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Chapter Text

It's been almost two years since the war has ended. Almost one since the Aurors rounded up most of the Death Eaters and almost six months since Ginny and Harry broke things off amicably, citing that they were better friends than lovers. Now, if Harry remembers correctly, she's quite happily dating Luna.

Harry is eighteen years old, on the cusp of becoming a year older, when he realizes that he doesn't have a clue what he wishes to do with his life.

It's a rather startling realization that without the war to drive him forward, he has no motivation. He's tried to confide in Hermione or Ron once or twice, but no matter how well he explained it, they didn't understand.

This wasn't 'just a phase,' or something frivolous – Harry was well and truly lost and more than that, he felt as if there was this large piece of him missing. There was an emptiness in his heart and soul that he couldn't explain away. It had been there his entire life, but the emptiness had only become more pronounced after the war and he was left to fester in his thoughts and in his sorrow.

There were times where he'd gaze in the mirror and wouldn't recognize the person standing there. There were times he'd dream of people he could barely see or remember when he woke, but he'd still wake with a nostalgia so potent, it sent him reeling every time and had him sobbing into his pillow.

This to Harry, of course, only solidified the notion that there was something deeply and irrevocably wrong with him. Why would he get so emotional over blurry and faceless strangers in half-remembered dreams? Why did he sometimes fail to recognize himself in the mirror?

He never found an answer to his questions and refused to confide in Hermione and Ron and further. Though great friends, they were currently in the honeymoon stage of their courtship, and through the lens of their overwhelming happiness, they wouldn't understand Harry's concerns.

So Harry did his best to ignore the emptiness, the dreams, and he did his best not to look in the mirror. He goes through the motions, smiles when he has to, and avoids contact with friends.

The emptiness only gets worse.

But that's alright.

Harry almost feels like he deserves it.

Tonight was the weekly Weasley family dinner.

Ron had been trying to get him to come since he and Ginny had broken things off, but he didn't feel right about coming around anymore. Not because he was still pining after Ginny – but without their relationship to distract him, he'd gotten so much more morose that being in the company of those that were so cheerful (and how could they not be? Fred had astonishingly pulled through after being thought dead, Ron and Hermione were planning to marry, and Bill and Fleur were expecting their second child) simply made it worse.

But, Ron was Ron, and he refused to take no for an answer. These past few weeks, he'd become increasingly more persistent and last week, he'd almost bodily thrown Harry into the Floo. Though the effort wasn't appreciated, the contact was nice. It'd been nearly six months since anyone had really touched Harry, and the warmth of Ron's hand had grounded him considerably. Harry had almost considered going to the Burrow before he talked himself out of it.

Harry knew that Ron would simply get more and more stubborn as the weeks passed and Harry didn't want to see what sort of thing Ron had cooked up this week to convince Harry to come to dinner. His efforts last week had almost worked – which wasn't good at all. As far as Harry was concerned, this self-imposed isolation was better for him than being around people. They'd just ask Harry what was wrong and press and press when Harry didn't explain. Either that, or they would ignore him entirely and continue to be nauseatingly happy, which was even worse.

That was why, this week, Harry left his flat to go for a walk before Ron could arrive and start pestering him. If Harry avoided Ron entirely, then he couldn't be persuaded to go to family dinner at the Weasleys – because despite how much he wanted it, he wasn't family.

He didn't belong there.

It's twenty minutes into the walk that Harry regrets his decision. He'd left home without a jacket and in a nearly threadbare t-shirt, not anticipating how cold it would get once night fell. He has half a mind to talk his wand out of his holster and cast a warming charm, the muggles surrounding him be damned, but then he remembers the Statue of Secrecy and banishes the thought. He'd rather battle the cold and slowly freeze than explain to a team of Obliviators why he thought pulling out his wand in front of muggles was a good idea. Besides, the cold isn't too bad.

It fits his mood rather well.

He walks for another ten minutes before the street goes mostly empty. Harry checks his surroundings once more. There's only one woman on the other side of the street who looks to be going into a pub and a man in a suit behind him. The man looks vaguely familiar, though Harry ducks his head and begins walking faster before the other man can recognize him. Harry has no desire to be accosted by some acquaintance while out near Muggle London – not while he's doing his best to drown in self-pity and freezing half to death. Because Harry had turned so quickly, he wasn't able to see how the man's eyes had widened at the sight of his face or how he'd frozen in place.

"... Henrik?"

The name nearly echoes in the near silence of the street. Farther down the street, a streetlamp flickers once before going dark.

Although it wasn't his name being called, the grief-stricken tone has him stopping in his tracks, even as the name itself resonates deep inside himself, stirring up vague memories and images, even as he's very sure he's never heard the name before in his life.

Harry turns around slowly, noting absently that the woman he'd spotted was nowhere to be seen and that must have meant, by default, that the man was speaking to him.

"That's ... not my name –" Harry says this slowly and hesitantly. The name feels like something out of a half-remembered dream and though he's been a bit out of sorts lately, he's almost positive he knows his own name – and Henrik isn't it.

(But it is).

The conflicting feelings of him both trying to deny and respond to the name have his head spinning.

Once he's fully turned around, he's able to get his first look at the man who called out that name so despondently and distantly he wonders just why short-trimmed hair looks so wrong on the other man. When Harry's words sink in and when Harry shows no recognition upon viewing the man's face the man expression, which had been so hopeful and heartbroken, immediately falls. Somehow that expression makes that near constant emptiness inside his chest ache and Harry flinches, immediately scrambling for something else to say.

"I-I'm Harry. I'm so sorry - I don't know why I turned around, were you looking for someone?" Something about the man eases the aching emptiness in his soul. Harry wonders why that is. He feels lighter than he has in weeks – maybe months – and it has him feeling flustered and like a kid again. His ears begin burning when he realizes that maybe the man hadn't been calling out to him – and perhaps he'd just prematurely responded to that name that had sounded so familiar when the man was instead calling out to someone else.

The other man tries to smile, but it comes out more like a grimace and for one absurd moment, Harry's overcome with the urge to push the man's cheek's together to get rid of the unsightly expression and perhaps even make him laugh. Just as Harry finishes pushing down that urge because he's sure that wouldn't go over well, the other man begins to speak.

"No, no. It's fine. I was … merely reminiscing. You remind me of someone I once knew. I am El–"

"—ijah." Harry interrupts, the name rushing unbidden from his lips. Just as he opens his mouth to apologize for interrupting so rudely, he sways on his feet, suddenly very dizzy. "Elijah …?" He calls out once more in a voice he can barely recognize as his, as it sounds much younger and very confused.

The images that had initially come to him the first time the other man – Elijah – called out that name become brighter and brighter behind his eyelids, even as his vision grays and starts to go black around the edges.

He sways once more and he would've fallen to the ground if Elijah hadn't darted forward to catch Harry in his arms. When Elijah inadvertently brushes his fingers against the exposed nape of Harry's neck, the onslaught of images becomes worse and worse and worse, strange scenarios playing out in the forefront of Harry's mind that somehow feel like his memories. Which is impossible because they feature people Harry is sure he's never before seen in his life.

"Hen – Harry? Harry ar –"

Harry doesn't get to hear the rest of what Elijah begins to say, because in that instant everything goes black and he's dragged into a set of memories that aren't his own.

Chapter Text

He stands beside his sister, looking on as Elijah and Niklaus spar.

He's just recovered from some illness that left him feverish and on the verge of death, and just yesterday, his mother had announced that his fever has broken and he would recover in less time than he had been sick. Though he didn't understand why, his family was still on edge and had taken to becoming even more protective than usual.

He had been planning to sleep off the last of his sickness, but Rebekah (who could best Elijah any day when it came to being overprotective of him) had other ideas. She had all but hauled him out of their shared living space, stating that he needed fresh air to truly recover. And she looked only a moment away from carrying him in her arms (never mind that he was surely too heavy for her to hold) but he had dodged any attempt of hers to baby him with a stern look that first had made his sister laugh before she acquiesced and promised not to coddle him.

The sunlight hurts his eyes and any minuscule movement has him wincing, as his body is still wretchedly sore from being sick, but Rebekah was right – the fresh air does make him feel better. Still, he can't exactly muster up any excitement the way he normally does when Niklaus and Elijah spar, as it's taking most of his energy to stay upright, but he's sure his two brothers know of his admiration for their swordsmanship.

He doesn't pay attention to their banter and he only realizes he's spaced out when Nikalus definitively wins this round of sparring, though it makes their father irrationally angry. As their father advances on Niklaus, who is doing his best to seem smaller, he almost, almost steps forward though he remembers himself just in time. Last time their father had unfairly picked on Niklaus, he'd tried to come to his elder brother's aid, but Rebekah had grabbed his arm and forced him to stay at her side. She had gripped him so tightly she had given him bruises, and it's that's one of the reasons he forces himself not to say anything, or do anything to help Niklaus. He'd really rather not have bruises exacerbate his soreness.

The other reason is –

When he had confronted Rebekah and asked why had she held him back, why had she not let him help their brother, she had shaken him and screamed and told him she couldn't bare it if their father had turned his malevolence to him and Niklaus wouldn't be able to handle the guilt, so could he please, please never try to interrupt their father and brother again, please.

He'd agreed.

Though he regrets it now.

Their father is being especially cruel today and it hurts him to watch their father pick on his brother, and he's just about to do something, regardless of his promise to Rebekah, when –

"You've made your point, Mikael." Their mother says, off to the side – ever the reason to their father's rage.

But their father can't ever let her have the last word. He launches his blade into the ground near Niklaus' neck and makes one last cutting remark before storming off.

Their father is barely five steps away when he runs from Rebekah's side to Niklaus, tiny hands searching for any injury on his elder brother. He finds none.

And he cries, though not for himself, but for his brother Niklaus, who receives nothing but derision and hatred from their father.

The boy wakes slowly.

After he had collapsed, Elijah had uncharacteristically been at a loss for what to do. Even if he had no intention of helping the boy, his fingers clutched onto the lapels of Elijah's suit jacket tightly, fingers bunching the fabric even harder when Elijah made to move away. Which of course, would be no problem for his vampiric strength, but the sight of the boy curling towards him, clutching at him, had awoken a nostalgia so deep and heart-wrenching, it almost felt like a blasted stake to the heart.

Henrik used to do the very same thing.

By the time he'd died, it had become an infrequent occurrence, though his need for contact while sleeping was still well-known through the village. It had largely embarrassed the growing boy, but Elijah always found the quirk endearing.

It's the nostalgia that prompts Elijah to take the boy – Harry, he reminds himself, the boy's name is Harry – back to his lavish hotel, but it's his need for answers that has him pulling a chair as close to the bed as possible and steepling his fingers. He resists the urge to smooth out the wrinkles in his suit jacket.

He finds he quite likes the physical manifestation of one quirk that this boy has in common with his brother.

(It had taken nearly thirty minutes for Elijah to coax the boy to release the lapels of his jacket. He took care in trying to gently pry the boy's fingers from his person, but his efforts were all in vain as the moment he would get a finger free, the boy would tighten his grip with the rest of his fingers. On a whim, after the boy has managed to cling even tighter than he'd originally been, Elijah runs an even gentler hand through the boy's hair – a technique that had always allowed the person Henrik clung to while sleeping make a quick retreat, as it had, for some reason, calmed his brother enough to pry his fingers loose without hurting him.

Curiously, it worked just as well on Harry.)

He had dozens of unanswered questions that he desperately needed answers to, for in the time the boy had been asleep, a tender, fragile hope had risen in his chest that he could not ignore no matter how hard he tried.

The boy responded to Henrik's name.

The boy knew his.

The boy recognized him.

Elijah wanted to believe what his heart was telling him – that his brother had somehow been reborn, but he would not impose his belief on this boy. If it somehow turned out to be a mistake, he would not force the boy to live a lie and he would let Harry go, no matter how much he wished for his brother to somehow be alive once more.

Elijah is jolted out of his thoughts when the boy's heart begins to beat faster and faster, signaling that he's struggling against sleep and has begun to awaken. It takes only a moment for the boy to open his eyes and his heart predictably beats faster when he takes in the unfamiliar surroundings, though it calms when he notices Elijah.

Curious.

"'Lijah?" The boy slurs, still half asleep. "… wh're did all your hair go?"

Elijah freezes.

His hands fall from their steepled position and some bastardized version of shock and elation courses through long-dead veins. That tender, fragile hope becomes infinitely stronger and there is little doubt that the boy in front of him is his little brother reborn.

For the boy had spoken not English as he called out to Elijah – but Old Norse.

"I want to go see the men transform," he tells Niklaus one night. The moon isn't quite yet in its proper phase to see such a thing, but if he wishes to see the men turn to wolves, he'll have to convince his brother to take him.

Instead of an answer, Niklaus merely drops his sword and he turns wide, terrified eyes to his youngest brother. "Henrik, n-no, it is far too dangerous for us to do so. Father would –"

"I don't care about father," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. And it's not exactly true, but father has been so, so, so mean to Niklaus lately and this rebellion is surely harmless, though it would fill him no small amount of joy to know he's 'betraying' their father in such a way.

"It's too dangerous. No." Niklaus picks up his blade and begins to meticulously polish it, likely in an effort to get him to abandon the conversation.

"Fine," he says petulantly – like the boy of twelve summers he is. "I'll just go by myself then."

Niklaus' head snaps up at that and his expression is twisted in a protective rage. "Absolutely not. No – no. I will … take you," his elder brother says through gritted teeth.

He smiles, almost preening at having won this argument and after a moment Niklaus begins smiling as well, though he grumbles under his breath about spoiled younger brothers – to which he only grins wider, as he knows he's well and truly won.

The rest of the day passes in easy contentment. The rest of the family is busy and so it is just Niklaus and him sharing a comfortable silence that he often breaks to tell Niklaus random stories or jokes he remembers, to which Niklaus listens indulgently. Once or twice, his brother reaches to ruffle his hair or try to plait it, as his hair is plaited, though the plaits always unfurl the second Niklaus is finished. They both laugh at that and for the most part, their earlier argument is all but forgotten.

Neither of them are aware of the tragedy looming over his head.

Elijah doesn't want to leave the boy's – Harry's, Henrik's – side, but he is not so selfish as to deny his family their right to see their reborn brother.

It takes only a moment to locate the vampire he had taken to traveling with while he was in Europe, and he enters the adjacent room swiftly, thankful that he'd had the foresight to buy rooms connected by a door, as he's not sure he could control his speed if he were made to traverse through the hall.

The vampire – an olive-skinned man named Ulric that Elijah believes Finn turned – rises to his feet when Elijah enters and makes to ask how he can be of service to the Original, though Elijah raises his hand to cut him off – he has no time for pleasantries today.

"Find Niklaus," Elijah commands of the vampire. "And tell him that Henrik lives."

Chapter Text

Klaus is not a good man. 

Any tenderness in him died when his brother did. Faded as his grief and guilt slowly did the same. 

Klaus is not a good man. 

Anything good was burned out of him in the wake of his littlest brother’s death. Any part of him that Henrik would have been proud of died with the boy. 

He is not a good man and he no longer hates himself for it. Those first few decades were fraught with self-loathing, guilt, and grief – and although he hasn’t quite gotten over Henrik’s death (and never will either) the emotions aren’t as vivid and painful as they once were. 

He is not a good man and he doesn’t care. He is royalty amongst vampires, predator amongst humans – he doesn’t need to be a good man. He doesn’t want to be a good man. 

(But every few centuries he allows himself one night to be maudlin – to weep over his brother, to drown himself in guilt, grief, and alcohol. 

One night to wonder how much Henrik would hate him for what he’s become and what he’s done. 

One night to wonder how much would have changed if he had just convinced Henrik not to go watch the men change into wolves.) 

However, Henrik is a closely guarded secret. His siblings never speak of him and he certainly doesn’t either. Klaus has not once mentioned him aloud since his first few centuries as a vampire. No one but his siblings know of his existence. 

Which is why, when a vampire bursts into his home of the decade and accosts Evangeline, his witch companion, demanding an audience with him – saying that Elijah had sent him and mentioning their littlest brother, he nearly loses himself to his rage. 

How dare Elijah speak of their brother to this filth , this vampire who has barely lived longer than any human . How dare he tarnish Henrik’s memory by sharing that name with anyone but family –

It’s his rage that has him running from his room, violent urges he barely tries to suppress rushing forward as the vampire Elijah has sent comes into his line of sight. 

He’s speaking to one of Klaus’ witches, who tries to tell the vampire that no one can see Klaus without an appointment. She stills when she sees Klaus round the corner and backs away when she notices how furious he is. 

Smart girl. 

“And who,” Klaus says slowly, his fangs aching with the need to rend this upstart limb from limb. With his teeth . “Would you be?” He asks, though he knows exactly who the vampire is (one of Kol’s?) and why he’s here. 

“My lord. I am Ulric. Elijah sent me. He says … he says that Henrik lives.” 

Klaus’ world goes red at those words. 

And he breaks Ulric’s neck. 

The vampire wakes slowly. Klaus’ temper has calmed somewhat, with the aid of alcohol and Evangeline’s counsel. 

The clever little witch had told him that there was a spell that could pull memories from someone to be viewed by an audience. This would verify if Ulric was telling the truth or not. 

If he wasn’t … Klaus would start with the fingers. Pulling them off slowly. Painfully. 

But if he was telling the truth … 

Then Henrik was alive. 

And if Henrik was alive …

That changed everything . 

They don’t give the vampire much choice. Evangeline was a right terror on her own, but combined with Klaus – whose sadism was well-known and was feared even by the vampires he himself made?

Ulric didn’t even stand a chance. 

Thankfully, Elijah must have warned the vampire as to what Klaus was like, because he cooperates well enough, letting Evangeline cast spells on him even while Klaus stares at him unblinkingly over a glass of whisky. 

When it’s done, he sends the vampire and the witch into another room while he prepares to watch the memory. He’s seen it done before, so he declines Evangeline’s offer to show him how it works, instead telling the woman, “Watch the vampire. Ensure he doesn’t leave. If he’s lying …” Klaus downs the last of his drink in one gulp and lets the threat hang in the open air, relishing in the way the vampire averts eye-contact. 

Knowing Klaus well enough to know when to retreat, Evangeline nods and gestures for Ulric to rise as well, frog marching the man who towered over her out of the room. Klaus raises an eyebrow at the image, but once the door is shut behind them, Klaus goes back to staring at the bowl of memories. 

He’s … not scared , not in the way most people would define it. He’s been resigned to the fact that he will never see his littlest brother again and the fact that Elijah’s pet vampire had brought some small amount of hope back to Klaus was almost too much to bear. If that hope was crushed and it turned out Ulric was lying … Klaus didn’t know what he’d do. 

It’d be like mourning Henrik all over again. 

But if Ulric was telling the truth … if Henrik was alive … 

Klaus has never been a coward, not when it came to Henrik. He could do this – would do this, for Henrik. 

With that last thought, Klaus plunges into Ulric’s memories and if his hands shake as he does so, well. 

No one was around to see it but Klaus. 

In Ulric’s memory, Klaus sees Elijah. 

He’s wearing one of those ridiculous suits of his and he has someone cradled gently in his arms. 

It’s a boy with black hair, who’s clinging to Elijah in the same way that Henrik used to. 

Klaus’ breath catches at the sight. 

Klaus’s eyes trace over the boys features, wondering if it’s desperation that has him seeing Henrik in the boy’s features or if it’s actually what the boy looks like. 

The memory shifts. Klaus tries not to feel disoriented. 

This time, they’re in a hotel and Elijah is speaking. 

“Find Klaus,” his brother says, “And tell him that Henrik lives.” 

Klaus jolts back to the present, more shaken and rattled than he’d like to admit. 

Elijah seemed convinced the boy was Henrik, but did that make it so? 

Surely, Elijah would recognize their brother? 

Surely, Elijah wouldn’t send a messenger unless he was positive? 

Surely, it would be okay for Klaus to get his hopes up? 

Unfortunately, Klaus didn’t know the answers to any of those questions. 

And he wouldn’t until he saw the boy Elijah thought to be Henrik. 

Evangeline is visibly exhausted by the time Klaus deigns to visit the room where she’s keeping watch over Elijah’s pet vampire. At Klaus’ entry, she jumps to her feet and opens her mouth to speak, but closes it once she sees Klaus’ thunderous expression. 

Klaus knew there was a reason he kept her around. 

“You,” He gestures to the vampire on the floor. “Where is Elijah?” 

Ulric’s eyes widen, though to his credit, he answers quickly. “E-England, my lord.”

“Well,” Klaus says, more to Evangeline than the vampire. “I guess we’re going to England.”

Chapter Text

After six hours, they arrive in England. It wasn’t that they were far – they had been in Madrid – but it took Evangeline some extra time to find a crew that would not ask too many questions about their only cargo, the three chained coffins containing Finn, Kol, and Rebekah. 

Klaus could have compelled a crew, but seeing Evangeline threaten and blackmail the pilot and co-pilot of their private jet proved to be too amusing. 

They land at some airport Klaus doesn’t care to know the name of and neither does he know the date or day of the week. After a few thousand years of living, these things become less and less important. 

It’s still light out and there’s still frost everywhere, so Klaus hazards a guess that it’s likely still winter. 

“You,” Klaus growls out at Ulric once they’re off the plane and Evangeline has made arrangements for the coffins to be moved later that day. To his credit, the lesser vampire barely flinches. He opens his mouth to speak, but Klaus cuts him off with a furious gesture. “Take me to Elijah.” 

Like a smart cookie, Evangeline volunteers to stay behind. Watch over the coffins as they’re transported. They’ll be going to a property Klaus bought back in the nineteenth century – where Klaus will be staying for the duration of the visit. 

They travel by way of stolen car to the hotel. Ulric hadn’t even suggested a taxi – luckily for him. Possibility of Henrik being alive or no, Klaus likely would’ve killed the other vampire if he’d been made to travel by taxi. 

As it were, the stolen car isn’t much better. It’s a small, two door vehicle with chipping paint and a tasteless bobble-head, but with the news of Henrik being alive, Klaus decides to be magnamious and understands it was likely the best Ulric could do under pressure. Even if the smell of stale pizza is a bit overwhelming.

Luckily, they arrive at the hotel in under thirty minutes. The car ride – for the most part – has been in total silence and Klaus can tell by the way Ulric keeps looking at him that he’s terrified of Klaus. 

Good. 

He should be. 

There’s a valet service that takes the stolen car away to park it. Klaus lets Ulric handle the finer details of that and gets out of the car, slamming the door behind him. It’s not a far walk to the entrance of the hotel from where Klaus left Ulric to deal with the valet – in fact, less than a minute – but it feels like an eternity. It feels as if his entire time as a vampire has been leading to this. 

His reunion with his brother. 

And Klaus wants to believe the boy is Henrik – and if he’s honest, he already has. If the boy isn’t Henrik – 

It would break Klaus. 

He’s not ashamed to say he’d probably kill the imposter. 

Klaus is so preoccupied with these thoughts that when he enters the hotel – he doesn’t notice the small form heading towards him – 

Or at least he doesn’t until it’s too late. 

Harry wakes in a dimly lit hotel room. After a frantic search – he confirms that he’s wearing all of his clothes and that his wand and glasses are on his bedside table. 

He doesn’t remember anything except … 

Elijah.

His brother. 

No, wait. 

He’s an only child. 

Not his brother. 

Merlin. There’s something wrong with his head. So many memories that couldn’t possibly be Harry’s are all he can think about. Some of them feature Elijah, though the man’s hair is longer and he isn’t wearing a suit. Some of them don’t.

All of them feel right.

It doesn’t make sense. 

Harry can ponder the situation later (in fact, he makes a mental note to talk to Hermione as soon as possible, even though he’s sure he’ll get roped into family dinner if he does to see her) but first , he has to get out of this hotel room. 

He doesn’t remember how he got to this place and that also means that he doesn’t remember who has him here. Probably not a Death Eater, but there’s also the possibility that the person could still mean to do him harm. And that means he’s got to leave. 

Now. 

And that’s exactly what he does – shoving his wand into his pocket and his glasses on his face, he jumps out of the, admittedly very comfortable bed, and makes for the door. When no one tries to stop him, Harry grabs the ratty shoes that he recognizes as his and slips into them, opening and closing the door quietly behind him. There are people milling in the hallway – rich, by the looks of it. Harry gives them a sheepish smile and heads to the elevator, trying his best to look like he’s not suspicious. 

An older couple holds the elevator for him and he smiles at them, though the smile fades at the sight of all of the ridiculously confusing buttons on the door. 

“Going to the lobby, dear?” The woman – American, by the sound of it – asks, taking pity on him. The man looks completely uninterested in the conversation. 

“Uh – yes.” Harry says, going to press the ‘L’ button, only to find that it’s already been pressed. “Thanks.” He tells her after a moment, not wanting to seem rude. 

The woman smiles, but doesn’t respond, and silence descends on them. The elevator ride isn’t too long, though it’s a bit uncomfortable. Every few seconds, Harry can feel the couple’s gaze on him. Harry wonders what they’re thinking. 

After a minute or so, they make it down to the lobby and the woman smiles at him once more as he passes her. Harry smiles back, though it probably looks more like a grimace than anything. The headache that he’d gotten last night (was it last night? How long had he slept?) comes back with a vengeance as he makes his way towards the entrance of the hotel – and he swears he only ducks his head for a second as the pain gets worse and worse, but it really shouldn’t be surprising that in that second he slams into someone. 

Two hands come up to grip his upper arms to the point of pain and Harry winces as his headache gets that much worse. Merlin, what is up with him lately? Harry hasn’t had so many headaches since Voldemort was alive and now he can’t even blame his migraines on the man.

“Sorry.” Harry says in an effort to get the other man to let him go. When that doesn’t work, he says louder, “Would you let me –“ 

He looks up.  

And a million memories blindside him.

Now Klaus may not be a good man, but if he can avoid feeding from or killing children, he’ll do it. 

That’s why, when a child slams into him on the way out of the hotel – he doesn’t rip into their throat and kill them for their impudence. 

No, he simply steadies the child – a kind action to everyone else in the lobby – and holds onto them with a grip he knows to be painful. 

“Sorry,” the child says softly, head still ducked down. There’s something about the hair and the little bit of the face that Klaus can see that seems familiar. He doesn’t know what it is and Klaus hates a mystery. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t let the child go. 

Angrily, louder, the child says, “Would you let me –“ 

And Klaus almost wants to laugh at the child playing at being commanding. He almost does. 

But that’s before the child looks up. 

And then he does. 

And it’s Henrik . 

A little bit older maybe, with glasses and greener eyes – but it’s Henrik. 

It’s Klaus’ baby brother. 

Klaus attempts to gentle his grip on the boy but in shock, he lets go entirely and Henrik falls to the ground. He tries to help the boy back up – and forgets his strength for the first time in centuries, hauling his littlest brother up so fast that the poor boy turns a light shade of green. 

“ Hrk – N.. Niklaus, is that you?.” Henrik asks, and he sounds so addled, it causes Klaus’ cold heart to clench in fear – because of course. Of course. Nothing good could happen in Klaus’ life without the bad immediately following. 

Worried, but desperately trying not to show it lest it upset his brother, Klaus says, as gently as he can, “Yes, Henrik, it’s me. It’s Niklaus.” And he reaches forward to steady his brother, but at their first skin-to-skin contact, Henrik makes a pained grunt and pitches forward, going limp in Klaus’ arms. 

Fuck.