magnus conjured himself a cocktail, shuddering when it drained more of him than expected. Half an hour later, he stumbled to his bed to another restless night of sleep.

…

Caramel popcorn. That’s what the air smelled like, Magnus noted, looking around at the mundane fair. Odd place for animal trafficking shenanigans, if you asked him, but he supposed one could get away with a lot when hiding behind a glamour.

He’s led by a young werewolf, skittish as a stray, inside an unsuspicious looking tent. There, rows and rows of masked individuals talk over drinks, numbered paddles in hand.

An auction. He can guess the highest prize of the night, and he is not leaving without it.

He knows Ethera is here already, lost somewhere in the sea of downworlders and their few human toys. They’re not supposed to be seen together. He takes his seat with ease, the perfect picture of nonchalance. If the blue tendrils of his magic wrapping around his fingers are involuntary, that’s no one’s business but his own. 

It is not out of control, per se. Not yet. It’s building in waves he hopes won’t crash at the most inconvenient time.

He scans the crowd as bids come and go, daring something — anything — to stand out. It doesn't, until the very last offer.

A beautiful woman walks up the stage, her smile dangerous and sharp as heels. The satin of her black dress shines, demanding attention, but not as much as the unglamoured scales all over her skin.

Got you, Magnus thinks, straightening his lapels and quietly finding his way through the crowd. Even the deadliest of snakes should know not to cross a bigger predator's domain.

The plan is quite straightforward, really. He's supposed to keep his eyes on her every move and make sure she won't slither away again, while Ethera flaunts his card and gets herself a six-figure dragon. Easy. Discreet.

Except… The curtains opened, and Magnus’ entire world shifted. 

He stood frozen in place as his magic rose and overflowed, promptly shattering all the glasses in the room like a young warlock in training would. As the lights went out, panic ensued, but his gaze was locked onto the stage, for there stood the two most beautiful creatures Magnus had ever laid eyes on: a pair of dragons, chained and defenseless. He briefly wondered how they missed this, but it was unimportant.

Mine , his heart sang. Protect, his magic roared. Every turn in his life seemed to have led him to this exact moment, and...

“ MAGNUS! ”

Shit.

So, overall, not as discreet as planned.

Shaken out of the daze by his friend’s calling, Magnus turned to find their target nowhere to be seen. He scans the crowd of faceless outlaws undignifiedly rushing for the exits, and while he’s sure it could not have been more than a handful of seconds, she’s all but smoke, lost to the shadows. He’s running before he’s even aware he commanded his feet to do so, skin buzzing with barely contained murderous rage.

Alas, when he sees it — sees her —, it’s too late. Ethera, always the brave one, had firmly put herself in the way, hands alight in unsteady white flashes and trembling through some sort of speech. An offer of peaceful surrender, perhaps. She was always far too kind.

Magnus is fast. A snake’s strike is faster. Venom never did make a fair race.

He kneeled on the floor by his friend’s head as dark tendrils spread through her pale skin, untouched by all healing spells he could recite. Despair clouded his better judgment as he whispered useless promises that it would be fine, more self-soothing than not.

“Magnus, you have to-” a sickening wheeze stole her breath, interrupting “-to go after her.”

“What? No! I’m not leaving you here!”

“You need to. You promised. You promised you’d help, and now you need to finish it.”

“But..”

“ Magnus. ” Even in its weakness, Ethera’s voice left no room for discussion. He’ll miss her bite terribly. But right then, she was as soft as they come, squeezing his hand with a smile. “Please, save them for me.”

He stared through a blur of tears, squeezing back. He may not be able to save her, no one was, but this… this he could do. He would not let her sacrifice be in vain.

“I’ll protect them with my life, dear. Rest assured.”

“You better, old man.” She smiled, pleased. Eyes heavy. Magnus held her through it.

When it was done — soon, too soon —, he got to his feet with a single mission in mind. He would not fail again.

Chapter Text

Later, when Magnus finally got onto the stage of the abandoned auction, bloody and haunted, the boiling that drove him to a violence he had not touched in centuries had finally simmered down to numbness. He felt half of a person, as he always did after a kill, but it would have to be enough. He had a job to do. A promise to keep.

Abandoned in the earlier chaos, the dragons were now kind of curled up in each other — the best they could be in their restrictions. For such feral creatures, they looked pretty miserable. The weight of the magic in the air shifted as their wings tensed up to see him, getting ready to fight, and the black dragon got in his way to the golden one, growling.

"Woah, easy there." Magnus raised his hands in surrender. "I'm just trying to help you." At that, he could swear he heard the golden dragon snort. More rational than he thought, then.

"Okay, I'm guessing it's not the first time you hear that.” He raised an eyebrow. “Look, I understand this is not the ideal rescue situation, but unless you can have another high warlock hidden under those lovely wings of yours, you're gonna have to trust me or stay tied up."

There was a whole minute of heavy silence, Magnus guessed they were communicating in some way. Then very, very slowly, as to prove a point, the golden dragon stepped closer and stretched like a cat: paws with talons in full display first, then laid down his enormous head. Magnus thought that if dragons could smile, that expression would certainly be a wicked grin, judging by the glint in his eyes. But he stayed still, accepting the help. 

"Those chains look strong, but not strong enough to keep any of you down. How odd, " Magnus muttered, caressing the metal that worked like a muzzle and analyzing the ones around their paws. They were tied to the ground, but not spelled. How irresponsible. They could surely break them with minimal effort.

The black dragon growled like it was growing impatient with Magnus’ stalling. And although he was embarrassed to admit it, he was doing exactly that.

He knew he had drained himself protecting them earlier, there was no way he could free both dragons now. And without Ethera…  Well, Magnus was on his own. But exhaustion be damned, he was not leaving now.

He tried not to panic and focus all of his energy in his hands, commanding his magic to go through matter, pouring into the chains' roots and tearing them all apart — or one set of them.

Magnus fell to his knees before he could get to the other.

He was barely aware he was panting an apology. He hoped they understood he was trying. He hoped he wasn't eaten alive for it, but to hell if he couldn't help, he was not going to leave them here alone. Not that he had any magic left to portal home, anyway.

But his beautiful, brave, brilliant black dragon — wait, since when did Magnus start to think of those dragons as his? and did he always alliterate this much, or was it his tired brain? — just made a soft sound, took some steps back, and launched into the air, roaring to force his jaw open, breaking free easily and landing back next to his companion.

Magnus laughed, almost wanting to cry. They were going to be okay. He was right, the metal wasn't strong enough to hold a dragon. They were a force of nature, goddamnit. Magic protectors, magic itself. Mundane cuffs shouldn't stand a chance. But also, what the fuck? Then why did they stay? 

He didn't have time to ask, though. Exhaustion took him under so quickly all he could see were the dragons rounding him up seconds before everything went black. He distantly thought it was very rude of them to play with food, but passed out before voicing the thought.

…

When Magnus woke up, he was still seeing black. It was warm and comfortable. Maybe he did die. Well, that wasn't what he was expecting at all! He was supposed to have a throne, wasn't he? Heir of a Prince of hell and everything.

But then the blackness moved, and oh. Oh.

Instead of eating him, or flying away as soon as they could, the dragons stayed to protect him in his vulnerability. They were lying with Magnus between their cuddling bodies, sheltering the warlock with a wing each while he slept. They lifted them off of him when he shifted and the black dragon rumbled softly, as if to ask if he was okay, while the golden one came to lick him awake like an overly eager puppy.

It made him strangely emotional, even if it was most likely their way of paying a debt. No one has taken care of him in a long, long time.

He smiled softly, petting a snout. He tried to get up but was immediately — though carefully — pushed to lay down again. 

"Whoa, okay, okay. I wasn't going anywhere." 

They didn't look too convinced. With a deep breath, he tried starting again. 

"Hello, darlings. I'd like to start saying thank you for not eating me."  He laughed at their offended sounds. "But really, thank you. You didn't have to stay. For me, I mean. But also, at all. What was that about? You didn't look like you needed saving.” He stared at the black dragon, bright blue eyes staring back. Intense.

The golden one got up, ignoring the other's displeased growl, and twirled, making it very clear how his left wing was dragging on the ground twisted in an unnatural angle. Broken.

That explained why he couldn't free himself, why the other one stayed to protect him. They were clearly bonded, somehow. 

The golden dragon, if only a little shy of showing his injury, didn't look in pain, but something in his fiery eyes told Magnus he may just be excellent in hiding it. Ignoring it.

"Did... did she do that?" Magnus asked with a lump in his throat. If he had gotten here earlier... 

A head shake. No. 

"Thank Lilith", Magnus said, relieved, and both dragons adorably scrunched their noses at the mention of the mother of demons' name. It should be weird to think of those enormous, clearly dangerous beasts as cute, but he couldn't help it.

He watched them for a while. "You two don't look too bruised. I'm guessing you didn't let her get close enough to try, huh?" he asked the black dragon, who preened proudly at that.

Ah, that look explains it. Unmistakable across species.

All dragons were protective of what was theirs, or so had Magnus heard, but apparently, not only to literal gold. More like golden mates they cared deeply for. That was the treasure. Magnus felt weirdly lonely, thinking about that.

There was a long silence as the dragons tried (and failed) to be subtle while looking at his hands. He nodded and wordlessly started to work. First successfully numbing the pain, but after a while, he was looking visibly frustrated for not being able to heal it, the bone still not where it's supposed to be.

"I'm still low on magic, I'm sorry. That's... that's probably why you waited, but I can't fix it. It would only hurt you to keep trying." His expression was filled with sorrow. The bigger dragon came to wrap himself around the smaller. They didn't seem angry, but resigned. As long as they were grounded, they were vulnerable. There was not much one could do. 

Unless... "Wait. Cat! Uh... My friend, Catarina Loss, I mean. She's the best healer I know, and you can trust her, I swear. She'll fix it for you. If... you'd accept to come with me. To my loft. I can portal us there, you don't need to fly. No one will see us.”

A pause.

“Please, let me help however I can. I just need to know you're okay." Magnus pleaded, sounding more vulnerable than he would’ve liked.

It was the golden dragon who broke first.

He looked like the impulsive one, Magnus thought. Like troubled kids, it's always easy to recognize. They have mischief shining clear as day, like they can't help a bad idea, too eager for the reward. 

He nibbled on his mate's jaw and looked at Magnus. The black dragon had that cute scowl back. He was probably not very happy to depend on someone else, to be tied to a warlock, but maybe it was all less important when his mate was in pain.

Magnus was surprised when he saw him nod. Surprised that they trusted him that much. He disappointed them once and he wouldn't again.

Using an impressive amount of magic for someone that had been drained to the last drop only hours before, Magnus changed his loft to a bigger layout on the inside, sent Cat a fire message to meet him as soon as possible, and tugged them through a portal. Only after bringing his dragons home, behind his wards, did he finally seem to take his first breath in weeks. They were going to be okay.

Chapter Text

Chairman Meow probably felt the air shifting around the portal moments before it materialized, because he came to wait for his owner's arrival like a dog would wait at the door for their mundane to come back from work. But one look at the monsters coming with his warlock and he sprinted away, terrified.

Before Magnus could call him back, the golden dragon ran after him. Hunting.

Instinctively, Magnus ran to put himself in the way and summoned a rolled newspaper to smack his snout. It was obviously too light to hurt through his scales and leather, but it made him stop, shocked and confused. Magnus very seriously chided, "Bad dragon! You're scaring Chairman Meow! He's a friend, not food!”

And then everyone froze. Said bad dragon looked dumbfounded, not used to not being taken seriously, not used to being told no. Magnus was mainly afraid of his mate's reaction. What he was not expecting was for the scary overprotective dragon to scoff, laughing. Or for the other to disappear. What?

A small sound made him look down, surprised that the Chairman was back from his hiding spot already. But it wasn't his cat. It was the smaller dragon who had turned even smaller, the size of a house cat.

He spun twice before rolling to ask for belly rubs, like a real... "Puppy," Magnus whispered, followed by a sweet whining sound coming from below, and who could resist that?

"Aw, aren't you a precious thing? Yes, yes you are. You just wanted to play, didn't you?" Magnus coos while petting his shiny scales. Then remembers he was supposed to be scolding him before getting distracted. He raises to his feet. "Wait. You can't just act cute to get out of trouble."

His mate scoffs again, making Magnus look up. "Oh, he does it often, then? My, my, what a naughty puppy." Another whine. "You see, I'm all for spoiling my pets and guests — although I'm not sure you fit either of those categories —, but the Chairman isn't a teether! Not to mention, you shouldn't run around with that broken wing of yours.”

The small dragon has the decency of looking embarrassed, then. He rolls and comes head down to rub against his legs, climbing quickly to the warlock's shoulder, making the other dragon stare. He did that a lot, didn't he?

Unsurprisingly, Magnus' first thought being watched was how good they must look together now, the dragon's golden scales certainly matching his red outfit. His second thought was that his once perfect clothes were surely all rumpled and ruined by now. And his hair... and his makeup. A quick snap of fingers fixed that problem, but it was still embarrassing they'd seen him like that.

The staring seemed to grow even heavier.

The black dragon was not that easy to read, but maybe he didn't like when the warlock used magic casually, after everything? Magnus decided not to push.

…

The sun had long set when Catarina stepped through Magnus’ wards, summoned by a vague text calling for help. Knowing her friend, it could be anything from a third World War to deciding which shade of blue suits him best. (Cobalt. He knew that.)

She wasn’t expecting 20-something feet tall dragons, but she can’t say she’s surprised either.

“Don’t panic.”

“I’m not panicking.”

“Okay, maybe I’m panicking. Can you fix it?” Magnus asks, pouting.

Cat sighed. “I can try.”

He paces around the room as she examines the pair, his inner turmoil stopped only by the sudden arrival of a fire message.

Institute of New York
New York, NY
October 13th, 2016

To: Magnus Bane
High Warlock of Brooklyn
Brooklyn, NY

Dear Mr. Bane,

I hope this correspondence finds you well.

I am writing to you in an official capacity on behalf of the Shadowhunter Institute of New York. As you may be aware, our two esteemed leaders, Alexander and Jace Lightwood, have recently gone missing under circumstances that remain both mysterious and deeply concerning. Their sudden disappearance has left the Institute in a state of vulnerability, and we are working tirelessly to determine their whereabouts.

Given your title as the High Warlock of Brooklyn and your longstanding ties to both the Shadowhunter and Downworld communities, we are reaching out in the hopes that you may have any information that could assist in this matter. If you have possibly encountered or been made aware of anything that could shed light on their whereabouts or the circumstances surrounding their absence, no matter how seemingly insignificant, we would be most grateful if you could share.

Your cooperation and discretion in this matter are greatly appreciated and can be handsomely compensated. We trust that you will consider the gravity of the situation in your hopefully prompt reply.

Should you require any further information, please do not hesitate to contact me directly. We look forward to your response.

Kindest regards,
Isabelle Lightwood,
Temporary Acting Head of the New York Institute.

Vanishing the burnt letter with a groan, Magnus wonders when the Angel’s little birdies will finally learn to fly on their own. He’s no babysitter!

“-gnus, did you hear me? Six weeks. Medical orders. Do not let them out of your sight.”

Chapter Text

“Alec, you need to go. I’ll be fine, but the institut—”

“Fuck no. I’m not leaving you behind for politics, Jace. Izzy can manage just fine until—”

“Until dear old mom comes to show her claws? You’ll sacrifice our earned safety for—”

“Like you’re one to talk about sacrifices! Jumping head first into danger agai—”

“We’d both be safer if you went and formally asked Sparkles over there to send me on my merry w—”

“Are you insane?! He knows too much alr—”

A cough broke through their rushed — and telepathical, because they’re not that stupid — argument, coming directly from the warlock awkwardly standing by the doorstep.

“I… uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt… whatever I just interrupted, but could you boys maybe not melt down my apartment while you’re at it?”

The dragons stare dumbly at one shirtless Magnus Bane. His hair was as soaking wet as the cat he struggled to hold as it frantically tried to paw its way out. The Chairman was not fond of baths. But what’s one to do when your perfectly chilly October night suddenly feels like being boiled in hellfire? He would know.

The temperature slowly decreases as they remember to control it and the tension dissipates from the room, the pair looking sheepish.

A deep sigh. “I think we’ll need some ground rules.”

…

“And last but not least, rule number 13: no bringing hookups home!” Magnus dramatically listed off each item. “Though I’m not sure how exactly this one would work,” he added, tilting his head in confusion. “Of course, this can’t be legally binding without your proper names, but it’s the thought that— wait. Names! You two do need names, I can’t call you dragon 1 and 2 forever.”

“I wonder who’s which.”

“Oh, shut up, Jace. I’m telling you, if he calls me something as stupid as half these cats’ names, I’ll eat him. Accords be damned.”

“Well, I think you’d be an adorable Princess Fluffball.”

“The perfect name is important for an identity of self.” The warlock continues, clueless. “I’d say I chose mine pretty decently, eh? It’s actually worth something now.” He smirks like he’s sharing a secret for their entertainment, trying to bond by showing little pieces of his vulnerable under belly. It makes Alec’s chest hurt, feeling dishonest in comparison. They had no right to Magnus’ secrets.

“Okay, let’s see... For goldilocks over here, Aureum. Seems only fitting for a kept treasure.” At that, Jace’s preening was as absurd as it was endearing.

“And tall, dark and handsome there can be Midnight!” Alec frowned as loudly as a silent gesture could get. “No? Okay. How about Storm?” A scoff of smoke. “Raven? Wait, don’t even answer that.” An eye roll.

Alec turned to leave, but just barely heard Magnus’ annoyed muttering of “Well, isn't he just as sweet as a poisoned apple?”

He tried holding back his laughter, he really did. But judging by how Magnus’ eyes immediately snapped to his, shining with mischief, he knew his strangled snort was understandable enough.

“Wait! Hemlock? Belladonna?! Oh.” A sharp gasp. “Oleander.”

Alec paused. He supposed they can't get any closer to his actual name, so he may as well. Holding direct eye contact, he bowed his head in a nod. Magnus’ grin widened in victory, and he felt nothing about it. Or at least that's what Alec told himself, ignoring Jace's distant knowing look.

***

Magnus frowned in confusion at his jewelry box. He had perfected the spell to make his lost belongings return to their rightful place many, many centuries — and parties — ago, and yet, he couldn’t find his favorite ear cuff. The one he played with mindlessly when he felt bored or out of place. 

Impossibly so, it was missing. So were a third of his rings, apparently.

Was he going mad, so soon? He heard of it happening to a handful of millenia old warlocks and vampires, minds too fractured by time to keep up with the ever changing world. The fae had no such concerns, of course, for they didn’t experience it like the rest.

Maybe a thief! No, that was absurd. His wards were the most secure in all of the american continent and his new housemates would surely notice if someone broke in and—

Ah.

Warmth flooded his chest as he made his way to the dragons’ assigned room, where his suspicions were confirmed.

Aureum was lounging under the window, sunbathing like an old fat cat, blissful and unaware. Oleander, on the other hand, was very much caught red (or gold) handed, for he layed protectively around a small pile of Magnus’ stolen jewelry and other trinkets he hadn't even noticed were missing. A temporary hoard.

Magnus leaves unnoticed with a fond smile. The spell had gotten it right — things were exactly where they should be.

Chapter Text

One could really get used to this , Magnus thought with a sigh.

He was cuddled up on the balcony’s sofa with a cup of tea and a tiny Aureum shamelessly napping draped over his shoulders, tail wrapped around his neck for balance. Oleander, while more coyly curled up to the side and avoiding direct skin to scales touch, had also been getting closer and closer in the past hour under the pretense of settling comfortably on the blankets, eyes shining with understanding as he payed attention to the warlock’s complaint about a client and growled at all the right parts.

The loft, as packed with wards and guarding spells as it has always been, had never felt so safe before. It had never felt so much like home .

They had a routine. Every morning, Magnus woke up to some homemade dish from his birthplace somehow magicked onto the table, melting his heart faster than the absurd amount of spice could burn his tongue. Dragonic taste, he guessed, but refused to complain. In return, he always came home in the late afternoon with some sort of gift to offer for the pair’s shared hoard. He soon found that Oleander liked best when he brought books, especially rare editions he would never admit the price, and that Aureum was shockingly the most enamored with random feathers found on the street. And if some of his favorite clothing went missing every so often because they both liked his scent? He was too fond to care.

Magnus would talk and they would just listen , really listen, the marvelous tales as much as the frustrated rants, like they enjoyed his company, like he wasn’t too much to be stuck with at all. Sometimes, when he was extra emotionally vulnerable and felt seconds away from breaking into tears, they distracted him into fits of laughter instead by trying the closest to answers that wing flaps and expressive eyes could get.

Lilith, the eyes. Slitted like his own, like his fathers, but so beautiful in their unapologetic-ness that it inspired him to drop his glamour more often. Their awed reactions every time he did helped, too.

Even the cats were coming around! Aureum had bought the Chairman’s forgiveness by constantly sharing his food when he thought Magnus wasn’t looking, and a handful of others could daily be seen riding on Oleander’s bigger form to use him as a heating pad. When asked, the dragon had just shrugged and went back to purring.

Aureum loved to argue to pick the movie for movie nights, an argument that often ended up in a burnt popcorn fight and sleeping through three quarters of it anyway. Oleander started letting Magnus be alone with his mate out of his sight — a rare gift of trust that he was safe — and soon after became more bold in asking for attention himself, sitting on top of whatever paperwork was giving him headaches and refusing to budge until Magnus took a break and ate something, always a caretaker. Whenever the warlock found the two cuddling (which was often, they were rarely not somewhat touching) and stared longingly for a bit too long, they were quick to pull him in between and under their wings like that very first night.

They were happy. So happy he barely even felt guilty anymore for ignoring that Lightwood girl’s ever-growing amount of letters. So happy that he pretended to forget about the countdown hanging over their heads. So happy that, when he started getting half a second glimpses of what in retrospect were decidedly human shadows through the door cracks of their nest, he unconsciously ignored the signs without a second thought. 

Until reality came crashing.

…

It was the last day before Catarina’s scheduled second visit that would probably declare Aureum sound to fly, and then he and Oleander would both leave. Magnus tried to be productive, but all he could think about was how each second he was losing brewing stupid potions for even stupider buyers was a second he should’ve been spending with them .

Enough was enough. With a wave he put away his materials and hurried through a portal.

An hour later, he had a basket near his own weight full of flowers, snacks and shiny gifts he was sure the boys would love. He had a speech planned, an offer for them to stay, not because they had to but because he wanted them there. For the first time in decades, he was hopeful. Hopeful that staying was something they could also want. That he could be something they also want. No , he harshly reminded himself when that last part creeped into his thoughts, don’t you ask for too much and scare them away.

Alas, his plan never had a chance of being executed, for when he walked through the front door of his loft, his smile suddenly dropped from his face in shock and confusion. The gifts crashed to the floor.

Aureum was screaming, clearly trying to contain it but losing against some horrifying pain, his body contorting before Magnus’ eyes, who watched horrified as he turned into… a man. A naked and bloodied man, with nephilim runes all over his skin. 

Magnus barely had time to process before said man started to collapse from magical exhaustion, and then Oleander (how can he even call them by these names anymore?) also shifted, easily and painlessly as it should be with practice, to quickly catch his mate before he fell. So there stood another runed nephilim. Two shadowhunters.

Shadowhunters he had let in the safety of his home and, even more embarrassingly, his heart.

After making sure Not-Aureum was unharmed, Not-Oleander remembered their audience and his eyes snapped to the door looking as startled as a deer in headlights. Maybe he had not expected the full shift, or Magnus being home sooner than usual. His face seemed to go through more emotions than anyone could name in fractions of seconds, ultimately settling in regret and awful, pitiful defeat.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Magnus wanted to be mad. He should have been. He now knew exactly who they were and he could not ignore the danger the Lightwood family name carried to people like him. He should’ve been mad, furious, threatened… but he loved them — Lilith, he loved them —, so all he truly felt was broken and worried like hell.

“When he wakes up, you two owe me an explanation,” he ordered coldly. “Preferably clothed. Fuck, I need a drink.”

Chapter Text

It wasn't supposed to go like this, Alec thought bitterly.

He had always been one to rely on a plan. Before a fight, he factored in the weather for flying, the range of each of his enchanted arrows, and even Jace's amount of pent up energy. Before a meeting with his mother, he made sure to have his most diplomatic answers rehearsed. Plans were predictable, and predictable kept his flock safe.

But he could never have predicted Magnus Bane.

When the warlock first saved Jace, Alec loathed the boom that would be asked in return. He would grant it, of course, for no price is too high for his mate's safety, but such an enormous debt could mean a never before seen level of destruction, if Magnus so wished. Except… the demand never came. Not for power, or riches, or anything but their own safety.

The weight of waiting for the other shoe to drop was slowly exchanged by a simple conviction: Magnus Bane was a maddeningly selfless man; and for that alone he earned the dragon's eternal favour, unasked.

Jace, on the other hand, usually quick to shallow friendships but guarded to deeper affections, had claimed the warlock almost immediately, much to Alec's surprise and exasperation. His brain could coward behind logical reasons, but not his heart — and Jace was his heart.

Make him ours, Alpha. I want this one, he pouted, spoiled thing that he was. So, of course, they had begun courting. It seemed to be well-received, if the gifts and offerings in return were a reliable indicator, but there was only so far providing food and scenting pillows could get them without formal communication of intent. The last step meant turning. Purposefully turning, with a proper explanation. They were training Jace back into form, they just needed more time.

Alas, it was safe to say things did not go according to the plan. He should've expected Magnus would be unpredictable on this, too.

So now they stood as traitors, caught red-handed with a secret bigger than themselves, and Magnus stood silent, too silent, watching their every move from behind his glass. It was far from his first.

Alec wish he could have this conversation from the safety of their hoard, but he would not dare taint their nest with this awful scent of bitterness. Feral Jace would tear him to shreds.

Speaking of, the blonde man sat across his lap was just waking up, sleepily nuzzling into his mate's neck for comfort before reality came crashing. It was obvious when it did, his whole body tensed and even his hands trembled for a fracture of a second before he forced them to still.

"It was not your fault," Alec tried to reassure through the haze of panic in their bond, knowing the type of thought Jace was likely to spiral to. He ached to comfort him further, but would not gentle him, not in public.

"How angry is he?" he asked instead of acknowledging Alec's words.

"We didn't talk. Waited for you." Alec sighed. "All I know is he is hurt, love. Badly hurt. But he will not be cruel."

Slowly, almost mechanically, Jace turned away from Alec's chest to face Magnus eye to eye.

"Hey," he tried with a sad smile. "Come here often?"

…

And so began a sad, sad tale.

A story of a nephlim war that, of course, every downworlder knew and suffered through, but was over impressively soon with Valentine Morgenstern's death — by the hands of his own daughter, an unmarked redheaded child whose mother Magnus vaguely remembered helping years and years ago.

A story of what had happened far before.

A story of how the mad man had been conducting biological experiments on his most loyal followers, like the Lightwoods, framing the most heinous crimes against nature and magic as a test of strength. How he went a step further and tested it on his own children, Clarissa and Jonathan.

I prefer Jace, Magnus remembered the correction. I can't outrun my blood, but my name is my own. It was a sentiment he understood all too well.

Shapeshifters who could bear runes, bred with real dragon blood. How that psycopath got a hold of it after so many years of supposed extinction, he didn't know, it was almost too absurd to be believable. But then again, if there was a constant in this messed up world, it was that all the stories are true.

Stories of pain. Of broken fingers, broken wings, and responsabilities too heavy for any soul that young to carry. Both the boys had been through so much, it was no wonder they weren't particularly forthcoming with the one secret that could bring all that was buried back to haunt them.

He felt for the pair, and let them know it. Not that it was hard to notice, with how visibly sick he looked the more they shared. Magnus had always been prone to taking in underdogs, but Lilith, of all creatures, did he really have to grow attached to shadowhunters? Two shadowhunters very much attractive in their human shapes, by the way. That information kind of tilted Magnus' whole world a little to the left. But pretty and deep and respectful and… traumatized as they were, he could not quite ignore how deadly either.

The most primitive parts of his brain wanted to run for the woods in fear, set fire to every precious memory he let them touch in anger. There was also deep, deep sorrow at the thought of any version of them leaving his life, but he'd been fooled by his heart too many times to trust it to make any decisions now.

They could have his forgiveness, but not his trust. He would not risk it. If he loved them in any way, as everything they are, and turned out to be wrong… it would kill him. He barely survived Camille, and what he felt for her meant next to nothing in comparison. The mere thought had his magic tickling his fingers in anguish.

There was only one right way out of this.

"Goodbye."

Chapter Text

It was the wrong way.

Raphael had been close to Magnus for many decades. At some point, he even considered him a father figure. Now, as he watched the warlock slur through the same whiny reminiscense and cries of regret for the millionth time this past month, he couldn't really see that authority anymore.

Magnus had forgone magic and made a point to look as awful as he felt, Raphael thought, if looking for pity or self-punishment, he couldn't tell. He was wearing the same clothes from his previous visit to the loft, and based on the hollowness around his eyes, he had been sleeping as often as bathing, which meant not much.

Raphael hated getting involved, but if it meant having his friend back to his normal, only mildly aggravating self, and no more hearing about this overdramatic love affair, he would have to.

First, he scruffed the moping man by the back of his neck like a lioness would discipline a cub, took his bottle away, and forced him under a shower. Then, he reheated the meal he had brought, plated it and set the table. Lastly, with a resignated sigh, he fished the cellphone from his pocket (he had rejected the gift, at first, but he had to admit it turned out to be quite useful) and called the one person who could help sort out this absurd matter.

"Mi sol, I have the most foolish of missions for you. Would you be amenable to meeting me later at DuMort to discuss it? Seeing as I also just bought groceries, I'm sure I can compensate you for your time."

"Babe, c'mon. You know you had me at foolish."

…

Alec wasn't sure how his sister and her girlfriend had convinced him to go for a night out. Something about poorly disguised sulking bleeding tension onto the rest of the pack, though he knew it was a flimsy excuse — they were too professional to let personal affairs compromise hunting.

But now, watching Jace dance under Pandemonium's ever flickering lights, he privately thanked their meddling. They needed this. To blow some steam, just the two of them again. To stop thinking of him, for however brief a moment.

He was wary of the club choice, at first, but he bartender assured him the owner hadn't visited in months. And so he let it go.

He let himself welcome the burn of drink after drink down his throat. He let Jace grind closer and closer, awkwardly trying to match his rhythm as songs came and went. He let himself shamelessly scent his mate, who smelled so good he could barely think — and told himself it was just the alcohol in his system making him extra needy, definetely not pre-heat symptons —. He let the people around them stare.

Stares that kept getting heavier, heads turning almost hypnotized, unexplicably drawn to them. Unexpicably, that is, until… "Alpha. Please. I need it, I need you, need him!"

…

Magnus had just portalled into his club, after incessant nagging from his friends shooing him out of the house, when he saw them. Just his damned luck.

He was ready to turn tail and go lick his now freshly poked wounds somewhere else, maybe have a cry in his shower, when gold eyes looked up and locked to his. He expected to find anger there, gratitude turned sour by the way they parted. He expected Jace to warn Alec, who had his back turned, for them to leave.

What he did not expect was for the man's knees to immediately give out with a cry.

He barely had time to be confused, or to react to Alec's new-found awareness of his presence, for in the blink of an eye, the pair was suddenly being cornered by the surrounding clubgoers. His costumers were rarely agressive, but something was defintely wrong.

As he got closer, he saw Jace was limp in his partner's arms, face pushing against his neck and babbling incoherently. Was he ill again? Magnus wished they had come to him for help, and his chest ached at the knowledge it was his own fault for pushing them away. Alec was growling at anyone who dared come close, a deep, animalistic growl that shook the floor in its intensity. His glamour seemed to flicker, ready to snap, protective instincts clouding his judgement. They'd expose themselves any minute. Magnus had to get them out, now. But he couldn't reach them, not without being attacked, so how would he-

"Magnus. Take us home." Alec ordered, looking in his eyes. "Where it's safe."

A portal swept them away before he even finished speaking.

…

"What's wrong with him? Why was everyone…"

"He's in heat. It wasn't supposed to come for another two weeks, something must've triggered it." Alec explained in a rush, settling a protesting Jace who kept pawing at his clothes down on the bed of their (untouched) nest and conjuring up a cold towel to press to his forehead. "It's a dragon biology thing. He's an omega. The vampires and werewolves are close enough to predators that they still felt drawn to the pheromones, but I doubt they could explain why. It's… affecting me too. I might not be rational much longer."

He kept shushing Jace's whines, but his flush was only getting worse. None of it made any sense to Magnus, but it didn't matter.

"Is he in pain? Should I contact the Institute? You- How can I help?"

A bitter snort. "The kind of help he needs, I doubt you'll want to offer."

"Try me."

"He needs sex, Bane. " Alec snapped, nerves were more raw than he let on. "And, well, a shit ton of water, but he's not gonna drink any while he's this delirious. Ready to run for the hills now?"

Truthfully, Magnus had no idea how to react to that. He vaguely recalled hearing about a pollen from the seelie lands having a similar effect, but to witness it…

Fuck, he needs to leave. Crash at Ragnor's place, get away from here. They don't want him here while they… they… Lilith, he was worried sick, and he didn't want to abuse the trust he couldn' t believe he still had, but everything in him begged him to-

"Stay!" Jace cried out. "No running. Make him stay, Alpha!" he begged. "Please, I need both. You want him too. You said I could have him, before, you did! Please. It hurts."

Time, then, stood very still.

"Alexander… is he…"

The older shadowhunter was half wild himself, fussing over pillows and scenting everything he could touch to try and comfort his mate. It didn't seem to be working.

"Bane. We… we kept away, like you asked, we did. But if you don't leave, now, we might not let you go again. You need to- you need to run." His tone was timid and his head was down, like every word pained him to get out.

Magnus' whole world seemed to have shifted. A supernatural sort of calm washed over him, finally sure of what he needed to do. As sure as when he first saw them, that they were his, now he knew. They wanted to be his, too. God, he was so stupid. He lost so much time. Not anymore.

"Say you want me to leave, and I'll go. Say Jace is lying, or that he's mad. Say you're pushing me away because you want me gone as much as the savages from earlier. Tell me to go, Alec, but look in my eyes and see I'm not afraid, before you do."

"I can't." And there were tears in his eyes, when he finally looked up.

"Then I stay, love." Magnus promised, giving him the gentlest of kisses, smiling fondly at the eye flash and growl it earned him. He looked ready to take.

Jace whined, impatient and demanding. "Don't worry. I have you both." He went to press an equally chaste kiss to the blonde's lips, but instead found himself pulled into a proper, downright filthy one. He stumbled onto the nest, surprised at its softness, giggling as they pressed against both sides of him.

They were so warm. He'd study all about how to properly care for them in this conditions later, but for now, he'd start by giving them exactly what they asked for.