GLITCH

Full Summary: Finding out you're adopted is hard. Discovering your birth parents are centuries old vampires might be harder still. Getting kidnapped by a wiccan cult convinced you're the prophesized destroyer of a millennium old hybrid might be taking the cake, even for someone with Hemlock Potter's luck. Told in 500-1000 word Drabbles. Klaus/Fem!Harry/Kol/Elijah.

One:

Measure of a Mother

Hemlock Potter

What was it that made a person a mother or father? A piece of paper? A name scrawled on a birth certificate? The act of birth itself? Providing sperm and eggs and nine months' rent in a cosy little womb? Was parenthood a label to be defined by physical means or something more?

Hemlock did not know, but she was asking herself just that, sitting at the fireside of Grimmauld Place's living room, Auror case file splayed across her lap.

On one hand, she had a woman and a man that had once, twenty-two years ago, decided to give her up, and on the other, she had a woman and a man who had died to protect her, gave their lives so she might one day live free and happy and whole.

She had Molly, who had cried with her, grieved with her, lost and loved and laughed with her.

She had McGonagall, who had visited her hospital bedside, and taught her magic, who had clapped so fiercely, so proudly, at her Auror Academy graduation.

She had Sirius, who had taught her how to ride a bike, and sneak out after curfew, and get into mischief.

She had Remus, who had given her chocolate, rubbed her back after Dementor attacks, and sat with her in consolidated silence at Sirius's funeral.

What acts made you more a parent?

A piece of paper-

A file did not really stack up to all that, did it? It was just names on paper, ink on dead trees.

Being a mother or father was not just about bearing a child, it was about bearing witness to its life too.

Hemlock slapped the folder shut and threw the whole thing in the fire before her. Where it belonged.

Gone.

"It doesn't matter."

She stood and went to leave, combat boots creaking across the old hardwood floor. Hermione, the only other inhabitant of the room, spluttered as she magic'd the folder free from the flames before it could be disintegrated, her voice trailing Hemlock as she marched for the door.

She needed firewhisky.

A lot of firewhisky.

"Hemlock! Come on, at least read it all. Who knows? Maybe this is why you haven't aged since-…"

Since she had died? Maybe.

Or maybe it was something else.

Maybe it had to do with those names in the folder, names she couldn't bring herself to think, names that meant nothing.

At least, that's what she told herself. She halfway believed it too.

Hemlock halted by the exit, and glanced over her shoulder, watching as Hermione patted out the small flickering flames still trying to devour the cover of the folder they had found in the dark recesses of the Ministry of Magic.

"It doesn't matter. Poor bastards were likely obliviated to hell and back when the Unspeakables nabbed me. We won't find the answers to my little immortality affliction in there."

Hermione didn't fight her on it, thankfully, the last thing Hemlock wanted to do was argue with, possibly, one of her only friends left, one of the only people left who could stand being around the foul-mouthed hot tempered, sardonic immortal these days.

No, her friend simply looked down at the singed folder in her grasp.

"Aren't you a little bit curious?"

Curious? Yes, Hemlock was fuckin' curious. Blindsided by how she had been born in the first place, vampire's, to Wizarding knowledge, couldn't bloody procreate. Shocked that the Unspeakables that had taken her had made any records to be found to begin with. Outraged at those who knew, at those long gone, Remus, Sirius, Albus, who had clearly known and had never said a Merlin damned word and-

Hemlock shrugged and carelessly grinned.

She would never tell anyone that.

"What I am is hungry. What do you fancy tonight? Thai? Chinese? Indian? I'm feeling something liquid with a bite. My treat."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You're not fooling me with your devil-may-care act, 'Lock. This… This couldn't have been easy to stumble across."

Hemlock huffed.

"You're such a wet blanket sometimes. I offer free drinks and you want to play therapist. There's no hope for some people."

Hemlock went to leave again, but not before Hermione got one last shot in.

"You can't run from this, Hemlock! You can't mock your way out of every emotionally unpleasant situation!"

Turning on her heel, Hemlock threw her arms out wide and winked.

"Watch me!"

And then she disappeared around a corner.

Drink.

Lots and Lots of drink.

A.N: Clickety-clack, bish, I'm back on my train of bullshit! Next stop coming up; Mikaelson Thirst station.

So, as you can see, I may have fallen down a rabbit hole that I have no intention of climbing out of. Long story short, I got ill, binged watched Originals, and one of my other dear readers asked if I had watched Vampire Diaries. That lead to me spending the next few days tumbling down into an ungodly mess of Dorito dust and Netflix. And here we are!

This will be told through a series of 500 to 1000 word drabbles, because I have more fun with drabbles, write them quicker, and just produce better when in smaller form.

In all seriousness, I hope you all liked this! It's all meant in good fun, and I hope that is what you had when you read this. As always, if you have a spare moment, don't forget to drop a review.

P.S: For those who ask where I find/get cover photo's, this one is actually a face-app genderbent Ian Somerhalder. Ay, Harry's meant to look like his dad after all lol, and Ian Somerhalder is astronomically beautiful no matter what. I'm kind of jealous.