There is a world where Magneto uses his abilities to de-mine war-torn countries. In that world, mothers step into the street to bestow grateful kisses on his cheeks. Fathers welcome him into their home with strong, enthusiastic hugs. Children shyly present him with homemade baubles, little twists of metal he accepts with a grave nod.
He is their hero.
Magneto enters towns and raises his hands, and like that all their fears of destruction are whisked away, lifted into the air as if called by God himself and then banished, flying far into the distance. Celebrations follow, parties that last for days, as long as the food and the drink continues to flow. Magneto is toasted a hundred times over.
Magneto's Brotherhood are invited to join the festivities; with the consent of their leader, they accept. Mutant and human mingle together, both sides nearly overwhelmed by the feeling of safety that until recently had been a tenuous thing in their lives. Everyone dances and sings and laughs and loves. Mutants with more theatrical powers occasionally jump up to amaze the town with their abilities. Beautiful water-shades dance around the bonfire that had been erected in the town center, directed by a hump-backed old mutant with crooked teeth displayed in a grin. Mirages of mystical beasts leap up towards the sky in victory at the behest of a child. A man sings any song requested in the exact voice of the original performer. A girl delicately carves a wooden figurine for a friend she met tonight with razor-sharp talons.
Together human and mutant celebrate peace, forget bias and feuds and hate. It is almost magical.
And in that same world, Magneto uses his abilities to aim decades-old mines at the armies of his enemies. He uses the remnants of war they had abandoned an ocean away – remnants he had gone and collected again, repurposed to more suitable causes than terrorizing innocents – to continue his campaign against those that reject him and his kind. For that is the way of the world. The view all depends on where you stand.