Full Summary: Hemlock Potter was simply trying to live her best life and run her flower shop, Pushing Up Daisies, in quiet and calm New Orleans when the Originals rolled into town searching for their Soul-Bonded. She, of course, has no clue what that is, but between Marks, Vampires, Witches and sarcastic redheads, she might have just found a place to call home. Fem!Harry/Kol/Klaus/Elijah/Rebekah. F/M & F/F.
Prologue:
The Bud That Survived The Winter.
Kol Mikaelson
1994
The first mark Kol Mikaelson receives comes in the fall of 1994. Living as long as he had, being the vampire that he was, having the witches' blood he did, one would assume he would have had one appear long, long, long ago.
He didn't, and Kol didn't consider what that could mean.
Not when he was nine, living in timber camps speaking old Norse fighting against fierce winters, or when his brother Henrik was slain and he spent hours cradling the corpse, or, perhaps, even when Mikael killed him, and he woke up dead.
Not the typical life experience of a mortal, but then again, Kol had not been mortal for an age and a half.
He was lucky, however.
Out of all his siblings, Kol was fastest, and most importantly, wily.
He survives.
It is what he does best.
He survives being turned into one of the first vampires, he survives being hunted by his father, and he survives time itself, sees cities rise and fall, civilisations crash and burn, watches trains being invented and miracles made mundane, and-
And he does not survive Klaus.
Not really.
In 1914, Kol's brother puts a dagger in his heart, shoves him into a coffin, and he does not see sunlight for decades.
He also misses the year the soul-mark first appears.
Kol's siblings do too.
No one knows when it came, a stain upon his brow, dark like spilled wine, in the shape of a lightning bolt.
It's simply there when he is awakened, and it's Rebekah that points it out.
"Have you looked in the mirror lately? Might want to put some concealer on that before Klaus sees it."
He takes a glimpse in the nearest vanity, which in a house decorated by Klaus and Rebekah that wasn't very far, and he stops short.
He knew what it was.
Of course he did.
He just… Had not expected one to appear after all this time.
A Soul-Bond.
Somewhere out there, in this cruel, cruel world, was another carrying the same mark, a scar for them, who would, from that day, bear his pains too in blood-coloured stains.
As he said, it was a cruel world.
Kol does nothing, however.
Klaus was on the war path, the only road his brother ever walked, had a doppleganger in his grasp, and Mikael was closing in, and-
And surviving is what Kol did best.
His soulmate would too.
It was best to keep them, whoever they were, far away from this ungodly mess.
For the time being, of course.
For if surviving what Kol did best, then being altruistic is what he did worst. His Soul-Bond was out there somewhere, walking, talking, breathing, living. He would find them.
Eventually.
Rebekah Mikaelson
2006
It looked like a fang mark. Circular, cutting, big. Like Kol, it appeared while she was sleeping the living death locked in her coffin. Unlike Kol, however, hers was easier to hide.
And Rebekah does hide it.
In a long-sleeved shirt, in bandages, in leather jackets and cardigans, the marked skin of her forearm is blocked away from the world.
From Mikael.
And Klaus.
And Elijah.
And Kol.
And Finn.
Undeniably, unlike Mikael, Rebekah doesn't think her siblings, in any form of retaliation, as far as their family took revenge at times, would seek out her Soul-Bond and cause harm to hurt her.
Even they have some lines they do not cross, as rare as those were.
She hides it because… Well, because, for once, something is hers. Only hers. So she keeps it bound, and she keeps it hidden, and she keeps it solely hers for a little while longer.
She does wonder, nonetheless.
What caused the circle mark, dark port against the pale skin of her arm?
How hurt her Bonded must have been, for it was a very large mark, a very large scar, and-
And they had survived.
They must have.
As rare as Bonded's were, especially for vampires with their extended lifespan, Rebekah would have felt it if they had slipped from this world to another.
Sometimes, however, Rebekah does dream.
She sits up until early dawn in her room with Chopin dancing in the air, and she runs a thumb over the blot. She could run off, run and find them, run and find them and they could live in Paris, and visit Malan, and she could show them the world, all of it, forever, and-
And she would never be alone again.
Alone and lost.
Of course, Rebekah does not run, and by morning the mark is bound anew.
It was just a dream.
One day, she tells herself.
One day would have to be good enough.
Klaus Mikaelson
2009
Klaus is alone when his first mark appears. For this he was thankful.
The mark itself, however, left him anything but.
He was in his studio, painting, struck with vermillion and cerulean, and a church on fire, when the itching started in his hand.
He brushed it off in the beginning.
Literally.
A swift wipe against the back of his hand with a paint smudged rag, and he was back to canvas and shade, and a few blissful moments when he could breathe.
That was art for Klaus Mikaelson. A chance to breathe. A chance to not think. A chance to feel and be free.
Then the burning came.
Hot-fierce fire below his skin.
The paintbrush clattered to the floor, rolled behind the easel, forgotten.
A growl.
A grip.
He watched as the mark formed.
A scar-
Words.
I must not tell lies.
He does not know what to think in that moment.
He, for once, does not know what to do.
It had been so long. A thousand years and more.
If he were Soul-Bonded, surely it would have been in his human years, far away and long ago, perhaps when, as most would argue, he had a soul, and-
I must not tell lies.
Someone in this world, right then, had burrowed that deep into their skin. Not by choice, Klaus thinks.
Scars are never by choice.
And that angers him.
Klaus was never one to control his emotions, even the petty ones, and the rage comes scorching and brutal and untameable.
A bit like himself, in truth.
The painting does not survive his anger.
Neither does his easel. Or the flower vase on the table, or the chesterfield chair, or himself, certainly.
In the end, he sits in his own mess, haggard, breathless, mind whirling, everything he had been trying to run from.
The mark stares back at him from his own hand, and he was bound.
He knows what that's like.
To have scars given.
He does not like the thought his Soul-Bond would know that too.
They would not again, Klaus thinks.
He would find them first, before the next mark could come.
Elijah Mikaelson
2010
Elijah rips his suit when his mark comes. Tears his oxford shirt and Tom Ford blazer right in half. Regrettably for him, the entire family is there to witness it, passing pleasant half meant threats over a thinly veiled toast at one of their, this time fortunately, private dinners.
The burning came somewhere between Kol's eye roll and Klaus's snarl.
Right in his sternum.
It burned worse than vervain.
Worse than the white oak stake.
Worse than anything he had ever felt before.
Like someone had diluted hellfire and poured it right upon his skin.
It was one of the only times Elijah had ever screamed.
It was also his favourite suit he ruined while scrabbling to rip it off, to get to the skin, to claw away the pain as he slipped from his chair onto his knees, and yelled.
The mark itself sat where a pendant might have, oval in shape, and bright scarlet.
The colour of it is not lost on him.
Neither was it lost on Klaus, or Kol, or Rebekah.
The mark of a dark scar.
A Magic scar.
Wherever his Soul-Bond was, they had just been under a curse by very strong, very dark magic.
And as the burning settled, as the scarlet faded to wine, they must have survived it too.
Three months later, however, the Mikaelsons did not.
No one, least of all Elijah, knew what was happening in the beginning.
One moment he was walking from the solar to the kitchen, on his phone to one of his contacts in the Magical Congress of the United States of America, passing Rebekah on the lounge, when-
When, well, he dropped down dead.
Rebekah too.
Klaus slumped over his drawing journal.
Kol in the shower.
Dead.
When they awoke, minutes later, half hour perhaps, they all had the same mark.
Just one.
A burst of green right over the heart. A supernova star.
That was when the pieces fell into place.
There would be only one reason they would all bare the same mark.
Only one reason they had all simultaneously died.
Only one reason the mark itself would be green.
They had the same Soul-Bond. The same Soul-Bond that had, just as they had, died, murdered, by the colour of the killing curse now etched upon their chests, and, who, against the odds, from what Elijah knew of that sort of magic, had survived.
There was simply one thing for it.
They needed to find them.
And fast.
Possible Next Chapter: The Originals do not, in fact, find their Soul Bonded fast. Seven Years have past since that fateful day, and many things have changed, such as moving to New Orleans where a certain Florist has set up shop…
A.N: It's nearly 2 am where I live, and I have just finished binging the Originals season one, and here we are folks! Was this needed? No. Is this in any way totally original? Nope! Did anyone ask for this? Definitely not. Yet, I want a feel-good fic, and if I can't self-indulge sometimes what's the point lol.
Take this short prologue as me dipping my toe into the waters to see if there's any bite. If this does continue, there will be F/F included, for Rebekah and Hemlock, and F/M for the Mikaelson Brothers, but there will be no incest. None.
Either way, I hope you all found something to smile about in this little taster. If you have a moment, don't forget to drop a review! And I will hopefully see you all soon!
