Archive of Our Own ^beta

Even when he hadn’t been using his magic, Magnus had always been able to feel it. Everyone who wasn’t a warlock themselves seemed to think of magic in just a slightly wrong way. It wasn’t like the runes of shadowhunters, active when in use and then gone otherwise. It was always there. Every waking moment of Magnus’ life, his magic had been there, just under his skin. Even when he had been an infant, far too young to try and understand what it was exactly that he was feeling in himself, his magic had been there.

For a long time, it had been right there, ready to lash out and manifest the second Magnus got even slightly overwhelmed or scared. As the years went on, he had learned to control himself but that didn’t mean his magic felt anymore distant. Every caress of his skin, he could feel his magic bubbling and quiver under the surface. Every nightmare, he’d wake feeling it pool in his palms. Everytime he got excited it would race and crack in him, lightning every nerve in his body.

Magnus’ magic wasn’t a weapon. It wasn’t a tool. It wasn’t a convenient thing that he could use and ignore otherwise. It was part of him. It was part of who he was. It was part of every second of his existence and now-

Well, now Magnus imagined he felt like every mundane did. That’s what he was, for all intents and purposes. He was just a mundane with the memories of a warlock. Magnus was sure the mundane didn’t mind this existence. How could they, when they didn’t know anything else? How could they know what they were missing? That was the thing about being mundane. None of them minded because even if they knew of the shadow world, even if they knew about downworlders, they had never experienced it to know how agonizingly dreadful their lives were. They had nothing to compare it too.

Magnus did though. He had centuries to compare it too. He had lifetimes .

Even Catarina didn’t understand because she had never been without her magic. She had drained herself to the point where she couldn’t use it, they all had, but she had never had it taken away from her. Magnus had, twice now.

Every moment, Magnus felt like he was trapped in Valentine again, weak and helpless. This was worse though. This was far far worse because at least before, even when Magnus had been convinced he was going to die in that body, Magnus knew that it was not him. He knew that this wasn’t his body. He knew that if he did manage to get back, his magic was waiting for him, his life was.

Now though, Magnus just felt dead. He had no other way to compare the feeling to anything else. He felt like he had died and he was just here now, stuck. Magnus had never felt as gnawingly empty as he did without his magic and part of him, just a small part, wished his father had asked for his life instead of his magic. Maybe, he wouldn’t have agreed. Maybe, he would have thought of some other way to fix everything but even if he had agreed, he couldn’t see how that would be any worse than this.

It wasn’t just that he had no clue how to function without his magic. It wasn’t just that he had to do his makeup by hand and find a lighter if he wanted to light the stove. It wasn’t just that his wards were gone and Magnus refused to let anyone put any others up. It wasn’t just that he had no fucking clue where any of his stuff was because he had always been able to just have it, if he needed it. It was that every moment of his life had always been accompanied by that feeling in his chest, that familiar buzz of his magic and now, Magnus couldn’t do anything without being painstakingly aware of what was missing.

Every kiss with Alexander since the first had made Magnus feel like a child, with his magic darting under his skin, excited to the point where he was almost scared he’d lose control and burn him. God, the first time Alec had touched him in bed Magnus was sure he’d light the sheets on fire. Now, Magnus just felt nothing. He felt love, sure but it was hard to disconnect his emotions from his magic, when they had always been one in the same his whole life.

Kissing Alec was, without an ounce of irony, Magnus’ favorite activity and now, he couldn’t even do it without feeling like something in him was broken. He felt bad, like it was his fault somehow that he couldn’t just enjoy his boyfriend’s touch. Regardless of his magic, kissing Alec should have been what it had always been, magical, but it just wasn’t.

Magnus kissed him and he felt like someone had impaled him through the chest. How could kissing Alec feel so bad? How could it feel so wrong? How could it feel so empty?

Magnus loved Alec more than he had loved anyone in years and yet, somehow, even that had been taken from him. Magnus wished he’d died that night because then he wouldn't have to see Alec’s pained face as he pulled away and dodged the affection. He wouldn’t have to go to bed at night, feeling guilty and useless. He wouldn't have to wonder if he’d ever get over it and feel even an ounce of what he’d had before, or if he’d feel this empty for the rest of his life. He wouldn’t have to feel like his father had taken away everything from him. He wouldn’t have to wonder if Alec would do things differently, knowing where they’d end up now. If he’d have changed his mind and not walked down those steps to kiss Magnus in the middle of the Institute.

Magnus felt empty. He felt dead and he found himself wondering if this was how everyone he’d ever loved felt in the end. He wondered if Etta was under the ground where she was buried with her husband and her children, feeling like this. He wondered if his mother felt like this, if she had for centuries since she’d died. He wondered if Ragnor felt like this right now. He wondered if all those nameless people he’d encountered in his life, the countless dead that haunted him, he wondered if this was the existence that they’d been condemned too.

Death had taken everyone from Magnus, would take everyone in the end. Magnus had always wondered how that felt. He’d always wondered what happened, after they’d stopped existing here. He’d hoped that it was something good but he hadn’t thought he’d get to experience it before he was actually gone.

Magnus figured maybe this was death for a warlock, this empty feeling. He wasn’t the first that had reached this point while alive. He’d met so many warlocks that had grown old and seem to lose any feeling for anything at all. So many that lived long enough that they were just numb. He was though perhaps the first warlock to reach this point so suddenly and without warning. The first to be alive one day and so very much not the next.

Magnus wondered if he’d ever feel anything again and he doubted it.