Though he had little to no experience in the matter, something he might have placed more on Klaus’ shoulders than his own, his general understanding of bringing someone back from the dead suggested a complicated process of unstable magic as it ripped through natural laws of life and death. Someone who was dead was to stay dead: That was how it had been until, simply put, it wasn’t and attempting to do anything of the sort was wrought was complication. Someone could be brought back wrong, a head not quite right dictating new life as it filled in once-vacant spaces once more with knowledge of an afterlife no one living should have seen and have been able to tell the experience of or a personality shifted into something it wasn’t known to be by those who had been left behind. They could have been problematic, chaotic, coming unhinged by a peace that would otherwise not be found now that they were back on the mortal coil, and rectification of such a state of being was only found in giving up the ghost once more.

He had expected all those things as he lingered on the other side of the threshold of life and death, watching the world around him from an invisible post that couldn’t see him, but what he hadn’t expected was this: The sudden feeling of warmth soaking into brand new skin once ice cold or the searing tear of oxygen back into newly formed lungs, deep breaths that would ultimately settle natural, lively color back into his features – all shaped by familiar, but foreign magic as his hearing adjusted to the lingering pops of energy around him in unfamiliar surroundings and his eyes were given focus on a figure made brand new.

It was as if being reborn, reshaped and repurposed for a new life that looked vastly different from the one he had departed. His gaze cast in the mirror belonging to an adjacent bathroom did little to suggest otherwise, hands reaching up to press his fingers against unfamiliar features, no longer made of the both sharp and delicate angles he once knew himself to have. Everything had been different from the curve of his brow to the cut of his hair, the length of his fingers and the height of his body, now a few inches shorter as if put together again to someone else’s specifications; but just who had been behind the wheel was still in question.

It was the sound of encroaching footsteps that had drawn his attention away from this new form in haste, a towel secured around his midsection to hide the necessary parts before there was indecent exposure to worry about on top of the uncertainties of his whereabouts. Just where he had ended up, he didn’t know, finding it difficult to orient himself with his position in the world. Someone’s house – he knew that much, but devoid of any key indicators to tell him where he was right off the back, it could have been anyone’s and they were to be facing the rude awakening of a stranger in their domicile with no answer as to how he got there.

The door had been inevitably swung open to emptiness as his invisibility took over, an subconscious response to an unwillingness to be found out until he could wrap his head around everything – the who, the where, the why and how – and slipping through the wall was as easy as intentional thought, stepping into the hallway as the door was closed behind him. It was but a few paces more until he heard those chimes again, pausing in his exploration of his current location to follow it through another door where, inevitably, he had been spotted – not by someone so unfamiliar, however unexpected his would-be summoner had been; someone who could see him even while invisible though it was a state that lasted only so long now that he knew he was somewhere safe.

“Lily, was this your doing?” Henry asked, looking back at the infant who seemed more than pleased with the work she had done, a tiny tot of no particular skill to suggest she could pull someone out of the afterlife, never mind in a new form, but he supposed stranger things had happened. He reached down so she could grab onto his hand, small fingers gripping firm even as if the door behind him all but blew open as Gabe charged in under the pretense of danger, especially as Henry… didn’t quite look the same as he had before. For all he knew, this was a stranger and no one that should have been in the Saylor household – a misconception that was quickly set aside as the once slumbering creatures lying in wait awoke once more, an octopodal quick to restrain him from whatever foolish act of bravery he may have intent to set in motion.

“Where’s your mother?” He asked, gently ushering his hand away from Lily’s though it did little to stop her from floating about of her own volition, perhaps even excitement. It was of little surprise when the answer of “not here” had fallen out of his lips in so many words, Henry letting him go once he was sure identities had been established and he was found not an enemy or even a stranger though the suspicious gaze of Gabe’s lingered.

“Stop staring at me,” he said, “and if you don’t mind, I need to borrow some clothes.”