Notes: Hey, guys! First off, I want to thank every single person who reviewed and favorited and followed, because I never expected this kind of enthusiastic response to this story, and it's just awesome, because this story has in the past few years has had no other company but the random musings of my insane consciousness, so it's quite a breath of fresh air to get it out and get such a good response to it. Seriously, you guys have made me so pleased with your responses.

With this new chapter, and the light smutty material at the end of it, this story is going up to M in rating. Please make note that there will be more material of a sensitive, sexual and violent nature in the coming installments.

Now, without further ado, I give you the second installment. If you have any questions or don't understand a certain element of the story, please reach out and ask. Your comprehension and enjoyment of this story is my primary concern, always. :)

Disclaimer: The Vampire Diaries, its characters, plot lines and premise belong to LJ Smith, Kevin Williamson, Julie Plec, The CW, Warner Brothers and their affiliates. Harry Potter, its characters, plot lines and premise belong to JK Rowling, her publishers and affiliates. I do not own anything detailed in this story, and I make no monetary profit by these writings. The Original Characters, their personalities, back-stories and characterization that are not recognizable to either of these fandoms belong to me. All rights reserved to respective parties.

Sixty-six years. It was misleading, certainly, because even a gap of such long absence did nothing to alleviate the feeling of regression back to that young, forlorn human who eagerly shed his life of mortal comforts and sold his soul to the devil—or rather, to his ever-entrancing earth-bound representative, Katherine Pierce. The house looked exactly the same—large, looming and dark with candles in every window and the very same cracks in the grey shutters that had frequently fallen victim to escaped Quaffle accidents. It only confounded him further, standing here on the grounds in which he grew up, neither he nor the house having aged a single day.

The foyer was immaculate as it had always been, as if no one had stepped foot in it for all sixty-six years. The marble ceiling, the creaky chandelier—even the imposing hat-rack that still hovered ominously above his 5'10 frame. He was an old man in a child's body, but never once had he felt as young as he did now, not even when he truly was that young.

Reminiscing was silly, and trivial. He was here for a reason, and it wasn't to wish away the errors and judgments of his past. "Harry? C'mon Harry, come out and talk to big brother. No weapons, I promise—I won't bite."

Silence.

"You never did have a sense of humor," Henry muttered to himself dryly. "Come on, old man. I found you; let's have a civil conversation." He seated himself comfortably in a chair next to a dry, empty fireplace and inspected a bottle of scotch that could've either been a day old or a decade old, for all he knew.

"The one place you'd never suspect… how'd you know?"

Henry turned abruptly towards the sound of the man's voice, and smirked at the shadow lingering in the doorframe. "That's exactly why this is the first place I looked, brother. Congratulations, Puff, you're growing more cunning in your old age. Too bad for you it took so long though; I've been well practised in this game for many years."

"Humility was never a trait you possessed even as a human, Henry," the voice chastised, sad and cold, as if he had just resigned himself to that truth.

"Never claimed that it was, brother. Now sit, let's have a chat." He proffered the bottle of scotch to the empty chair beside him; "Would you care for some decade-old scotch?"

"I bought that last week," came the coarse, cold voice, still hiding in the shadows.

Henry laughed—young, effortless and with just that slightest bit of malicious undertone. "Would you care for some week-old scotch, then?"

"Does she know you're here?" Harry asked, the trepidation making his voice shake with a light tremor.

Henry stilled his movements in pouring a glass and paused for a moment to discern how best to answer. "Come into the light and have an actual conversation with me; I'm not crazy, brother—I don't answer disembodied voices. If you want an answer, face me with the confidence of the man you pretend to be, and I'll give you one with the confidence you've always coveted."

The atmosphere chilled instantly, but Henry did nothing to facilitate it. He could simply sense Harry's internal battle of wills; it came with the territory of being a vampire—everyone was prey, even your brother, and your instincts were always on high alert to vulnerability.

As Harry finally stepped into the light shining through from the cracked shudders outside, Henry saw his brother for the first time in sixty-six years. He looked remarkably like Father, with the dark curls of his youth turned ash grey and his stormy blue eyes worn and tired with age. His handsome face had pinched considerably into permanent worry lines over the years, and he seemed paler than normal as he eyed Henry with the same awe-struck wonder the vampire was assessing with.

"Merlin… you haven't aged a goddamn day," he breathed out in astonishment, touching his neck briefly and rubbing away a stressful muscle ache.

"Were you expecting me to have?" Henry countered back disaffected, sipping from his full glass of scotch now. "You do know how vampirism works, don't you, brother?" And then with a cruel smile hidden behind his glass, he added, "Rebekah never explain the mechanics to you?"

"Does she know you're here?" Harry repeated again, unrelenting.

"You're getting braver in your old age too, Puff. Good for you," he raised his glass in mock toast. "She doesn't control my life, little brother, no one does. No, she doesn't know I came here; I convinced her you'd be as far away from England as you can possibly get—she's got other things on her mind anyway. I figured we could use the time to ourselves, don't you think? Sibling bonding and all that…"

"I won't give it to you, Henry."

"Who said I was here for it?"

"She wants it, of course you're here for it." Harry laughed, deep throated and sarcastic, a sharp sting from his normally well-tempered younger brother that made Henry raise his eyebrow in surprise. "Henry Burke—mature, wise… the next Minister of Magic, they all said. The charm of Arcturus Black, the magical prowess of Merlin and the valor and leadership of Godric Gryffindor. God, the things they said about you," he scoffed in wistful memory; "You were going to be the Burke Family's saving grace, that was the plan—you were going to restore our name in society, restore our world from the muggle scum; the Messiah of London's Underground… my brother," he shook his head with a wry smile; "The boy with the highest rated NEWT scores in a hundred years, the prodigal pureblood destined to reign in a new era of magic… reduced to nothing more than a slave and a whore for a demon you've always been obsessed with impressing… is she worth it, Henry? Has being her bitch been worth all you gave up for it?"

Henry sat very still, shocked at his brother's words, but ever cognizant of masking his surprise. "Is that better or worse than bending over at the knees for a Father you idealized that forever preferred your brother?"

"I hope she's worth it, Henry—I honestly do. I've spent years hating you, but you're my brother, and all I wanted for you was happiness. Are you happy with her?"

Henry closed his eyes, letting the harsh burn of alcohol slide down his throat before addressing his brother. "My turning was never about her, Harry—I told you so many times, and you never believed me."

"I still don't."

"I won't try to convince you, it isn't worth my time."

"But she is?" Harry asked with a tilt of his head in inquisition.

"I didn't come here for it," Henry stated resolutely.

"I don't believe you."

"You don't believe much, do you?"

"Not when it comes from you, brother." Harry took a step forward, sat down next to him and snatched the glass right from his brother's fingers. "Not when it comes from you."

"I want you to destroy it—the moonstone; I want you to obliterate it." Harry looked at him, slack-jawed in genuine shock, but Henry continued on as if their had never been a reaction. "She thinks she knows what she's doing, thinks she can play Klaus' game. She can't. That moonstone in his possession will change the very fabric of our world, Harry, and it needs to be destroyed. So no, Katherine doesn't know I'm here." With a final, unsteady breath, he spoke softly, "She'd kill me if she did."

"Don't say her name," Harry demanded sharply.

"I mean it, Harry—destroy the damn thing. You know it's the right thing to do." His voice was thick with conviction and his youthful eyes finally showing the tired quality of his true age.

"I always intended to, brother. I simply never thought you'd see it the same way."

Henry smiled, wistful but genuine. "You underestimate me, little brother."

"Perhaps I did as children, but now—I don't consider anything beneath you."

"Do you know how to destroy it?" Henry asked impatiently.

Harry stilled immediately, his fingers frozen and clutched on the glass of scotch. "Sacrifice," he breathed out slowly.

"I figured as much—most spells of that sort do."

"Henry, you're my brother, and—"

"For god sake, man, forgo the falsities—we all know you disowned me as a brother a very long time ago," Henry spat at him bitterly.

"These are my final words, brother," Harry continued as if he'd never been interrupted, "Record them and hold them in high regard, but never speak a word of them." He took a slow, deep breath and avoided direct eye contact. "Father and Eros are planning an overhaul of the Ministry, of the entire Wizarding World itself. I can't describe the details; I've been compelled to remain silent. Henry, you need to discover their plans and destroy them, by all means possible. What appears as a political strategy is anything but—they're working with him, Henry. I'll sacrifice my life to destroy what he wants, but you must be willing to sacrifice your own to stop them."

"What—"

"They want war, brother. They want uproar." Harry lit a match with a snap of his fingers and held it between his eyes. "They want genocide. They want to destroy the world as we know it, Henry. It's been sixty-six years since we've even remotely been brothers, but in memory of that time, I ask of you as my final wish that you destroy them."

"Harry, please—wait," Henry implored his brother in a panic, needing more information; needing more time.

Harry's face was stoic and resolute, but his voice cracked on his last words. "Tell her I loved her once, Henry. She deserves the truth."

A sudden, abrupt burst of light encompassed the entire sitting room, and in half a second, Henry found himself thrown violently against a back wall, gazing in shock at the debris all around him. His brother lay motionless and dead on the hard ground, blood pouring from his eyes and his limbs disfigured in horrifying positions. Henry had to turn away, feeling a disconcerting mixture of hunger and utter disgust.

His eyes landed on a dull stone a few feet from him—the moonstone, he knew intuitively, bereft of its magical qualities and its usual gleam of entrancing light. He kicked it into the fireplace, now nothing more than just another stone to decay into the earth, forgotten and useless.

He took the box of matches from beside his brother's twisted remains and carefully placed one of them in his palm. He took a deep, unsteady breath, and without a word, lit it and threw it down on the rug beneath him. The fire travelled quickly, but he ran out of the decrepit house too fast for the fire to catch him.

And from a few miles away, leaning against an oak tree, breathing heavily and clutching his chest, he watched as his brother, his childhood home and the most dangerous weapon in existence burnt in a violent, fast sweeping wash of flame.

"What exactly do we have on this guy?"

Audric sent a subtly distressed plea towards his curly-haired comrade across the table, but Kit answered with nothing but a furrowed brow and a proverbial shrug, his attention never straying from the head of the table. Audric tensed slightly, before answering with a firm, confident conviction that was remarkably well faked given the situation.

"Very little, I'm afraid—not much more than anyone else does, My Lord."

Tom did not seem impressed, his lips forming a thin, straight line and his fingers crossed in contemplation. "And why is that? You all work in the Ministry, and your only job is to deliver me the intel that I so desire—why have you come up with nothing?"

Kit raised his head slowly, the curls of his blonde hair draped over his dark eyes; "If I may, My Lord—his entire backstory checks out. He is either exactly who he says he is, or else is somehow building himself a fortress of which to hide the truth. We can't risk exposure of our operation for intel that might be fabricated in the first place—"

"Calculated risks, Carrow," Tom stressed, his dark eyes brimming with displeasure; "Do you mean to tell me that you aren't devoted enough to this operation to risk your position for its benefit?"

"Of course not, My Lord. I am simply questioning our methods, and how we mean to—"

"Your station does not give you authority to question anything I deem important, Carrow," Tom stated resolutely, narrowing his eyes with a vicious, cold curve of his lips that effectively silenced Kit and the entire table.

The four of them were seated around a dimly lit dining room table, with soft candlelight illuminating shadows and facial expressions at random. Tom's unassuming South London apartment was the perfect location for the Headquarters of their operation. Secret, quiet and entirely out of the way of magical affairs, it served them the sanctum and refuge they so desperately sought.

"William Eros," Tom growled under his breath with an eye roll; "How did this political dark horse end up at the helm of this ship anyway? The Wizengamot is an old order, and the most corrupt body of leadership since the fucking Middle Ages. They don't just place anyone—no, this smells of a damn conspiracy, and all I asked was one thing." Slamming his fist onto the table, he recoiled back against his chair, his handsome features twisted into a animalistic snarl. "Uncover it, dammit! You imbeciles couldn't even do so much as give me his middle name. Disgraceful."

"He's touting himself as a descendant of Wilhelm Eros, My Lord." Tom, Kit and Audric all turned towards the fourth member of the table in disbelief. Wheldon Avery continued on in his usual austere, monotone demeanor; "He could've bended the will of any Wizengamot member with that kind of family pedigree and we all know it."

"Eros created the Original Wizard's Council—no one on the Wizengamot, corrupted bastards and sons of bitches that they are—would take his word for it," Tom refuted.

"Which means that a blood test was administered, and if he passed…"

They all looked to Tom, whose face was far paler than its normal shade. "It means that this 'William' is a legitimate Eros—"

Tom sucked in a deep breath, a scowl deeply etched in his lips—"It means that he's a threat, and that he's the enemy, and that regardless of your misgivings about how much we're risking of our cover," he shot a disgusted glare at Kit before continuing, "I need to know everything about this man. Understood?"

They all nodded with mutterings of 'My Lord' and Tom nodded, his eyes still holding skepticism and, although almost entirely indistinguishable, a fair bit of fear.

"Dismissed," Tom raised his hand to send them away, but not before flicking his wand to block Audric right in his tracks. "Not you, Lestrange. Come into the sitting room with me; I have a special task for you."

Avery had disapparated without a second look backwards, but Kit tensed slightly, his shoulders straightening and his posture rigid before he turned back around. With a nod towards Audric and a bow at his Master, he disapparated with a swish of his cloak, leaving the echoing sitting room unnervingly quiet.

"Sit, Lestrange," Tom ordered, and sat down himself as he took a decanter off a bookshelf ledge and offered it Audric. "Drink it," he proffered without a hint of question in his voice.

Audric took it carefully, swallowed a very small amount of the liquid, and coughed instantly, sputtering at the disgusting taste. "What the hell is that?"

"Not scotch," Tom offered with a wry smile. "It's vervain, Lestrange. A rare but powerful herb that counteracts the effects of a vampire's powers. It only grows in very desolate, deserted areas of Eastern Europe—a rare commodity, and a very gratuitous gift that you ought to be more grateful for."

Audric, still completely confused with a dry, swollen tongue, nodded and thanked him profusely. "If I may ask, My Lord—what is the necessity?"

"You'll need it, as the information I am directing you to retrieve may be somewhat—well guarded," Tom admitted with a stoic expression. "I know you have lineage connections with known vampires in your family, Lestrange, and it is for this reason that you are being bequeathed with this task. I want to know everything about these creatures; their presence in the Ministry, the powers they possess, how to destroy them. It would be in your best interest not to fail me in this matter—it is of utmost importance to our operation."

"More important than investigating Eros?"

"Leave that discretion to me, Lestrange, and do as you're tasked. I want something useful by our next meeting." Tom took one more glance at the decanter filled with the sticky, yellowy substance before he dismissed Lestrange.

"My Lord?"

Tom sighed and raised an eyebrow; "I dismissed you, Lestrange. What is it?"

"Vampires cannot manipulate the minds of the magical, My Lord. Why is the vervain compulsory to my investigation?"

Tom laughed, a hollow, chilling chuckle that sent chills down Audric's spine. "You'd better start at the beginning of your research then, because your surface knowledge is… disappointing, to say the least." Tom stood, only a few inches taller than Audric, but seeming as intimidating as a 12-foot giant.

"It's a very widely believed myth, Lestrange. Not unlike a powerful Legilimens can penetrate the mind of the untrained, so can a vampire penetrate the mind of an unskilled wizard. The weak-willed, magical or not, can be persuaded by the heathen's powers of compulsion. The stronger the vampire, the stronger the magical adversary must be to dispel the compulsion." He whispered now, a threatening edge to what seemed like reasonable advice, "Tread carefully."

"Now," Tom stepped back and smirked at Audric's blatant discomposure; "Dismissed."

As soon as Lestrange had apparated away, the distinct screech of an unfamiliar owl drew Tom's attention to the closed window. He opened it carefully, took the parcel out of the beast's claws, and it flew away with another loud screech into the night.

As he read the letter, he gripped the parchment so fiercely from confusion and frustration—his two most loathed emotions—that it ripped right in two.

Messer Thomas Marvolo Riddle,

I, William Fredrick Eros, Minister of Magic, encompassing all land and persons of the United Kingdom and its magic dwellings, formally request an audience with you, Sunday the 7th of October, to discuss the formalities of your new position in my administration. Please surrender your wand at the security offices and proceed to my offices at the requested time of half past noon. My guards are aware that you are to be unharmed and given permission to enter my quarters. Failure to respond to this request with your presence is punishable by Wizengamot Law.

Thank you for your cooperation,

William F. Eros; Minister of Magic, Order of Merlin, 2nd Class.

Tom gritted his teeth in agitation as the words swirled around in his head, relentless questions—fucking questions. And what in Merlin's name was he insinuating by 'new position in my administration'?

It was an artfully perfected dance of pleasure—they both knew it so well that their coupling had long ago ceased being vocal. It was a primal, well-orchestrated symphony, void of emotion or intimate connection, the very kind that she demanded. There was a certain finesse to making love to Katherine Pierce—it was difficult to read a woman that mysterious so well as to have her buckling at the knees, but Henry had decades of experience that no one else could ever hope to achieve. No, there was no one on earth that could give her exactly what she wanted, exactly as she needed it; no one but Henry.

She digs her nails into his right shoulder.

Deeper; slower, calculated thrusts.

Left shoulder.

Faster; quicker thrusts.

Nibbling on the helix of his ears.

Switch their positions.

Scratching her nails down his back.

Bite.

Grabbing his ass and forcefully thrusting his pelvis into her wet, hot sheath by herself.

Tension; slow it…

Biting his upper lip with blunt, human teeth.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop!

He relented his quick, thrusting rhythm at the cue—delayed response, admittedly—and rolled off her, collapsing onto the sheets beneath them, breathing heavily and clutching his fists into balls of tension with his eyes tightly shut.

Her hot breath in his ear instantly perked him awake, his eyes raking over her deliciously voluptuous frame slick with hot perspiration as he opened them. She was peering down at him, a teasing smirk on her lips as she asked, "Preoccupied?"

That doesn't even begin to cover it.

He was saved from having to cover the question by a delicate but perfectly audible knock on the door. Katherine sighed in exasperation, clasped the sheets around her naked body and trotted off to the open bathroom, throwing him a clean towel that he barely caught. She was dressing in a silk robe when she tilted her head towards the door; "If it's housekeeping, do be a dear and compel them in. Despite your best efforts—and they are rather vigorous, I'll give you that—you can't exactly whet every one of my appetites, unfortunately," she proffered with a wolfish grin.

He simply rolled his eyes, secured the towel over the bottom of his lanky frame and opened the door. "Rebekah…" he breathed out in trepidation.

"Henry," she acknowledged curtly, her hand resting on the doorframe but her eyes completely avoiding him entirely. It didn't take a genius to figure out the reason behind her stiff demeanor.

"I need to speak with Katherine," she stated resolutely, still avoiding his line of sight.

"Give me a good reason, Rebekah, and I'll consider it."

"I'll give you two," she rolled her eyes sarcastically; "First, my brother sends his tidings that he wishes to share with her—" she broke off with a sinister smile at the look of terror on his face and laughed; "…and look at that, you don't even need the second reason, do you?"

Notes: So, what do you think? What's the prognosis? Comments, questions, critiques? ... Chocolate? ;)

Next Up: Tom meets with Eros, and gets a startling piece of information that very may well result in a complete 180 degree turn-around from his expected plans. Mr. Kit Carrow runs into a distraught woman in Hogsmeade trying to find her friend, and she seems a little too distraught for him not to investigate. Audric begins his research, but isn't prepared to come face to face with a dastardly foe on his first day on the job. Rebekah and Katherine create a game-plan for dealing with Klaus, while meanwhile Klaus puts into motion his first strategic move, employing the help of a very unwilling new partner.