AN: ATTENTION: This part of 'The Mundane and The Warlock' will have multiple chapters. Subscribe to get notifications for updates!

So, we finally enter Saphael and Malec territory *rubs hands together in glee* This part will probably have three to five chapters as I have planned much to happen. Additionally, I want to kickstart Clary´s development into a BAMF, unlike her show counterpart. Simon´s absence will play a big part in that ^^

The Shadowhunters and their aides were content to let the three of them sit around in the hallway as they walked around busily.

"Clary´s gonna come around," Magnus said. "She´s just overwhelmed and confused. She´s lashing out at you because you´re the only one she can lash out at." Raphael grunted in agreement. Magnus' words made Simon remember what the Warlock had said before.

"How do you know Jocelyn?" he asked.

"I helped her settle down here when she fled from Idris after the Uprising," Magnus answered. "I swear; I didn't know she had anything to do with your Clary." For a short moment he debated if he should tell Simon the whole truth, but he decided against it. Simon had already so much to bear, he couldn't put that additional burden upon him. But deep in his mind Magnus was afraid of what Simon would think of him if he knew that he had taken his best friend´s memories from her. He didn't want to lose one of his best friends he had made over the last century and that was what stilled his tongue. But the other reasons where so much more comfortable to tell himself to than admitting this simple truth.

"It´s alright," Simon replied with a faint smile on his lips. "You can´t know everything. There was this one time when Luke…" His eyes widened.

"Shit! I have to tell Luke," Simon exclaimed.

"Why?" Raphael wanted to know.

"Because he´s the only one who doesn't know about what happened to Joce and Clary," Simon replied. "And he´s also someone who can easily set the whole NYPD on us, something we really don't need right now." Simon felt bad for having forgotten about Luke but the pace at which sudden revelations had taken place over the last day had pushed any thought about the other man to the back of his mind. "Besides, he deserves to know.

And," Simon continued, faltering for a short moment. "Look around. Clary´s getting every possible attention from the Shadowhunters who refuse to acknowledge the seriousness of the situation. There´s nothing for me to do here but to stand in the way." He fidgeted with his hands. "I can at least tell Luke. Be useful and all that."

"What will you tell him?" Magnus asked.

"I don't know," Simon shrugged. "Depends on the state I´m gonna find him in." Magnus looked at him as if he was trying to pierce through Simon´s mind, getting to know his motivations. After a few seconds he just nodded.

"I´ll stay here," the Warlock said. "Smoothing some ruffled feathers. Our appearance has the Shadowhunters in quite a stir. Like a stick to a hornet nest." Simon didn't point out that there was probably one person within the compound whose feathers Magnus wouldn't mind ruffling, but the Warlock seemed to have read his thoughts for he bowed out of the hallway with a conspiratorial wink.

Simon just groaned. "He´s gonna get us all killed."

"I don't think so," Raphael commented with his trademark smirk. "Magnus knows the benefits of discretion. I´d worry more about the object of his affections." Simon just snorted. Alec had no chance standing against the hurricane that was coming his way.

"So, ready for a late night stroll to the police station?" Simon asked and turned to the vampire. "Luke´s probably still working on that demon killer case. The super intendant is riding the whole station asses that they finally get him some results."

"I thought you´d never ask," Raphael replied and somehow that made Simon´s cheeks burn. No time to think about that.

Simon liked the police headquarter Luke was working at. The wide and open architecture allowed light to flood everywhere (not that you could see it now during night, but Simon knew it) and made it look much more inviting than the dark and gloomy police station in Brooklyn he had been to once during career day (warlock apprentice hadn't been a choice offered, so Simon had taken the next best).

Now already past midnight the whole compound laid deserted in front of them. Their steps echoed over the plaza and somehow Simon expected someone to notice them. This was New York, after all, but no night guard came out to shoo them away.

Simon led Raphael straight through the maze of hallways that made up most of the station. When they reached the stairwell that led down to the open-plan office where the officer´s desks where placed Simon noticed that the light at Luke´s desk was still on. Not unsurprising. What was surprising were the two persons – a man and a woman – standing in front of the desk in full leather gear which Simon by now was closely familiar with. He tugged Raphael down by his collar and both of them took cover behind the handrail.

"This could be all over if you just turn over the Mortal Cup," the woman sneered at Luke who was still sitting in front of his desk, not a single twitch in his features as the two Circle members ganged up on him. Simon wanted to walk out of his cover and destroy them, but Raphael´s firm grasp on his shoulder kept him from doing it.

"That´s not gonna happen," Luke replied. "After all these years, you´re still after it?"

"It´s not for us," the man scoffed. "It´s for him. Valentine´s still alive. He´ll be pretty surprised to see that you are, too."

"I won´t let Valentine create an army," Luke spit out and inwardly Simon was cheering for the man, even though he was still pretty shaken up that Clary´s stepdad apparently was involved in the whole Shadow World as well. Was there no one who was what they appeared to be?

"You once believed in him," the woman remarked and cold dread washed over Simon. That statement could only mean one thing. He could feel Raphael tensing up beside him as well.

"I believed in protecting humankind," Luke replied. "A notion that Valentine seemed to have lost along the way. You´ll never get the Cup." Thunder rumbled outside. Fitting, Simon supposed, for what was currently transpiring within the police station.

"You know," the man began as if he and Luke were buddies idly chitchatting about the weather. "The minute we found out Jocelyn Fairchild was alive, you were easy to track." Luke showed no sign of reaction, but Simon had known the man for years and so he noticed how his grip around the pen tightened and how his eyes zoned in on the other man.

"Turns out you and Jocelyn were never that far apart," the man continued. Then he bent forward until his face was on the same level as Luke´s and Simon had to put real effort in understanding what the man was saying: "The Circle has her now. It´s just a matter of time until we catch the daughter."

"You can have them both if you give up the Mortal Cup," the woman interjected, trying to sound reasonable, but miserably failing to hide her gleeful undertone.

"I don´t care about either of them," Luke replied. "They mean nothing to me. Kill them both if you like. My people want the Cup, why do you think I´ve been hanging around here all these years? Now, when I find the Cup…I´m gonna keep it. And you can tell Valentine and the Circle that."

In another universe, where Clary and not Simon would have listened to this exchange – compassionate, loving Clary who loved her mother so much that she was blinded to any logic by it, because love was not only a strength but also a weakness; who only saw the world in black and white (them, the bad against us, the good) – hearing these words out of Luke´s mouth would have set her on a journey that would have ended in her slowly destroying those around her on her quest to save her mother (Jace a hostage of Valentine; Simon dying, becoming a vampire and being cast out because he chose her over himself every time again and again; a kill order placed on every Shadowhunter that dared to cross into Harlem and finally the Cup in Valentine´s grasp).

But Simon wasn't Clary. He had threaded between the two worlds for nearly half his life. He had listened and observed Magnus in his role as High Warlock and he knew that between white and black wasn't just a straight line, but a slow gradient of grey. Sometimes those advocating their causes forgot that the people between them were as three-dimensional as themselves, with their own hopes, fears and motivations. What appeared like betrayal to one was a well-reasoned decision to another.

So, did what Luke say affect Simon? Of course it did. Hearing a prominent figure in your life so callously disregard the lives of the other people you loved didn't leave Simon unaffected. There was rage, hurt, betrayal cursing through his mind, but Simon owed it Luke to hear him out at least before he decided to strike him down.

Even the worst villain deserves the right to have his side of the story heard, Magnus had told him once, because what would it make us if we were to deny them that? Just the villains on the other side.

"No one mentioned Valentine," the male Circle member remarked.

"You didn't have to," Luke replied.

"Listen to me..." the man began, but faster than Simon could comprehend, Luke had seized the man´s collar and slammed his head against his desk.

"No, you listen to me," he hissed over the man´s groans of pain. "Get out of my office!" The woman sent one last venomous glare at Luke before she picked up the man and escorted him out. Luke leaned back on his chair, let out a deep sigh and massaged his temple.

Now or never, Simon thought. Taking in a deep breath he stood up and walked down the stairs that were separating him and Luke. The latter´s head shot up and stared at Simon.

"Simon?" Luke croaked. "What are you doing here?"

"I came here to tell you about Jocelyn and Clary," Simon remarked calmly, so different to the raging storm of emotion within him. "But you know already, do you?" He raised an eyebrow at him.

"Listen, Simon," Luke began, "I don't know how much you´ve heard, but there are some things you don't know…" Simon could feel something moving beside him and somehow he knew that it was Raphael who had taken his place beside him. Luke´s jaw dropped.

"I think I know more than you think I do," Simon replied. "For example, that you were a Circle member once and that you just told your former buddies that they could kill Joce and Clary for all you could care." He levelled Luke with a glare.

The whole story came spilling over Luke´s lips. Of three friends – young, smart and terribly naïve when it came to the workings of the world around them – that thought that they could change the world for the better as they saw the institutions that they had been taught to honour slowly decay in arrogance, hubris and indifference. One friend lost himself to his hunger for power and his hate, another betrayed and left for dead and the last one caught between the man she loved and whose children she had born but who was slowly descending into madness and the other who helped her escape but not without cost.

"I had to say these things," Luke defended himself. "It was the only way to make them back off." Simon believed the man. The anguish in his eyes – the worry, the pain and the panic – was to raw, too earnest to be faked. He was on their side.

"So, Clary´s Valentine´s daughter?" Simon asked. Luke´s eyes widened in surprise. "You didn't mention it explicitly, but I´m not stupid. I can do the math."

"Yes, she is," Luke admitted.

"That´s gonna go over well with the Shadowhunters," Raphael remarked and Simon could see Luke bristle at that.

"You don´t seem surprised by that," Luke prodded carefully.

"Why should I be?" Simon shot back. "It doesn´t matter if Clary´s father is Valentine or Harry Styles –" Luke frowned at that, because he was a Dad like that "- because either way he was never in her life. It doesn't change who she is. Clary is my best friend; not her father."

"That´s very mature of you," Luke remarked with pride in his voice. "But Simon, what are you doing here with…" His gaze flickered over to Raphael who was standing next to Simon like he belonged there.

"A vampire?" Simon finished the other man´s sentence. Luke just nodded. Now it was Simon´s turn to tell his story. Of five-years-old that yearned for magic and of centuries old warlock that yearned for compassion and of a vampire that fell somehow in-between.

"So you knew all along?" Luke asked for clarification.

"About the Shadow World? Yes," Simon replied. "That you were a werewolf? No, I´m as surprised as you are."

"You don't look like it," Luke commented.

"If I let every emotion I´ve experienced over the last hours show I would have fallen apart already," Simon answered and it was true. He had no time for his emotion – that panic that one of his friends wouldn't make it, the worry for his sister and mother, the fear that he was way in over his head. It would probably come back and bite him in the ass later, but he just had no time.

"I have to get back to the Institute," Simon continued. "I have to tell the Shadowhunters." He would phone Magnus on the way.

"I´ll go with you," Raphael said.

"Me, too," Luke exclaimed, eying Raphael suspiciously. Simon had to suppress the urge to just smack his head on the desk.

"Listen," he began, "I have no time for your interspecies dick measuring contest." Both of their faces distorted into grimaces at the thought of each other´s dicks. Simon sniggered. "But Valentine is on the loose again and you have to warn and prepare your people. I´ll manage the way to the Institute without you chaperoning me." Twin looks of scepticism. "I do!" He sighed.

"You have responsibilities not only to me but also to your people," Simon said and that seemed to pierce through their brains. Luke nodded.

"Don´t dare to let anything happen to you while I´m away," Raphael said.

"I won´t," Simon promised, the very picture of earnestness. Raphael just snorted. One last warning look at Luke and then the vampire vanished. Luke cleared his throat.

"I see," he remarked.

"What?" Simon demanded to know. Luke just grinned.

"Oh," he replied. "Nothing. Just nothing."

"What´s this stuff?" Simon asked, pointing at the countless boxes that were scattered across the room. It looked like someone had robbed an antique shop and didn't know what to do with all the useless clutter that they had taken with them.

"That," Isabelle said as she appeared behind one of the wooden crates, "are all the things the Clave confiscated from Circle members after the Uprising. Or at least, it´s everything they´ve stored in this Institute."

"Seeing as Valentine is back," Alec chimed in from across the room where he was looking through some papers, "we thought it prudent to take a look at it." Magnus, who was leaning on the doorframe, nodded.

"I told them everything you´ve told me," he informed Simon.

"You think you can discover something that´ll help us?" Simon questioned, eying the boxes with renewed interest. He opened the one nearest to him and took out a rusty candlestick. "Maybe I can stab Valentine with that?" He took a few swings with it and yelped out loud when he bumped against another crate with his toe.

"Careful," Magnus admonished him and pried the candlestick from Simon´s fingers. "Knowing you, you´d probably manage to seriously harm yourself with that dangerous contraception." Simon just stuck out his tongue at the Warlock and went over to the next box.

"You never know," Alec shrugged as he laid aside another paper. Simon desperately tried to not notice Magnus' hungry stare which was directed at the Shadowhunter. Ugh, why had it to be brawns and brains? Magnus would be insufferable!

"Where´s blondie?" Simon wanted to know, finally noticing the absence of his least-liked Shadowhunter. He had an inkling, but he would rather have Alec´s or Isabelle´s confirmation.

"With you friend," the female said and rolled her eyes. "He´s strangely obsessed with her. Like he´s thinking that just because he´s saved her life she´s his responsibility now." Simon felt some strange kind of kinship with Isabelle in this moment, both equally annoyed and maybe a little bit amused at their respective best friend´s strange behaviour.

"He wouldn't be the only one strangely obsessed," Simon muttered under his breath as he watched Magnus strutting over to Alec like a cat that just found the canary. Isabelle let out a very unlady-like snort beside him.

"Where´s your vampire friend?" she asked, emphasizing the 'friend' like she waited for Simon to get something.

"Oh, he had some stuff to take care of with his Clan," Simon answered, oblivious to Isabelle´s line of questioning. "He didn't really want to, but you can´t shrink the responsibility of being second-in-command, I guess." Isabelle just nodded.

Suddenly a stinging pain shot through Simon´s finger. He hissed in pain and retracted his hand.

"What´s with Shadowhunters and candlesticks?" he asked incredulously as he stared at the object of his ire. "Do you need it for, like, your satanic rituals or what?" He sucked at his finger, the metallic taste of blood suddenly exploding on his tongue. Alec shot him a dark glower and, okay, maybe accusing the people who literally had angel blood flowing through their veins of conducting satanic rituals wasn't the most sensible thing to do, but he was Simon Lewis and not Mother Maria Theresa, dammit! Magnus at least sniggered at his comment which further cemented his role as Simon´s BBaWF (Best Badass Warlock Friend).

After the throbbing pain in his finger tip had abated, Simon continued to search through the boxes.

"What´s that?" he asked and held up an orb, comfortably fitting in the palm of his hand. It felt cold under his touch like it was made out of glass. Like a giant marble. It had a strange pattern within it, as if someone had captured black smoke within the glass.

"Nice decoration," Simon joked. "It would look good in your lair, wouldn't it?" He turned around to face Magnus. Simon was taken aback by the panicked look on his friend´s face.

"Simon, put that back!" Magnus shouted. Simon tried to let go off the orb, alarmed by the Warlock´s tone, but he just couldn't let go. It was as if the orb had been dipped in super glue. And then, transfixed, he watched as one drop of blood poured out of his finger and landed on the orb´s surface.

Before he could even comprehend what was happening, the orb began to glow bright. The light engulfed him. The last thing Simon saw was Magnus desperately trying to reach him. Then everything vanished.

Izzy, Alec and Magnus just stared at the spot where the Mundane had vanished with wide eyes.

"Fuck," Izzy eloquently aired what each of them were thinking. And because one word wasn't enough to describe the utter fucked up-ness of their situation she added: "Fuck!"

Alec didn't say anything, but silently he agreed with his sister.

Magnus was frozen. In his mind, though, he wondered if this was the last time he had seen Simon. Because he, at least, knew what that orb had been.

Simon didn't know what was happening.

He just knew that he was holding the strange orb that had started to glow the moment his blood had touched its surface. He was encased by a golden glow, vibrant strands of light that weaved themselves around him, building a capsule that transported him throughout the void that was surrounding him.

He saw worlds passing by. They appeared in front of him, out of the darkness, blue and green, passed him by and vanished again. Sometimes they were completely brown and grey, devoid of live, sometimes they glittered silver as every piece of them were covered in tall buildings (Like Coruscant, his mind supplied), sometimes they were burning, orange bands of molten stone encompassing every continent. He flew near suns – red, orange, yellow, green, blue – and yet he didn't burn. Didn't feel the millions of degrees that exploded across their surfaces.

Suddenly the weight of the orb in his hand decreased. Simon looked down and panicked as he saw the marble slowly dissolving into thousands of glowing golden flakes. Like fireflies flying into the night sky, slowly fading away as their glow diminished the further the distance. Simon tried to catch them and put them back in their place, but they just passed through his skin as if he wasn't even there – like he was just an intangible construct. And the orb continued to vanish.

The last flock was swallowed by the void. The light around him intensified and then – suddenly with one last shudder – it vanished.

Darkness closed in.

Simon woke up to feel grass underneath his finger tips and rays of sunlight caressing his face. He opened his eyes only to close them immediately after as the invading light made his head ache. He wasn't wearing his glasses, he noticed. Blind as he had his eyes still closed he rolled over on his knees and let his hand roam over the patch of grass he was on. Maybe his glasses were lying around here somewhere?

Finally, he felt the metal holder of his glasses under his hand. Hastily he put his glasses on and opened his eyes. The ache in his head had abated and now the grass underneath him came into focus. Simon just kneeled there for a while, just breathing in and out, trying to get his erratic heartbeat under control.

When Simon no longer had the feeling that he would collapse the moment he looked at anything other than the relaxing green of the grass, he looked up.

"Watch out!" someone shouted.

The football flying at him with alarming speed was the last thing Simon saw before darkness – again – settled upon him.

The next time Simon woke, feeling like his head had been split in two. He didn't even try to open his eyes – too afraid that he would get sick – and just groaned. He was lying on something soft – cushy – and it felt damn awesome. Maybe the ball to his head had killed him and he was in Heaven now, lying on a comfy cloud?

Simon thoughts were interrupted when he heard someone – something – shuffling around. Stricken by sudden panic, he flailed around in an attempt to force distance between him and whoever was there, but the only thing he managed was to fall from the couch with a loud thud. Simon couldn't supress the groan of pain that made it pass his lips as pain in his back joined his headache.

"Mamma Mia!" a female voice exclaimed. "Stupid boy! What were you thinking, moving so sudden?" Even though Simon still hadn't opened his eyes (he was 99 percent sure that he would get sick on whoever was standing right in front of him) his cheeks reddened at this admonishment. The woman´s voice had such a motherly quality to it.

"Dios, let me help you," the woman muttered and then Simon felt strong arms lifting him up and putting him back on the couch. "They really did quite a number on you, didn't they? I always tell them to be more careful with that ball of theirs!" She continued in a litany of Spanish of which Simon couldn't understand a single word but the occasional 'idiotas'.

After a while Simon felt like he wouldn't die if he opened his eyes. Slowly he lifted his eyelids and allowed the outside impressions in. He was lying on a couch of the likes his grandmother had standing in her living room. Big, comfy and ready to swallow you whole if you weren't careful enough. The wallpaper had some green pattern imprinted on it, the same mint colour as the carpet on the ground. There was a table in front of the couch, made of dark wood, with a white embroidery cover on its surface.

All in all, it totally looked like a 50ies nightmare, Simon thought.

He craned his neck and finally found the woman to which the voice that had been speaking to him belonged to. She was a rather petite thing, lean with only hints of curves hidden underneath the beige dress she wore. Her black hair gleamed underneath the sunlight that streamed in through the open windows. It was done in permanent waves and stood in stark contrast to the bright red lipstick on her lips.

The woman´s eyes were the colour of a warm brown, shining with warmth, compassion and hidden strength. Somehow these eyes reminded Simon of someone. Like he had seen them before already, on a different face maybe.

When the woman saw that he was staring at her, she smiled at him brightly.

"I´m so sorry," she said. "My son and his friends brought you here after your little mishap. I had some stern talk with him and I´m sure the others will get one from their mothers as well." She shook her head. "To think what could have happened." She sighed and then put her smile back on her face. "Well, I´m glad you seemed to be doing okay. My son –" she raised her voice at that in a way only mothers could "- wants to apologize for his unthoughtfulness."

Simon heard some shuffling behind the doorway and then the woman´s son stepped over the threshold.

His´s jaw dropped. Standing there – with normal teint, no shadows under his eyes and not a single ounce of gel in his hair, fidgeting nervously with his fingers and wearing dirty shorts and t-shirt – was Raphael.