Work Text:
Magnus counted — ten little fingers, ten little toes, and the two brightest eyes he had ever seen in his long, long life.
Ayla was perfect, a near-constant thought the last few weeks since she was born.
She was love and dream and promise made manifest, wrapped in the protective circle of his arms while he sat on the nursery floor, every melancholic expectation destroyed by her soft gurgles and happy sighs.
A daughter.
His.
Magnus almost couldn't believe it — she was a miracle that no one could hope to measure up against, except perhaps Sylvia, still away for a midday nap while she had the chance.
The birth had been unexpectedly smooth, but as the weeks passed, the struggles of parenthood became apparent as the two settled into their new roles. Oh, how Sylvia laughed when he realized babies couldn't quite speak, rubbing tears from her eyes and telling him through giggles that Ayla would not talk to them for quite some time yet.
Magnus only hoped that his earnest attempts at fatherhood brought some measure of comfort to his beloved. There was no better way to show his gratitude for the greatest gift she had given him — for his newfound family and the fullness in his heart, unlike anything he had ever experienced before.
He could not stop marveling at his (his!) daughter’s simple existence, at the way her sleepy eyes blinked at him and how her little hand wrapped around his finger, each tiny squeeze carving a path straight to his heart.
Did she know who he was yet? Did she know how she already so utterly charmed her father?
Magnus adored Ayla from the moment he laid eyes on her — how could he not when she was half of him and half of the woman he loved most?
Oh, and how his little love already reminded him of her mother. She had Sylvia’s eyes — green like the forest, the hue of life bursting in spring, and bright like sunlight hitting leaves after a rainfall.
But Ayla had both their hair — downy purple with a single streak of silver, fascinating and magical all at once.
His one of a kind little girl.
Perhaps every father felt this way — but surely no other child held this much charm, no other child was half as enchanting or as thoroughly captivating as his little girl.
“Thank you for choosing me as your father,” he whispered into her soft hair. He said that when she was born, and he couldn't help but say it again now, gratitude pouring from his heart.
His daughter did not answer, simply cooed at him and gurgled some more, little spit bubbles forming on her lips as she ate her own hand.
Magnus huffed a laugh, gently dislodging her hand and wiping the spit away with a nearby cloth. She was adorable, the most precious being in existence.
How lucky he was to have a family to call his own.
“Thank you,” he continued, “for coming to this world.” His voice was soft, still filled with wonder.
If Magnus were honest, he never thought he would get the chance to be a father in this lifetime — having long buried that old dream, never to be realized.
It was not until Sylvia, beautiful and bewitching, waltzed into his tower — bright as a spring morning, finding fruit in the cold winter ground that was his life — that he even entertained the thought again.
Love. Companionship. Family.
Those were all words devoid of meaning until he cradled them in his arms.
He was determined to protect this life they had, to preserve this little corner of the world filled with happiness beyond measure.
The world outside their bubble was a terrifying place. Monsters and void creatures that roamed the earth, yes, but beyond that — people, magical and mundane, that could cut through Ayla's heart like a knife and be twice as cruel.
She was Magnus Rasmodius’ daughter, they would say, and under a veneer of good intentions, press their expectations onto her until she choked. Even now, he knew the Ministry was scrying her fate lines, measuring her for who she could be, not who she was.
He hoped his daughter would not come to resent him for it.
He kissed her little forehead and rubbed her little cheeks, soft and smooth, so wholly innocent. She turned her head toward him and opened her mouth, smacking her lips together, those big bright eyes blinking at him. He couldn’t help but sigh at how precious she looked.
Magnus fervently hoped Ayla loved him, or would come to eventually. He hoped that she would see him as someone she could run to, for every fear, for every joy — that her father, as bumbling as he could be at times, was someone reliable and trustworthy.
But above all else, he hoped she would never doubt his love — that as many as his faults were, his love for her was boundless and without end.
Alas, it seemed his fussing had upset his poor child. The tiniest face frowning at him, big tears forming in the corners of her eyes, and brows scrunching up left him a little more than a bit alarmed.
“I'm sorry, little love — did daddy upset you?” he cooed at her, trying to placate his daughter who looked to be on the verge of wailing. “It's okay, it's okay…”
What to do? A toy, maybe? Magnus looked around from his spot on the nursery floor, trying to find something suitable when Ayla began crying. Big, fat tears rolled down her red face, and she struggled in his hold.
“What's the matter, little one?” he asked, pausing as if his daughter could answer. “Do you want to play? Or go back to the crib?”
His suggestions only seemed to make her wailing grow louder and he winced at the sound. If Sylvia was not awake before this, she surely was now.
A gentle hand touched his shoulder and he turned his head to see his sleepy wife, still yawning.
“Oh, poor thing,” Sylvia clucked, “I think she's hungry, love.”
“How can you tell?” Magnus looked down at Ayla, puzzling out what he could have missed.
His wife laughed. “I don't know. Just a guess.” She made a motion to hand their baby to her. “Give her to me.”
Magnus complied, carefully handing their screaming bundle of joy over and Sylvia took the crying babe and made her way over to the nearby couch, tutting at their daughter all the while. “No need to cry, sweetheart — let's see what we can do, hm?”
Magnus stood and joined them on the couch just as Sylvia pulled open her loose-fitting shirt — one of his, he thought warmly. Ayla quieted as she latched onto a nipple, drinking greedily from her mother's breast.
“Looks like I was right.” Sylvia laughed softly, adjusting her hold on their daughter.
“Indeed, my heart.”
He took a moment to admire his family — a picturesque moment he would keep in his heart forever: his wife cradling their daughter, a soft smile on her face as she stroked Ayla's cheek and their daughter's face turning peaceful at her mother's touch.
He was also certainly not complaining about how much Sylvia… filled out since the pregnancy — breasts larger, hips rounder, and a pouch of lingering fat on her belly where their baby was. She was so beautiful. The evidence of the great burden she took for the both of them only made him love her more.
How lost he would be without her. Even Magnus would admit that fatherhood was far from the romantic notion he had built up in his head. It was all at once both better and worse. Imagination paled against reality, his mind could never conjure up the beautiful scene in front of him even if he had another thousand years.
But the perfection of his family highlighted the depths of his ignorance. What did he know about being a father? He barely remembered his own, and his previous lifestyle was clearly unsuited for children or even an apprentice.
Solely focused on his research, not resting for days on end until he simply collapsed into a dreamless sleep, not to mention the complete lack of food. What was he to feed a child? Moss? He frowned at the thought — children deserved far more than forage and a ruinously inattentive parent. The man he used to be was unfit for fatherhood as much as he wished otherwise. Perhaps he still was.
But, he had to try. He would not squander the gift he was given as undeserving as he was, not when his wife was trying just as hard and sacrificing so much more.
“How was your nap, beloved?” Magnus asked when Sylvia leaned her head on his shoulder, shifting their baby in her arms to get more comfortable. “I apologize for waking you.”
“S’alright. Not your fault.” Sylvia yawned again, eyes watering as her face scrunched up. He wiped away a stray tear from her cheek.
“All the same — I should have realized what our little spark needed before her cries disturbed you.”
His wife chuckled, shifting against his shoulder, before saying, “Babies cry, love. That’s how they tell you they need something.”
Magnus kissed the top of Sylvia’s head. She was always so patient with him, despite his foolishness. She yawned again and he wrapped an arm around her, stroking her hair as they both went silent, content to watch their daughter.
His voice broke through the comfortable silence. “Despite all we have gone through with the pregnancy and birth, it's still somewhat surreal to me that we finally have the babe in our arms,” he whispered. Sylvia hummed in reply but remained quiet, happy to let him ramble.
He continued, smiling down at Ayla, “And what a blessing she is!” His hand stroked his daughter’s soft downy hair, her purple curls brushing against his skin like feathers, soft as silk.
But despite his best efforts, his mind wandered to another purple-haired child, his smile falling. “Yet…”
The resemblance was already evident — in the unnatural color of her hair, the swoop of her eyes, the curve of her mouth… There was no denying who Ayla’s sister was. It was only a matter of time before someone outside their family put two and two together.
“And yet…?” Sylvia lifted her head from his shoulder, watching him closely.
Magnus took a deep breath, face carefully neutral. “It's likely we won't be able to avoid the topic for much longer, my love.”
His wife sighed. “I know.”
“Anyone with even the slightest observation skills can tell the resemblance of our child to Abigail.” His voice turned soft and apologetic. What a mess he put his family in. “The fallout should anyone connect the dots...”
Sylvia’s arms tightened around their daughter, frowning at his implications. Ayla happily ignored them both, content to continue suckling. Magnus knew his wife and daughter were innocent of this whole debacle — the blame lay solely on him and Caroline.
Ever since Sylvia’s pregnancy, he knew their hands would be forced to deal with this situation sooner or later.
“I've recently begun considering how to confront Caroline.” He could not figure out the look Sylvia shot him. Several expressions ran through her — lips pursed, brows knitted, sadness, anger, and other things he could not name morphing into something almost indescribable on her pretty face.
“She hurt you — you don’t have to.” Her voice shook a little as her frown deepened. “We don’t owe anyone anything, especially not Caroline.”
“As you say, my heart. You are correct.” He kissed her hair again, soothing her ever so slightly, before pulling away, his mouth set to a grim line. “Frankly, part of me wishes to never speak with her again, but this must be addressed eventually, especially as our child grows.”
He cursed himself. He knew he was a fool back then, but he had not realized the magnitude of it until now — when his mistake could break the fragile happiness he found. He had no one to blame but himself for the harm that could come to his daughter.
“I don’t want…” His gaze returned to Ayla, eyes softening but lips tugged into a frown. “… I don’t want Ayla to face more scrutiny than that already faced by the child of a wizard.”
“Magnus…” Sylvia turned to him and he raised his eyes to meet hers. “It’s not your fault. She took advantage of you and used you for petty revenge.”
She sighed and nuzzled into his shoulder, kissing it. “This isn’t ideal, I understand, but, honestly, I could not care less for Caroline — but I do care for you and I don’t know how we’re gonna deal with it when it eventually blows up, but does it matter? As long as we’re together... We’ll be okay, won’t we?”
He didn’t answer, keeping silent and pondering on her words instead. Perhaps she was right — perhaps he was overcomplicating this. There was nothing to be done about the past, but he had a bright future in front of him, his family by his side no matter how this particular situation would eventually resolve. Why would he let himself lose sight of that?
He watched as their daughter let go of her mother, taking Sylvia’s attention from him.
“Are you done, sweetheart?” She tickled Ayla’s tummy, getting a happy gurgle in response. Sylvia switched their daughter’s head to the other breast, offering it in case the infant wanted more. “No? Alright.”
Sylvia closed her shirt and shifted Ayla in her arms, maneuvering to rest the babe’s head on her shoulder.
“Could you grab me that, love?” She pointed to the towel nearby and Magnus quickly went to get it, handing it over to his wife with a soft smile.
He could almost forget about the whole situation entirely — content to watch his wife rub circles on their daughter’s back, humming softly until Ayla let out the tiniest burp that melted Magnus’ heart. He fought the urge to run his hand through her soft hair and big cheeks, afraid of disturbing the baby, already fast falling asleep.
Eventually, Sylvia settled their daughter back into the crib, eyes drooped closed, a soft dreamy sigh escaping from her tiny lips. His wife brushed her hair with gentle fingers, quietly fussing until she was satisfied.
Magnus would not trade this for the world.
“Am I overthinking it, Sylvia?” he asked when his wife turned to him. “Is this simply a nonissue we do not have to address at all?”
She tangled her hand in his, squeezing it. “I don’t know, Magnus.”
“… We will simply have to see, won’t we?”
She squeezed his hand again and nodded, pulling him close until they were chest to chest and she wrapped her arms around him. He returned her hug, holding her tightly and saying, “I know we'll overcome it as long as we're together, my love.”
Everything he needed in his life was within reach — Sylvia, soft and sweet, in his arms, and Ayla, sleeping in her crib just beside them.
Come hell or high water, he would fight to keep them all together, whether it was the magical or the mundane that threatened their peace.
He made this vow — stitching it into the core of his being as he basked in the warmth of his small family, letting his love quietly wrap them in its protective embrace for the rest of their lives.