Dominica Johnson | Slytherin | First year

When you first meet her, the most memorable feature is her fawn-like eyes. When you see them, they mesmerise you so completely that it seems she is all eyes, without a face. They are large and brown. She observes the world with those wide orbs, concealed behind long, dark lashes. Behind them lie the darkest secrets and deepest mysteries, suggesting they are never meant to be known by anyone but her. She has long, golden locks that frame her pretty face in a gilded border, turning her into a piece of ethereal art – the kind that endures for decades, the kind that does not decay with time. Her hair shines like gold when touched by sunlight, resembling a light that never fades. It undulates like waves in the deepest ocean – wavering unrelentingly – like stone-paved paths winding through the woods, surrounded by darkness, yet still stretching tirelessly into the depths of the unknown. She carries herself with dignity: chin lifted, head held high, shoulders back and relaxed. This is what she has been taught since childhood – to hide feelings that resemble vulnerability beneath a calm, assertive facade. It has become not only a mannerism but also a coping mechanism, a way for her to feel empowered when, inside, she is falling apart. She brings a certain leniency into the room, an aura that inspires trust at a single glance at her reassuring face, uplifted brows, and gentle smile. People reveal their secrets upon meeting her for the first time, this phenomenon leading her to strange knowledge she would not otherwise have known.

She would be as gentle as a tender Wind in late summer, bracing your skin like a mother’s embrace. She would be as warm as Fire, gathered around in the late evening, the dry hardwood crackling comfortingly under its flames. She would be as grounded as the Earth, cold and unwavering, yet gentle in her constancy. She would be as absorbed as Water, finding introspective solutions to problems that arose, unrelentingly surging until she overcame the barriers built against her. Yet it must never be forgotten that a coin always has two sides: one illuminated, the other hidden until darkness forces it into view. A dark side is inherent to the human psyche, buried deep beneath each of our surfaces. She could become as disorderly as the Wind, which in cold winter destroys and breaks everything in its path. She could become as aflame as Fire, a single touch burning the fingers of anyone who dared touch it. She could become as intense as the Earth, her composure shattering like glass falling to the ground in a strong tremor. She could become as powerful as Water, a tsunami capable of sinking even the strongest mountains with a single strike.
It was an illusion, an illusion of felicity. Whether you flipped the coin to its dark side or its light side, nothing would change. She would never yield to the advantage of others, never put herself second; she had always chosen herself, always focused solely on her own gain.

Dominica Eirian Johnson was born late in the evening of 10 April 2014. Her parents’ hands cradled the womb; she felt the warmth of their fingers through the barrier of skin that separated her from her future – a future soon to arrive. It was time. An obstetrician made their way to the Johnson residence, along the stone-paved path, past magnificent gardens stretching for acres, with the undeniable sense that something significant awaited that spring evening. The sun was setting, casting dark shadows upon the earth, stretching, turning, and twisting them into unsettling figures. Birds chirped, but not with their usual melodies; it was the music of a renaissance, of renewal and birth – a kind of congratulation to the world for what was about to arrive. The sun set, as if yielding to the darkness – the girl was born. One is born out of darkness, and one dies into darkness; it never abandons us, but merely disappears from our lives as we become preoccupied with worldly pleasures. It is not of this world; it is a sorcery no one has dared to possess – at least, not yet. Magic rose into the air within a radius of a few miles, bringing to everyone – whether wizard, muggle, or squib – the proclamation of the birth of a girl, the inheritor of the Darkness and the eternal protector of the Light, the earthly deity of life.
But one of such significance is not born without great sacrifice. That evening, the child's mother was claimed by the cold, merciless hand of death. It was a peculiar sight, solemnly witnessed by any. As soon as the girl came into existence, her mother’s arms began to burn; red lines started to emerge on her pale skin, which felt as if a thousand sharp needles were piercing it. She erupted into fire – a magical fire – that destroyed her from the inside out. She died in her bed, her agonising screams mingling with the child’s cries. All signs indicated that the cause was a broken Unbreakable Vow, although not a single person could say what the vow truly was. This tragic event meant the girl's birth was bound to both sorrow and joy – two opposites not only for the world to comprehend, but for the girl to carry within herself forever. Yet the profound joy could not overshadow the sorrow brought by the loss. Sadness permeated the first few months of the girl’s life, her father descending into a deep period of contemplation about life and magic.Dominica’s mother had been a vampire. She was bitten at the age of 20 by a vampire she had fallen in love with, who took advantage of her and cursed her with the same agony he had suffered long ago. Had she not died tragically at thirty, she would have lived much longer, but life had not treated her well so far, and she did not expect that to change. She was quite nihilistic about her future, having endured such betrayal and a curse at twenty. When she met Dominica’s father, his caring nature melted her heart. For the first time in a long while, she began to believe there might be a slight possibility her life was not yet over. With Mr Johnson, she believed her future could be bright, so she did what was once thought impossible for her and settled with him for a time.
Dominica’s father knew his wife was a vampire; he took great care to keep it discreet and to help her fit into the wizarding world as a human. Needless to say, he suffered from a saviour complex and was ultimately disappointed. Unfortunately, over the years of their marriage, he grew resentful towards his wife. He saw her gentle and caring side, but also her violent and untameable side, which he came to fear. Deep down, he only wanted her to fit in, though he never showed it to her. After her death, he wavered over his choices and the honesty he had brought to their relationship.
On a rare, one-in-a-hundred occurrence, Dominica Eirian Johnson was born half-vampire – a Dhampir. It was uncommon for a Dhampir to be born naturally from the union of a vampire and a human, but this was her case. Her father knew instantly. As soon as she was old enough to walk and talk, he sensed her aura – an aura of unease. He recognised it all too well; it was his wife's aura, or at least something similar, though far less intense. But it was there, undeniably present. He took his daughter to St Mungo’s Hospital, where the Healers ran several tests, and, sure enough, they confirmed his fear: she was a Dhampir.
Upon this confirmation, her father fell into a deep depression. He began to exhibit symptoms of insomnia, paranoia, and hallucinations. He became convinced that his wife's spirit was haunting him, that she had discovered his loss of love for her and was beyond angry. His condition deteriorated to the point that Dominica had to be taken away from him to stay with her grandparents for a few months, while he received treatment and gradually regained his mental stability.
When Dominica returned home, she was met with a stoicism her father had never shown before. From that day on, she was taught to hide it, to be ashamed of her heritage. She had to conceal all the blatantly obvious Dhampir descent traits – cutting her nails frequently so they would never grow sharp or long, wearing her hair around her face to hide its extreme paleness, and avoiding showing her retractable fangs at all costs.Constant shadows followed her; dark figures appeared out of nowhere in wooden-framed windows, accompanied by sounds of yelling, smells of varnish, and shifting light. Souls stalked her – not souls of the living, but otherworldly and unfamiliar, unseen by the common eye. Creatures seemed to haunt her, kneading their claws into her being and never letting go. They pulled her down and down until she could barely stand, drowning her in constant exhaustion from the weight she carried through life. She saw them in the daytime, staring at her through her bedroom windows; she saw them at night when they appeared in her dreams, haunting not only her consciousness but also her unconsciousness. They slithered in as poison does – unnoticeable, but so deadly toxic it made her miserable.
They began suddenly, like a long-anticipated bomb finally exploding. The explosion was violent. Nightmares became more frequent; she would lie awake in bed, trying to avoid plunging into the unknown – the thing waiting for her behind closed eyes. Her parents took her to a wizarding doctor, who treated her for insomnia. She drank the prescribed dose of Dreamless Sleep potion and drifted into silence, wrapped in sheets that, after so long, seemed foreign, no longer hers. But the demons did not leave her alone. They came for her light. On days when she sat in her room reading an old, dusty tome, she would feel a chilling gust of wind swirling through her hair, tugging at the hem of her skirt, haunting her.The time had come to learn. It was the undeniable way of life: learning and teaching, learning and teaching again. The reality in which one lived brought knowledge of all things human – birth, love, sacrifice, and death. One could spend an entire life learning, yet never possibly know everything. Some come into this world knowing more than others – a kind of knowing that makes one wonder if it is their first life in this consciousness, or perhaps a sequel to another. Dominica was one of these knowledgeable people. From an early age, she had been keen to learn. She began to read at four, wrote her insights on the world at five, and solved tedious mathematics equations by the astonishing age of six. Her magical comprehension had never lagged behind; she learned spell theory, potion-making, and herbology. She would never have reached this point without the Johnson family’s maid, who diligently taught the young aristocrat the wonders of the world. With so much knowledge, she found insight in what appeared to be innocent details, but which revealed an in-depth story if examined more closely. The girl had always been gifted with a hunger for knowledge that led her to the path in life she had taken.Her father lost all trust in magic. He felt betrayed by its very essence. It had caused his wife's death, whether or not it was partly her choice. He began to question its purpose – what use was it if not to change the course of nature, if not to grant control over life's mistakes and losses? Magic was meant to improve his life, yet it tore him apart. It left him shattered, in pieces that could never be put back together, without the missing centrepiece – his wife. So what good was it if it inevitably brought loss? The truth is, he never found an answer, and after a while he stopped searching, having lost all hope of understanding. He disowned the sorcery that had once adorned his life and settled for conventionality.
A year after his beloved’s death, he found a new love and soon remarried. She was a Muggle, not of magical descent, and had never heard of magic. She was an aristocrat; her father was a nobleman. They made a settlement that was far from honest love. The stepmother eventually discovered magic, but it did not frighten her. She agreed to stay as long as magic remained hidden. To the girl’s horror, her father agreed. She felt betrayed. Their magical heritage was wounded by the demand to keep it secret. She was appalled by her father’s compliance and has never been able to come to terms with it.
Not long after their marriage, the woman announced her pregnancy, and nine months later a healthy Muggle girl was born, which, to the dismay of the Johnson side of the family, showed no signs of magical ability.Elodie Liriel Rosewood was born in London, England, to the Rosewood family on 6 January 2013. She grew up in a cottage on the outskirts of London. Her parents were purebloods who valued pureblood qualities and took pride in their status. However, Elodie displayed a peculiarity from a young age – she never spoke. Even after the age of one, when most children would have said their first words, she did not utter a sound. Her parents tried everything, from hexes to curse-breakers, but all gave the same answer: selective mutism. The girl could speak perfectly well; she simply chose not to. Her parents took it personally and were offended by their only daughter’s refusal to communicate with them in the most conventional way. Still, she did not relent.
The Rosewood family lived a few miles from the Johnsons. As both families were of magical descent, they naturally became acquainted, and not long after their daughters were born, the girls were introduced. There is little more to add – the girls became very close. They came to know each other better than their own families; in fact, they became each other’s family. They spent their bittersweet days playing in the gardens, reading books, and drinking tea – activities that never brought them much fulfilment, but they became each other’s safe haven. When together, they could walk through fire and endure the burn. Both were simply searching for meaning in it all. Each was a reject of society, a disappointment to her bloodline, the black dove of her environment. Nothing could make them disown each other – they understood the pain that would cause. Unfortunately, something far greater than disownment separated their paths. Little Elodie was found in her room, her safest cradle, struck down by the unyielding blade of death. It pierced her pure heart with little mercy, and they were not fortunate enough to save her. Quiet whispers and a parent’s slip of the tongue pieced the story together: the girl was said to have fallen ill but refused any magical help. She died alone in her room; magic could have saved her, but she did not allow it.
The loss devastated Dominica. She did not leave her room for days, did not eat, and lost all meaning in life she had ever known. She could feel it clinging to her – a lost friend’s soul, not yet ready to leave its life behind. Now that Elodie was gone, Dominica did not know how she could ever let anyone else in. As if her friend were gone, but the space had not opened. It was unearthly, even toxic – not letting go. The dead were meant to be left in the past.
With the arrival of the Hogwarts acceptance letter came the responsibility to bring great honour to one's family. One was expected to abandon all self-respect and immerse oneself completely in branches of knowledge, forgetting everything outside them and dedicating one's years at the academy to the greatness of one's family. What seemed like a despairing loss brought Dominica much fulfilment. It gave her the conventional justification to isolate herself from the social world and drift into a world of explanations. She let it coat her eyelids with perpetual sleeplessness and stain her slim, delicate fingers with dark, dirty drops of ink. One had been preparing for this their whole life; it was their own Olympics of expertise, and one thrived in this setting.Her first experience of magic was steeped in rage. It occurred after the death of her dear friend, Elodie Rosewood, when Dominica was six years old. Anger, confusion, and shock filled her young heart – intense and unyielding, refusing to leave her for days, pulling her away from society with their sharp, wistful pounces. She withdrew from her father, not speaking to him for days, not leaving her room. The isolation made her even angrier – at the world, at nature itself. How could it take away someone so humble, who had seemed so ordinary in the last days of her life? She wanted revenge, undeniable and striking – something that would destroy the source of her sadness. One day, the energy inside her no longer fit; her small body became too cramped for it, and the intense magic escaped in unpleasant ways. From behind the closed door that separated her from the world came a loud scream. The residents of the manor heard the windows shatter. With this came destruction. With this came relief.

Mother

Father

Dominica Johnson (Female. Born 1982 August 3rd. Died 2014 April 10th. Was aged 31 at the time of death. Hogwarts graduate. Former Slytherin.)

Philip Johnson (Male. Born 1980 March 24th. Aged 45. Hogwarts graduate. Former Slytherin.)

Maternal grandmother

Maternal grandfather

Tabitha Brighton (Female. Born 1955 April 1st. Aged 70. Hogwarts graduate. Former Ravenclaw.)

Henry Brighton (Male. Born 1945 October 4th. Died 2011 January 20th. Was aged 65 at the time of death. Hogwarts graduate. Former Slytherin.)

Maternal aunt

Maternal uncle

Marceline Brighton-Murphy (Female. Born 1983 February 19th. Aged 42. Hogwarts graduate. Former Ravenclaw.)

Austen Brighton (Male. Born 1980 September 9th. Aged 45. Hogwarts graduate. Former Ravenclaw.)

Maternal cousin(s)

Matthew Brighton-Murphy (Male. Born 2007 March 16th. Aged 18. Hogwarts graduate. Former Slytherin.)

Cecylia Brighton-Murphy (Female. Born 2011 April 3rd. Aged 14. 4th year at Hogwarts. Gryffindor.)

Lily Brighton-Murphy (Female. Born 2015 August 10th. Aged 10. Witch.)

Maternal aunt

Maternal uncle

Adelie Jones-Brighton (Female. Born 1985 March 5th. Aged 40. Hogwarts graduate. Former Ravenclaw.)

William Jones (Male. Born 1985 April 20th. Aged 40. Squib.)

Maternal cousin(s)

Adele Jones (Female. Born 2025 January 2nd. Aged 1. Magical powers unconfirmed.)

Paternal grandmother

Paternal grandfather

Irene Johnson-Goldberg (Female. Born 1949 September 11th. Died 2009 July 22nd. Was aged 59 at the time of death. Hogwarts graduate. Former Slytherin.)

Andrej Johnson (Male. Born 1939 December 16th. Died 2001 October 6th. Was aged 61 at the time of death. Hogwarts graduate. Former Slytherin.)

Paternal aunt

Marina Johnson (Female. Born 1978 May 19th. Aged 47. Hogwarts graduate. Former Slytherin.)

Dominica Johnson Coded by: @Earl Gray | 1hr 8min

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