Her Power | Discontinued

1. Orphanage

A/N - Quick thing, this is my first story, so don't be too mean please, i do welcome constructive criticism, and if you have any questions, comment them and will try to respond the best I can, also most of these are unedited as my attention span is way to small to be going over these, plus I simply don't have the time to do such things. (do what you will with that info). Also this is under some sort of thing as i am changing the plot.

Olivia was always a troublesome young girl. At least, to Mrs. Cole she was.

In all the years Nancy Cole worked at Wool's Orphanage, she'd say that only two occupants managed to make her rethink how much she valued her retirement benefits. She was not unkind, but she was strict and did not tolerate any kind of nonsense. Olivia was full of nonsense.

Of course, she'd have to admit that Olivia was preferred to The Boy.

No matter how much Mrs. Cole begged Professor Albus Dumbledore, the man refused to take The Boy forever. Each summer he'd return to Wool's Orphanage, and each summer he upset the other children, until he turned sixteen, and he disappeared for good. After that she, the head of Wool's Orphanage, had decades of peace.

Then along came Olivia.

Nancy was not a superstitious person by nature. She didn't believe in ghosts or vampires or any of that nonsense, but she truly believed that Olivia had something off about her. She had a near undetectable vibe of dark roots. The other children complained of her, and Mrs. Cole had to disrupt many fights between Olivia and the others over the years- and yet, she was the second child ever invited to Mr. Dumbledore's mysterious academy.

"I don't know why you insist on the children you come for," the old woman said, and she stopped with her hand on the railing, huffing. She and Dumbledore had both aged wildly over the past fifty years and yet it seemed as though she was the only one feeling the effects. Dumbledore waited patiently for her to catch her breath. "She's a bad one," Mrs. Cole continued her pace up the stairs. "Just like the last one you took."

"Perhaps," Albus hummed as he was also confused on how this girl had survived. "But perhaps not. Tell me, Mrs. Cole, are there any concerns I should be aware of?"

Mrs. Cole sniffed. "Well, she's no Tom Riddle, but when she wants she can be worse; she's out of control! She leaves her bedsheets tied to the rafters, I've no idea how she gets them up there and she steals knives from the kitchen! She carves into her bedposts to the point where we've gotten her a metal frame instead. She makes Lexy Laurensome go spitting man, and a few years ago a man came to adopt her- said his name was along the lines of Blaise as well, her middle name- and she disappeared for three weeks! Disappeared! Oh, Mr. Dumbledore, we had the whole of London looking for her. And then she shows up at breakfast without a scratch on her! Wouldn't even tell us where she'd gone off to!"

Albus gazed at Mrs. Cole over his crescent-moon spectacles. It was rare that he personally visited wizards, but the circumstances here called for urgency. Wool's Orphanage was similar to Azkaban in the way that he could feel the sorrow moving through the air, clinging to his bones. He was trying not to make assumptions, but every time he thought of the convict's child, he thought of one far worse.

He pictured a young girl with cruel, piercing grey eyes and a wardrobe full of stolen goods: a young girl with sleek, black hair; a young girl who was the picture of evil; that is if she had broken the glamour he placed upon her when she was just a babe, and by the sounds of it she had. The matron stood before him had informed him on how her eyes seemed to change, from their Lavender colour, so warm and filled with live, becomes red, or a colder version of the former; instead of being filled with live, they looked as if death himself had washed over them, and she had said, 'The temperature seemed to drop when they come out, and if she seeming wants something, than nothing can get in her way, we have tried, very unsuccessfully.'