A/N: I want to explain something about this story. Many dates may be off, because I am not a holocaust survivor. I'm not even Jewish. I get the dates and the names of things from books and movies that I've read and seen. I had to change Magnus's family a little, so I changed his mothers personality to fit the plot. Alec will not appear until chapter 3 or 4. Anyways I hope you enjoy!

My name is Magnus Bane. And I'm going to tell you a story.

The year was 1940, and I was 18 years old. I had a Jewish mother, whose name was Sarah, and a Jewish father, whose name was Jacob. I was an only child, but my life was good. We lived in Poland my whole entire life, and we were very rich and very well known throughout the Jewish population. This, perhaps, was what saved me from starvation in the Warsaw Ghetto in my teenage years. My father wanted me to become a rabbi, but I was not overly religious in that sense, and neither was my mother. I remember celebrating both Hanukkah and Christmas with my Catholic friends over the winter holidays when we were on break from school. I was a very smart student, my strongest class being history. Honestly, looking back on it now, I could've slept through that class and still have gotten an A. My house had a spacious backyard, with a magnificent view of the forest that seemed to touched the sky.

We had three floors, excluding the basement. I realize now that I was a very lucky child indeed. My room was very large, with pictures of posters that spoke the printed words of a new movie, or a signed autograph card of a sports player that I liked. When I was a child, I often pictured myself being something that would make me famous, not some Jewish figure who wore drab clothing and gave boring speeches that had me asleep within 5 minutes. My father dragged my mother and I to the synagogue every Sunday, saying that the experience would be good for my young mind. I believe he just didn't want to look like a fool to the other Council members.

I had many friends, but also countless enemies. Ragnor Fell, a hebrew boy with olive skin and dark brown hair, was my best friend. We often played chess over the fire on a cold winters night, eating my mother's homemade cookies. He would not surivive the Nazi's reign. Then there was Catrina Loss, a beautiful girl with almost white hair and pale skin. She was Catholic. I do not know what happened to her after the war. We went ice skating over frozen ponds many times as friends. Sebastian was a cruel Catholic boy, with blond hair and dark eyes that were almost black. His wicked smirk had often wormed its way into my dreams when I was in the work camps. Sebastian had pushed down in the hallways because I wasn't like him. Camille was my off on girlfriend for two years, from the time I was thirteen until I was fifteen. I remember the conversation my father and I had when I was given the most opportune luck to meet Miss. Belcourt.

"Son," My father said, his hands firmly clasped on my shoulders, showing me the form of Camille. "This is Camille Belcourt. Isn't she pretty?"

"Yes." I lied. She was pretty. I just didn't like her. Her platinum hair hung in lush curls around her sun kissed shoulders. Her eyes were green like emeralds that shined in a dark cave. "She is very pretty."

"Mr. Belcourt" Oh. Another set up date. Jacob had been planning these things for years, and it only made sense that he'd want me courting a girl of another Jewish member of the community. "has graciously invited us to his party next weekend. Camille has asked for you to be her guest of honor. Isn't that wonderful?"

I felt like I was going to be sick. I looked at my fathers lower face, not daring to look him in the eyes. I hope my features showed something of pleading. I didn't want to go through with this. I loved crowds, but only when I was with who I wanted to be, which only included Ragnor and Catrina. Not some barely known girl who I had never formally met until today. But if I didn't go through with this, consequences were bound to happen. So I did the only thing I could do. Smile. "Yes." I said, hoping I was deceiving both of them. "That is excellent news." I leaned towards Camille, lightly kissing both of her cheeks in a parting gesture. As I backed up, I bowed deeply, my black strands of hair touching the polished wood floors. "Thank you." I said very monotoned, and then I fled into the confines of my room, where I spent the rest of the night kicking stuff and throwing my pillow across the room. I look back on that memory now. I was such a child back then, and now I understood what my father wanted from me, though it wasn't the route I would have taken if I had a child.

My mother and I had a very close relationship. She was the one who understood what it was like to be different. Mama, that was what I called her as a child, and I still refer to her by that name, was an immigrant from Indonesia and she was picked on for having a foreign look about her. I can recall her features almost perfectly, though it has been years since I had last seen a picture of her. She had black hair, the color of the coal that we used to warm ourselves with. Dark eyes which were so kind and warm, unlike Sebastian's, those were cold and unforgiving and mocking. She was very skinny, even before the start of the war, and most of these things she had passed onto me. But I had my fathers eyes. Green mixed with gold.

In my younger years I remember her and I sitting at our grand dining room table, eating sweets and dinner, wasting the evening away with stories and fables. Father didn't come home until late, his work ran until about 4:30, and then he went into the synagogue to pray for an hour or two, depending on how stressed he was feeling. So it was natural that my mama raised me. I told her what was troubling me, because I knew I could trust her above anyone else in the world. "Friends are temporary, Magnus. But family is forever. Remember that." She would often remark. That statement has helped me with so many difficult choices that I had to make later on in life. I loved her more than anyone else in the world.

Mother accepted me for who I was. When I realized that I was a homosexual, she was the one who stood by me through it all, no matter what came our way. I admire her for that. She could've been like my father, cold and reclusive, barely acknowledging that his son existed. Our relationship had burned down into rubble, the daily conversations turning into: "Please pass the salt." I was even lucky if he said "How was your day?" But when I opened my mouth to speak, father would always just open up the newspaper and read about politics. Me being gay had shattered our link. He didn't love me so naturally, I didn't love him. There was no hope for my father and I. But me being attracted to men just made the bond between my mother and I even stronger.

And then there was the Nazis. I still shudder at the thought of some of the things that they did to the Jewish people who couldn't defend themselves. In one fell swoop, they had taken over Poland and took away any freedom and rights that I as a seventeen year old was just beginning to enjoy. 1939 felt promising to me, but it wasn't anymore. Soon after Poland had surrendered to Hitler's reign, the trouble began for any and all Jews in my fine and proud country. I was not allowed to go into the coffee shop I liked, or buy fabrics from the tailor down the street, for they all had the star of david with the word 'Jude' crudely painted in the middle. Our food rations got shorter and just when I thought it couldn't possibly get worse for the hebrews. It did.

Mama, father and I were moved into the Warsaw Ghetto almost immediately after the Germans took over. My father argued with the SS officers that his parents and their parents and their parents before them had lived here before he, and so we had a right to stay here in our home. I can recall much of that day.

"Out, dreckigen Jude!" An officer shouted, his tight jaw cold and cruel. Out filthy Jew. After all these years I still cannot figure out what my family did to deserve this. My mother and I celebrated Christmas for gods sake! You can't be any less Jewish than that!

"My family has lived here for four generations." My father said, standing in front of the door frame with his chest puffed out. He failed to look intimidating, because he had not had a proper meal in months because of the strict rations we had. I knew we had it better than most families, but I still complained often. "We are not leaving."

The officer motioned for the two guards behind in to grab my mother and I. We were escorted roughly out the door, our one suitcase in our dirty and grimy hands. Minutes later, the SS officer dragged a hysterical Jacob Bane out the door. He was kicking and flailing, ranting on and on about how Hitler was going to be our demise and that it was unjust and unfair to be treated like this. My father was a man of politics, and he despised Adolf Hitler. But what could he do? Nothing. No one could do anything about the steel fist that had gripped Europe. And then the shouting stopped, for the cruel german man had hit him in the head with the butt of his gun. Father dropped to the ground, and Mama screamed, her hands over her mouth. He wasn't moving, wasn't breathing. Father was dead.

As much as I hated my father, I was still deeply saddened by the loss. He had taught me to stand my ground, and to fight what I believed in. The rain from the greying sky poured down, mingling the red blood of my deceased father with the brown mud of the soil that I was raised on. My father was born here and he died here, just as he wished. I only wished I could do the same. Mama and I marched on. silently grieving for Jacob Bane, who I realized now only wanted to best for me. Sometimes something tragic had to happen for reality to shine through your childlike skull. Papa wanted me to succeed where he had failed. Knowing I could have been rich and happy being a rabbi, he wanted me to pursue that dream. But that was his dream. Not mine.

My mother did not look back at the house we had left for a ghetto. But I did. Coming to terms with the Nazis ruling wasn't easy for me, and I promised myself one last glance of the house that I had lived in since day one of my birth. I turned, the noisy wind and rain tossing my black hair in my face, somewhat obscuring my view. There was the garden where Mama and I picked flowers in the spring. The old and rotten wood of the tree house that I had used sat in the tree, threatening to fall over onto the mushy ground at any second. Then over the hills was a stream where Ragnor, Catrina, and I would wade our feet into on hot days in the summer. That brook, I decided, was where I would leave my childhood forever, letting the water wash the innocence of my young self. I snapped my head back forward, feeling my mother squeezing my hand in a reassuring manner. But I wasn't comforted. I never would be until this war was over, and my remaining family was safe in my arms.

A/N: So ends the first chapter of 1940. I really don't have anything to say except: Screw you, Hitler. I really do not like that man. I don't like snicker's either... If you don't review, dead Jacob Bane will come and haunt you for all eternity!

Ave Atque Vale,

Wicked.