More Than Magic

Olivia Middleton's POV

It's the next morning after everyone's left for their break. For the first time in what feels like forever, I wake up without the pressure of classes, schedules, or sneaking around after curfew. No rules. No rush. Just... summer break.

Still, I've been summoned to Dumbledore's office first thing. Not ominous at all.

I go through my usual morning routine, trying to ignore the weird mix of nerves and curiosity brewing in my stomach. When I head down to the Great Hall for breakfast, I freeze in the doorway.

There are already four other students sitting at one end of the Gryffindor table. All of them look older—definitely third or fourth years. "Heyo! Olivia! Come sit here!" one of the guys calls out, waving dramatically. I walk over slowly, still groggy from sleep, and spot a house-elf beside the table. He gives me a little bow.

"Good morning, ma'am. Now, what would you all like for breakfast?" The others start rattling off their orders like they've done this before. I just ask for an omelet with chopped veggies, toast, and some tea. The elf nods once, snaps his fingers, and vanishes with a pop.

"So," one of the guys says with the softest smile I've ever seen, "I assume introductions are in order?"

"Alright," he continues, flashing a grin. "I'm Christopher Wallace—but please, call me Chris. 'Christopher' makes me sound like a ninety-year-old professor. I'm a fourth year. Slytherin. And no, before you ask, I'm not like the other Slytherins. I'm nice. I'm humble. I'm basically a saint. Honestly, I think the hat might've glitched." He sticks his hand out and I shake it, trying not to laugh.

Another boy rolls his eyes. "You are old, at least among us. And stop flattering yourself, Chris." He turns to me. "Hi, I'm Joel Wilson, but everyone calls me Jo. Third year, Hufflepuff." I shake his hand too. He's got that calm, grounded Hufflepuff vibe.

"Hi!" a girl says brightly. "I'm Catherine Harris—but please, call me Cat. I'm a third year too. Also a Hufflepuff." She wraps me in a surprise hug, and I stand there frozen for a second before she pulls back. "Oh, and by the way—I'm a hugger." She giggles, and I find myself smiling without meaning to.

"And lastly," says the guy at the end, "I'm Rafael Lopez. I'm in your Charms class, if you remember. It's okay if you don't—I mean, considering you're kind of famous and all—"

"Oh my God, no," I interrupt, laughing. "Yes, of course I remember you. Ravenclaw, right? And please, I am not famous. That's Harry. I'm just... attached to the chaos." I shake his hand and wink.

When things settle, I finally speak up. "Alright, now that the intros are done—I'm Olivia Middleton, Gryffindor, now officially a second year. And... I just want to say I'm sorry you all have to stay here over summer just to help me figure out who I am."

Chris waves a hand like I just said the most ridiculous thing ever. "Ohh, nonsense. Chin up, darling. We're always ready to help. And hey—we get to do magic for an extra month. Who's really losing here?"

His grin is infectious, and I feel something loosen in my chest. "So, where do you have to be now?" Cat asks, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "Dumbledore's office. He's summoned me," I say, making air quotes dramatically.

"Good," Rafael says, standing up. "We're headed there too."

After breakfast, the five of us head to Dumbledore's office together. When we arrive, all the professors are already there, waiting. The air feels heavier than usual—like something important is about to happen.

"Ahh, please have a seat," Dumbledore says kindly, gesturing to a line of chairs facing his desk.

There are five chairs in a row. I end up in the middle, with Cat and Jo on my right, Rafael and Chris on my left. It's a little intimidating, sitting across from so many professors, but I try not to show it.

"Alright, Olivia," Dumbledore begins, folding his hands. "Tell us—what odd things have been happening to you?"

So I do.

I tell them everything, right from the beginning. About the owl showing up out of nowhere. About the strange pull I felt at Ollivander's. About the troll in the dungeon. Fluffy. The fire. And finally... my arm.

They listen patiently—but strangely, no one comments on the arm part. Like they already knew. Like they're not even surprised. Which only makes my stomach twist harder.

Dumbledore leans forward slightly, his eyes twinkling with something unreadable. "To my knowledge, Olivia, based on what you've just told us... you are what's known as an esprit de vie—which literally means 'life spirit.'"

My heart skips a beat.

He continues, "You have the ability to help people recover their life. Even when death has already occurred. You're the only one of your kind... except for another, roughly thirty years ago. But that's not important." He pauses. "Let me ask you, my child—after you saved that owl's life, did anything unusual happen to you? Any weakness? Uncertainty?"

I don't answer right away.

Because—what? A life spirit? Bringing people back from the dead? That sounds... impossible. Unreal. Honestly, it sounds like something out of a myth, not something I could be.

I feel like I'm spinning, the floor tilting beneath me. A million thoughts crash into each other in my head, and I completely zone out—until Rafael gently taps my shoulder. I blink and realize Dumbledore is still watching me, waiting for an answer.

"Um—no, sir," I say quickly. "Nothing like that. Just... well, it's the same owl I have now. Nyra."

Dumbledore nods. "Well, there's still much we don't know about your abilities. While I search the library for more information, the professors here will begin training you."

"I can take Defense Against the Dark Arts," Snape says flatly. "Alright, Severus," Dumbledore nods, then turns to McGonagall. She looks at me, her expression softer than usual. "I'll handle Transfiguration."

"I can take Charms and Apparition," Flitwick says cheerfully. "And I'll teach Herbology," Professor Sprout adds with a smile.

Dumbledore looks back at me, his tone suddenly sharper. "Now Olivia, this training will be practical—no theory. You'll still study as a normal student once the term resumes. No one is to know about this except for the people in this room. Do you understand?"

His usual warmth is gone. There's authority in his voice now—a warning. I swallow hard and nod. "Yes, Professor." He leans back slightly. "As today is your first, you are excused. Enjoy it with—what I believe I can now call—your new friends. Training begins tomorrow."

We all rise from our seats, and one by one, file out of the office.

I don't know what tomorrow holds. But I do know this: 

My life is never going to be normal again.

We sit outside the Great Hall for what feels like hours, just talking—about our lives, our dreams, what we want to become or do after Hogwarts... and everything in between. That's when I learn something unexpected. I'm not the only one here with something different about them.

Cat, it turns out, is a Metamorphmagus—she can change her appearance at will. Jo's an Animagus. He can shift into a golden retriever, which honestly fits his entire vibe. Chris? He's a Parselmouth. Yeah—he can talk to snakes. And Rafael... well, he doesn't have any extra powers. At least, not like that. He's just a regular wizard. But he's sharp, really sharp. An orphan, like Harry. Voldemort killed his parents too.

He's quick-witted, polite, and probably the neatest-looking person I've ever seen. His black hair sits perfectly, always combed back like it's meant to be there. His eyes are deep green—like a dense forest—and he's tall for his age. And that smile? Merlin. All teeth, a dimple on the right side, and just... stupidly cute.

Since we're the only students left in the castle, we decide we should stick together—share one house. Dumbledore doesn't see any harm in it, so we move into the Slytherin Common Room. Chris is the eldest, and he knows his way around the dungeons like the back of his hand.

That whole day feels like something out of a dream. We talk, laugh, eat, and even play wizard chess—which, for the record, I'm horrible at. We wander around the castle without worrying about curfews or Prefects or classes.

The Astronomy Tower becomes my favorite spot. The view up there is breathtaking. I could sit for hours just staring at the stars. Rafael doesn't agree, of course—he insists Ravenclaw Tower has the better view. (He's wrong, obviously.)

The next morning, my real journey begins.

My first class—if you can even call it that—is with Professor Snape. We meet out on the grounds. He says we're practicing defense spells, and I honestly don't understand why. I mean, Hogwarts is safe, right? And outside Hogwarts, we're not even allowed to use magic. So what's the point?

Still, I don't ask questions.

Snape is... different when he's teaching me one-on-one. Not cold. Not rude. In fact, he's—dare I say it—kind. Patient, even. Which completely throws me off. He usually walks around looking like he wants to murder someone, but with me? He's... calm. Gentle. Why?

We begin with simple spells. He flicks his wand, sends something flying at me—and instinctively, I block it.

Wait. I block it.

I haven't even been taught how to do that. My eyes go wide. Snape doesn't react much, just notes it down in this little leather-bound book he carries. Every time I block another spell, he scribbles something new.

Then, without warning, he creates a small fire around me.

"Get out of it," he says calmly. "No wand. No spell." I stare at him. "Without anything?"

"You can do it," he says, eyes steady. "Think about what you want."

So I do. I think. Hard. I picture the flames stopping. Melting. Turning cold.

And just like that... the fire freezes. Solid. Like delicate red ice cracking apart at my feet.

I step out.

Snape doesn't say anything. But for the first time, I swear I see a flicker of pride in his eyes. And that? That's worth more than any praise.

Professor McGonagall arrives next. We move on to Transfiguration—first objects, then people. She tells me to try transforming her. I hesitate, but... it works. Like magic flowing naturally through me. Like I was born for it.

Jo and Cat show up a little while later to watch. "Now try turning into an object or animal yourself," McGonagall says. I try. And fail. Again and again. Jo leans in. "Think about what you want to become. Picture it clearly." I do. But nothing happens. Not even a twitch.

Professor McGonagall calls it for the day. "You'll get there," she assures me.

The next day is full of Charms and Apparition. Those come easier—almost too easy. But Transfiguration? Still hard. Still frustrating.

Days pass like this. Training, studying, more training. Slowly, I begin to master things no second-year should even know about. I learn advanced spells, jinxes, hexes—even Parseltongue. Transfiguration eventually clicks. And to top it all off, I'm the only student witch at Hogwarts right now who can do wandless magic.

Wandless.

Magic.

At this point, I should feel proud, right? Powerful?

But all I feel is... overwhelmed.

I'm a Muggle-born. I shouldn't be able to do any of this. Not at this level. Not so fast. Not so... easily.

So why can I?

Who—what—am I really?

And why do I feel like the answers are only getting further away?