"Waff fat?"
Johanna raised an eyebrow at Alphard, who was currently trying to speak through a sizeable mouthful of blueberry muffin.
"What?" She asked.
Alphard tried again, "I sehd woffs hat."
Johanna laughed as he motioned to the slip of paper lying underneath her bowl of porridge.
"Honestly, Alphard, could you at least try not to speak with your mouth open?" Hera chided. Of course reprimand bounced off of Alphard as if he was a trampoline.
Johanna extended the paper out to Alphard, who swallowed and wiped his fingers on his robes before snatching it up from her.
Almost immediately he blurted, "You're going out for Quidditch?"
Rosaline seemed just as surprised.
"Really?" She exclaimed.
"Yes I am going out for Quidditch," Johanna replied, pausing to take a frustrated sip of orange juice, "Why is that so shocking?"
"We haven't had a girl on the Quidditch team in ages. Ages, Johanna."
Johanna raised her brow, "And?"
"And the guys currently on the team aren't going to want to change things anytime soon," Alphard conceded. "Really, I would love for you to be-"
"Personally, I'd love to see her make the team." Rosaline remarked, a thoughtful expression playing across her soft features as she glanced over Alphard's shoulder at the flyer he held. "Someone needs to put them in their place."
"Good point, Rose," Johanna remarked, earning a smile from the woman she'd addressed."
Alphard grabbed another muffin with his stray hand, "I'm not saying that she shouldn't try out. I was just giving her a heads up so she'd at least know what she was getting herself into."
Johanna flashed him a smirk.
"I'm afraid I won't be in need of a heads up, Alphie. Anything those boys can do, I can do better," she announced, snatching the paper from his hands. "Now if you'll excuse me; I don't want to be late to charms."
Rose waved at her receding figure. Alphard scowled. No one in the Great Hall noticed.
Johanna was at the Charms classroom within a matter of minutes, twenty minutes, in fact, before she'd need to be there. But she'd made a magnificent exit in the Great Hall, and it wasn't like she had any plans of going back to spoil it. With a great sigh she entered the vacant classroom, throwing her things atop a desk and leaning against the furniture.
It was somewhat harrowing to be in the classroom alone, especially for so long. The only sound being that of her own thoughts, and the magical clock that hung on the wall – and
And someone shouting.
Johanna's head popped out of the classroom.
She had heard correctly then, distorted voices echoed from somewhere adjacent to the hall she stood in. The noise rose in volume as it went on, and Johanna imagined that whoever was speaking was getting louder and louder. If she could only get a little closer then maybe…
No. She shouldn't. It was probably just a ghost anyway. Maybe a Hogwarts couple getting into a fight somewhere they considered private.
But a part of her, a very large part, demanded that she at least investigate a bit. It couldn't hurt could it? And besides if they'd wanted to keep her out they surely would've been smart enough to place and imperturbable charm on the door?
She headed straight for the sound.
Johanna had to turn left first, then right, until she reached the stretch of hallway that housed the room the voices were coming from. She pressed herself beside the adjacent wall, mere metres away from the cracked door that contained the speakers.
A defensive voice, low and distinctly male, met her ear first, "I'm sorry, alright?"
"Oh thank Merlin you're feeling apologetic over this, because you know for a second there I was worried that you might actually be content with inconveniencing me." A second voice snapped; the tone bitter and cold. Very familiar. Johanna threw up a shield charm on a whim. She was curious, but she wasn't stupid.
"Do you have any idea how hard it is to get your hands on Bottled Nundu Breath?" The first boy fired back, earning a scoff from someone else in the room.
It was the second boy; he spoke again, "It can't be any harder than acquiring some unicorn blood." He paused, "In fact, everything on the list I gave you shouldn't have been that hard to acquire. Yet I've still not to see any of it. Perhaps you're losing your touch, Flora."
There was a release of mirthless laughter that Johanna assumed came from the 'Flora' in question, for he spoke once more.
"Right then, you're just going to have to find someone else to get you that Nundu Breath. I'm done listening to you bitch when you know nothing of the market's current state. In case you hadn't noticed, we're going through a depression now. Grindelwald's got all the wizards bringing the goods to him. Maybe you should ask him."
"Was that a threat?" asked the second voice, the tone deathly soft. "Were you threatening me, Florence?"
He was met by silence.
"That's what I thought." He announced. "Because you see, Florence, I have a way of getting what I want. And I always get what I want. Understand?"
"Whatever you say, Voldemort." Florence snarled, spitting out the other boy's name in disgust.
Johanna almost let out a yelp of surprise.
Even more shocking were the footsteps that sounded out against the stone floor, moving towards the door – moving towards her.
"Muffliato," she hissed, waving her wand in the direction of the room and its inhabitants before taking off down the corridor.
She was in the charms classroom, seated amongst several other students who had already arrived, just seconds before Voldemort arrived along with another wave of students. Riddle himself looked healthily suspicious, and Johanna immediately began to wonder if he'd seen her.
No, he couldn't have. His body language was all wrong. He would've looked to her first, and the young Voldemort would've certainly had his anger and attention fixed on her. Instead he kept glancing around the room, as if concerned that someone had overheard their conversation.
The concern was well-merited, of course, because someone had.
His eyes landed on her.
Johanna smirked.
And for a small, fraction of a moment something seemed to dawn over him. Until his eyes were turning to the next spot in the room and other students slinked into the room.
At promptly 4 o'clock p.m., bedecked in her Quidditch robes, and with two galleons and a broomstick in her hands, Johanna McDonnel arrived at the Slytherin tryouts for the 1944-1945 team. It was a bit ironic, considering that thirty-some-odd years later, a much younger version herself would be taking her first steps out on the pitch.
Johanna found it best not to think about these things.
She paid the fee, the mere two galleons, to a first year hopeful that sat at the eastern entrance to the pitch. He smiled nervously at her, "They're in the locker room, Miss. The captain wanted to talk to the potential team before tryouts."
She nodded and strode off, arriving at the locker room within a matter of well-trodden seconds. The door smiled at her, welcoming her home with open arms. Johanna pushed it open.
Already assembled within the room were fourteen strapping young gentlemen, bedecked in shades of green, silver, and black, and all bearing a similar expression of surprise. She was disappointed to find that she was, in fact, the only female.
She was even more disappointed to discover that one of the strapping young gentlemen was the young Voldemort himself.
Quidditch was supposed to be a way for her to get close to his colleagues, not him. She hadn't even thought that he played Quidditch. He was the Head Boy for Merlin's sake. The Head Boy was bookish and pretentious and had no business being out on the Quidditch pitch, and yet here he was.
And then he was speaking.
"Are you here to try out for Quidditch?" He inquired.
She gave him a single, brisk nod. "Yes."
Riddle's mouth turned down at the corners, although something still remained alit inside his eyes. He observed her a silent moment before saying, "You're late."
Johanna was taken aback by his contemptuous tone.
"Excuse me?"
"I said you're late. You've already missed most of the chat I've been giving the boys about our team this year, and now it seems to me as though you're taking up some of our valuable time for try-outs," He remarked. "Please, do sit."
She sat, fumingly so.
"Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," Riddle continued, and Johanna met his eyes, noticing how they laughed at her. She clenched her fists and tried her hardest to still her features. It probably wasn't working, judging by how the amusement began to grow. "Our motto this year, lads, is two percent."
It took her longer than it should've, but it dawned over Johanna in that moment.
Riddle was the Captain.
She wanted to wring his filthy neck.
"What do ya' mean two percent?" asked a smaller boy.
"Well, Orion, if we work two percent harder every day than we did the day before, then we're bound to be outstanding by the end of the year. If we perform just two percent better than the other teams, we're scoring two percent more points, and in turn winning the house cup before they could've thought of winning it themselves," Riddle announced. "Because it's not about improving dramatically within one practice, as the other teams seem to think. It's about improving with time, because it takes patience, determination, and discipline to get better at something. You've got to be willing to work for what you want to win. And those not willing to work or comply with the standards presented here today, will of course be removed from the team. Now, anymore questions before we start warming up?"
There were no more questions.
The Captain led his potential players to the pitch, and after a couple minutes of stretching everyone was prepared to begin.
"We have enough players to scrimmage, so I'd like to try that first," Riddle announced after surveying the hopefuls before him. "Lestrange and Malfoy are captains. Pick your teams and we'll begin."
The Nott twins were snatched up first, one on each team. Garrow, Macmillan, and Prewett were next. Five others Johanna had never seen before. Then Orion Black. Last was Ignatius Yaxley, a rather peaky second year.
Johanna was not picked.
Her temper spiked as the two teams mounted their broomsticks and shot into the air.
"Over here, McDonnel. We wouldn't want you getting hit with a stray bludger, now would we?"
Johanna turned to stare at the man who'd spoken, Toerag Riddle. He was smiling at her, his teeth a dazzling white, but the smile did not reach his eyes. It was obvious enough that he was mocking her.
She returned his smile and walked to him, "Of course not."
He glanced at her once before returning his gaze to the pitch. Riddle grasped the whistle that hung round his neck and pressed it to his lips, blowing out a breath of air and starting the match. Malfoy rushed forward with the quaffle, passing it to a nearby chaser.
"I must admit; I'm quite surprised you showed up to try-outs," Riddle mused. "You must know we haven't had a woman on our team in oh… thirty years?"
Johanna bit back a laugh and said, "Well I doubt you ever will if you don't even let me try out."
Out of the corner of her eye she could see him quirk a brow.
"I can't help that my boys didn't chose you first."
"They didn't choose me at all," she retorted.
A laughing expression played across Riddle's features. "What, would you rather me encourage them to pity you? Pause the match and chide them for not being fair?"
"I would rather you not treat me like a child, thank you," Johanna snapped. Riddle scoffed.
"Then stop acting like one."
Why that absolute piece of-
Johanna clenched her fists and inhaled sharply. Riddle turned his attention to her, his eyes flashing – daring her to say something.
She didn't say a word. If Johanna would've voiced a single one of her thoughts; she knew without a doubt that any chances of her securing a position on the Slytherin team would've been ruined.
So she simply met his gaze, her grey eyes smoldering like ash and clashing brilliantly with the wicked sea-green of his own.
He grinned.
A piercing cry echoed through her ears, and Johanna didn't realize that the whistle was between Riddle's teeth before he was striding out onto the field, halting the game. The players fixed him with confused stares. Apparently Lestrange's team had been about to score a goal.
"Malfoy, McDonnel here is subbing in for you," Riddle called. "Apparently she thinks she's capable of captaining your team."
Oh how Johanna would've loved to shove her broomstick up his smug ass.
She didn't, of course, but the thought was able to calm her a bit.
"You think you can captain a team?" Malfoy blurted, dismounting beside Riddle on the thick pelt of grass.
"That's what she told me," Riddle added, knowing very well that Johanna had said nothing of the sort.
Malfoy released a humourless laugh.
"Please, she's just some dumb bitch," He sneered. "I doubt she can even fly a broom properly."
Johanna could feel the blood boiling beneath her skin. This great-grand-prick of Draco Malfoy had just earned himself the number two spot on Johanna McDonnel's hit list.
"Go fuck yourself, buddy," She snarled.
She was flying above his head before he could say another word, so of course Johanna missed the astonished look of the boys on the ground and creative string of insults that sprung forth from Malfoy's mouth. Instead she was focused on the rather confused group of Slytherin that hovered several stories above the ground.
Nott and Macmillan were the only ones that looked genuinely annoyed to see her there. She ignored it.
"What's the plan then, Captain?" A rather contemptuous, prepubescent snotrag of a boy asked.
"The plan is to win, obviously," Johanna replied. "We strike where they're weakest. So tell me, where do you think they're weakest at?"
"Their beaters," said the first of the Nott twins, though Johanna didn't know either of their names. "They've got terrible defence."
Johanna offered him a psuedosmile, "Correct. Their beaters are inexperienced. Lestrange is relying on his offense to win the scrimmage. That's why we have to strike even harder in the offensive area. Lestrange, you, me, and… who's the other Chaser?"
"Johnson."
"Right, you, me, and Johnson will be utilizing the Woollongong Shimmy and weaving in and out of Lestrange's own Chasers," Johanna announced. "Their defence is weak, and I expect that if we use a strong enough offence none of them will be able to react in time to stop our advance."
"Shouldn't we use a hawkshead formation then?" asked Macmillan. Johanna shook her head.
"No," She stated. "The hawkshead is intimidating, but it's not effective, at least not in this case. We need to divide and conquer, and by weaving we'll be able to split them apart and dive in." She paused, observing the young men before her. "That is if you can perform the Woollongong Shimmy. If you can't then obviously we'll have to-"
"Of course we can," Nott interrupted.
Johanna knit her brows together and spoke, "What about the Porskoff Ploy?"
"We can, but I don't think it'd be the wisest. Timing is key, and none of us have practiced together long enough for it to work properly."
"Good point," Johanna conceded. "Then we'll just have to reverse pass the quaffle a couple of times. It shouldn't be terribly hard."
"And what of the beaters?" Macmillan inquired.
"We're counting on you to fend off Lestrange's team as much as you can," Johanna ordered. "They've got a mean offence though, so it won't be easy."
"I like a challenge."
Johanna considered him for a moment. "Perhaps you should double beat?" She offered. He nodded.
"We might."
And then Macmillan was off, taking with him a younger beater.
"Right then," Nott said, "let's win this so I don't have to listen to Lestrange gloat later."
Johanna's team dispersed, and within a minute Riddle had blown the whistle from below.
Her team sprang into action.
After approximately twenty-five minutes and thirty-seven seconds the golden snitch was caught by Sebastian Prewett of Albert Lestrange's team.
Johanna and her team still won.
Johanna herself had scored one hundred and ten points, bested only by the one hundred and twenty that Lestrange himself had managed to score. And that wasn't even counting the multiple sloth rolls she'd managed to perform (or the seven fouls Riddle had gone out of his way to give her).
As for Florence Nott (who Johanna couldn't distinguish from his twin Kenneth); he was so happy he could've kissed her.
He settled on giving her a rather hearty celebratory slap on the back, which she returned with an even heartier smile.
Aside from Johanna's team, though, no one else seemed to be celebrating. In fact, their Captain actually seemed a bit miffed.
Naturally she beamed at him too. Her eyes danced with unspoken thoughts, unsounded glory.
'Throw me to the wolves,' she thought, 'and I'll come back leading the pack.'
