It was clear by now that if she wanted to kill the young Voldemort she'd have to find some way to get rid of the false doctrine that he had already begun to fill his followers' heads with. Obviously, she couldn't kill them – if she did she would be no better than the man that had poisoned their minds to begin with. No, she'd have to do something different – something crafty. Perhaps she could obliviate their memories? Filling their brains with false memories didn't seem like a terrible idea…
But the first step to the downfall of Voldemort would be taken in a much more subtle direction; she'd have to win his followers' trust. In fact…
"Having fun, mudblood?"
Johanna glanced up from her bed, quirking a brow at the sudden arrival of Walburga the Witch.
Or Walburga the Bitch, whichever you preferred, really.
"Are you having fun, Walburga?"
Instead of answering the question, Walburga asked another one of her own, "What're you writing? Letters to your muggle mummy and daddy back home?"
"I'm actually plotting your death. I was thinking of Rackharrow's entrail expelling curse. Doesn't that sound lovely?"
Walburga laughed, the sound high-pitched and cold against the stone walls of their dormitory.
"I'd like to see you try."
Johanna would've like to see herself try as well, however she wasn't foolish enough to paint their room Black. Walburga could wait. She wasn't a threat; she was a nuisance.
And a very bothersome one at that.
Walburga Black had entered stage right, with a flourish, the night before while Johanna was introducing herself to her new roommates. The first thing she said flew out of her mouth in a series of drawling words and haughty intonations, parading around the room in a way quite similar to Walburga's own strutting.
It is important to note that Walburga strut. She never walked to and fro, nor did she stomp or storm or glide or traipse or run. It could be argued that she paraded, pranced, or perhaps prowled; however, it can be said without a doubt, that Walburga Black strutted like some sort of glorified peacock.
"You seem to be in good spirits, Walburga." Johanna noted. And this was true. The night before Walburga had been too upset to make more than the passive comment about Johanna's ancestry. Today though, she seemed rather keen on hanging around.
In actuality, Johanna was not muggle-born (though, as correctly pointed out by Walburga, McDonnel was not a wizard surname); however she had neither the patience nor desire to argue the point otherwise. Walburga was what one would call intolerant, bigoted, and prejudiced. Johanna, for instance, harbored the personal belief that Walburga's vagina was wider than her mind would ever be.
"I am in very good spirits, how nice of you to notice," Walburga remarked, sinking into her own four-poster that lay a safe distance (two beds) away from Johanna's own. "Dear Atticus just apologized about yesterday, said it was a gross and terribly misfortunate understanding between the two of us."
Ah yes, Dear Atticus, the current subject of Walburga's affections. Potential suitor. Pretentious Prick. And most importantly, a Malfoy.
From what Johanna had heard (for she still had yet to meet him), they'd be a perfect match. Both dealt in the same currency: blood and galleons.
Johanna returned her attention to the notebook she was writing in, although she was tactful enough to keep up the conversation. "What sort of misunderstanding?"
"Apparently my silly owl was delivering the letters to the wrong address. And his family owl had an injured wing, so poor Hermes was in no condition to be delivering or receiving letters, much less packages," Walburga explained. "But he made it up today by giving me this gorgeous brooch; which, can you believe it, is family heirloom!"
"Wow, he's practically proposing," Johanna remarked, not bothering to spare Walburga a glance.
"Who's practically proposing?" A third voice, belonging to none other than Eleanor Burke chimed in.
"Malfoy," Johanna stated, and if she would've looked up she would've seen Walburga turn positively pink.
"You have to promise not to tell anyone!" Walburga blurted. "I wouldn't want anything to be spread around."
Eleanor, a squat girl whose primary source of nutrition was found in various forms of pork, made a noise somewhere between a snort and a piggy little squeal. "You know I would never tell a soul."
Walburga did not know, nor did she believe what Eleanor had said. But she let it go. She was all civility and decorum, manners and face. Lies.
Not that Johanna was much better at the moment.
Johanna decided to escape to somewhere quieter to work on her 'planning' and History of Magic homework, naturally.
The common room had mostly cleared by eleven-o-clock. The only remaining stragglers were a few sixth and seventh years, still catching up with one another after the months spent apart. Johanna settled herself into one of the plush chairs that sat near a fireplace.
The Slytherin dormitories were, as many already know, in the Hogwarts dungeons. Many people believe that this is because all Slytherins are inherently evil and belong in a place where evil acts, such as torture, take place. This belief is unfounded. The true reason that Slytherin House makes it home in the dungeon is because it is the largest area Salazar could find available – complete with towering ceilings and gaping windows.
You'll find that the space is something valued by Slytherins as a whole.
The common room has two levels, the upper floor home to the only aboveground windows existent within the dungeon. Underneath almost every window lies a plant, positioned to receive optimal sunlight. Generally populated by flowers, but also filled with the occasional herb. Vases and pots overflowed with the creamy blossoms of asphodel and pepperup pink belladonna. Planters bloomed with amaranth shades of hellebore. Sprigs of aconite and pots of daisies twirled around the walls. Basins spilled over with the vermillion blossoms of the valerian plant.
These were the children of the potions master, and Horace Slughorn obtaining enough ingredients for seven years of students took more than just a few greenhouses.
What space windows and flowers don't cover, bookshelves did – great, towering shelves that stretched up the expanse of the wall. Shelves filled with fiction and nonfiction and textbooks and manuals and journals and handbooks and essays and anything any student could've hoped to find (many with a racial or prejudiced twist).
A large portrait of Salazar Slytherin himself hung over the landing between the two levels. On this particular painting, he donned a poorly drawn and painfully graphitied moustache, a long-maintained, bespoke Slytherin tradition that served as a way to break in the new school year. It would be gone by the morrow. Even house-elves, the creatures undoubtedly abused by the man, had no intention of defaming the man's portrait.
The entire lower level of the Slytherin common room was submerged underneath the surface of the lake, and large windows, spelled to insulate against the frigid temperature of the water, covered the walls. Because of this, the light that filtered in typically maintained a mildly green tint. However in no way was the entire room turned green as a result of a few windows. In fact, the only green distinctly visible in the common room was that of the drapes that hung in various places on the walls or the furniture that decorated the area.
There were two fireplaces located on the lower level of the commons, made of white marble and granite, and complete with a formidable mantle. Just above each mantle hung a framed copy of the Slytherin house rules, and as far as Johanna knew, none of these rules had been bothered to be altered since the 18th century.
An assortment of black and green couches and the occasional armchair or two were strategically placed throughout the common. Lovingly worn, hand woven rugs decorated the floor. Impressive tapestries hung in various positions along the wall, each one depicting the valiant acts of some Slytherin hero or another. Johanna's favorite was the one to the left of the girl's dormitories that illustrated Merlin and the Lady of the Lake in almost painstaking detail.
However the most impressive feature and undoubtedly one of the best-kept secrets of Slytherin house was the Room of Glass.
Constructed in the mid 19th century (so still fairly recent in Johanna's new time), the Room of Glass was originally proposed by celebrated Hogwarts Headmaster Everard Rowle, a Slytherin himself. He knew of the merfolk living within the lake at this time and found it as both an opportunity for diplomacy between wizard and merkind, as well as a chance to further pursue aquatic magical studies.
As the name would suggest, the walls, ceiling, and floor were all constructed with a magically fortified and structurally strengthened variety of two-way glass. The room was rather small in comparison to the size of the common room, however, there was still enough space to fit in multiple couches, as well as several armchairs, and a couple of tables.
Throughout the course of the day, the giant squid would make several loops around the dungeon, and pay particular attention the Room of Glass. Many aquatic species (both foe and friend alike) would visit throughout the day. However, of all the visitors, the merfolk had to be the most enjoyable. In Johanna's original school years, many of the Slytherin students would communicate through a form of sign language, though Johanna had never gone too far out of her way to talk with the creatures and had poor memory of the sign language she had learnt. She also doubted that it would work in this time period. Dumbledore seemed to be part of the reason that merfolk and wizardkind were on such good terms in the first place.
And aside from that, her close friend Elizabeth had once told her a terrible story about the horrific dating advice that the merfolk tended to give (they were lovers of romance and drama, after all).
So she decided to stay in the common room, in front of the familiar fireplace while she did her work. She didn't like the trapped feeling the Room of Glass gave her anyway; like she was a fish in a fishbowl, or some zoo animal to be observed by the outside world.
Someone at the other end of the common room coughed.
Johanna started, the notebook in her hands abruptly falling to the ground. The stranger glanced at her for a moment before returning his gaze to the papers sprawled out in front of him. Johanna snatched up her book.
In the present, her plan wasn't devised of stages; it consisted of notes. At the top of the first page, written under the scrawling words 'To Do:' was a rather heavy heading; Kill Voldemort. A list was jotted down beneath, a scattered series of thoughts and musings that she'd spent the night gathering together.
Slughorn
Quidditch
Cronies
o Lestrange
o Malfoy?
o Avery?
o Walburga?
A note was scratched underneath the names: ask Alphard.
Of course, Johanna had yet to have the chance to speak with Alphard in regards to Voldemort's gang (which she knew existed, although she didn't know who exactly was involved). She planned on doing it within the following weeks after she got to know him a bit better.
The gang was, what Johanna considered, one of the more serious problems. Perhaps as serious as young Voldemort himself. And she knew that simply killing Riddle wouldn't solve all of her, and future wizards, problems (although it would take care of many). He'd already planted the seeds for a movement, and more likely than not, the reign of the death eaters was going to happen. The evil and the potential were both there, and if not expressed through Voldemort's acts of tyranny, it would be expressed through someone else. Most likely someone from Riddle's own gang.
Unless, of course, she were able to turn them against him.
It wouldn't be hard. All she'd need to do is gain their trust. That was where Slughorn came in. If she could just secure herself an invitation to the slug club, then she wouldn't have to go through Voldemort to get at his friends.
The details were still being worked out as she went along, but it wouldn't be hard to coerce the boys into betrayal. They'd follow whoever they saw more powerful, and with a little bit of manipulation, a convincing speech, and a well-placed confundus charm, Johanna doubted she would have any problem winning their loyalty (at least for a short period of time). And once they learnt of Voldemort's death, they would have no choice but to follow her lead.
Lead them she would. Directly into a world free of war and prejudice. A world stripped of bigotry directed at muggleborns and non-wizard, part-humans. A world without a corrupt Ministry. A world where children would never hear the word mudblood.
Or she'd at least give them a strong shove in the right direction. Offering to lead them did sound a bit cliché, and not to mention ironic…
She'd work out the more troublesome details later. For now, she'd need to focus on the task at hand.
Quidditch.