— — — — — —
Durmstrang
Barty Jr., battered and injured, finally appeared before Grindelwald again. But his expression carried a strange satisfaction, and his eyes flickered with excitement. "The one you named is dead…"
"I know," Grindelwald said, closing the book in his hands. He studied the wizard, looking at him with open appreciation. "Not only did the target die, you killed two extras. Well done."
"How did it feel?"
"I didn't feel anything," Barty shot back coldly. "I only followed your orders because I had no choice. I need to stay alive until my master returns. What feeling could I possibly have?"
"Funny, because you look happy," Grindelwald teased as he walked closer. Barty tried to retreat, but Grindelwald's hand clamped onto his shoulder.
"No… it's not happiness. It's elation."
Grindelwald's voice softened. "Because you were yourself again. You could unleash your power without restraint. You stopped being Crouch's son and became your own person."
"I—I didn't think that," Barty said through clenched teeth.
Grindelwald ignored him and continued, "Child, showing power may bring pleasure, but what you use that power for determines your worth."
"The people I told you to kill were plotting rebellion. If we didn't crush it early, countless others would be dragged into meaningless slaughter. You saved many lives."
"But what about the time you followed Voldemort?" Grindelwald shook his head. "Meaningless murder. Meaningless terror. All you gained was emptiness."
"Is that something a real father would want his son to do?"
Barty opened his mouth, instinctively wanting to defend his master, but reason and the pleasant hum of his own satisfaction choked the words silent.
"Go see Vinda to get treated," Grindelwald said. "Rest for a few days. I hope you'll find a reason to live. Under my protection, do what you want to do."
He patted Barty's shoulder and sent him out of the office.
The wicked smile blooming on his face only grew thicker.
If it were Dumbledore in his place, he would never manage to win Barty over. Dumbledore refused to believe anyone was born evil. And even if he believed it, he would try to reshape the person into what he wanted them to be.
Grindelwald was different. He didn't care what Barty was. All he needed to do was acknowledge him, affirm him, fill the empty spaces in his heart.
Compared to Voldemort's pure exploitation, the difference was obvious.
And as Grindelwald's student, Ariana was doing the exact same thing.
"Jeanne." Ariana held the girl's hand seriously. "You're not the illiterate farm girl you once were. You've read books, you've heard stories, you've finished at least twenty soap operas."
Jeanne d'Arc tilted her head, a little confused, and nodded. "Yes."
Ariana asked solemnly, "Then tell me honestly. Do you still believe you deserve to die by burning back then?"
The maiden of Orléans pressed her lips together and lowered her head…
Reading sharpens the mind. It helps people understand the logic behind how the world actually works.
In medieval Europe, the ones with the most knowledge were the clergy. The more they read, the more determined they became to keep the masses ignorant, and they used their learning to refine church doctrine and secure their authority.
Jeanne had been one of the fooled. Even with her extraordinary gift, she'd blindly served the church and the crown without understanding a thing.
In the end she'd thrown her own life away without even realizing how or why.
Back then she didn't understand. But after reading more books and gaining a better grasp of history, her mindset had begun to shift in subtle ways.
"Maybe that was simply my fate."
Her expression stayed completely calm. "The Lord's revelation would not be mistaken. He only used the wrong people to help me fulfill my mission. And it's been so long since then… resentment can't change anything. Talking about it is meaningless."
Before visiting Jeanne today, Ariana had already prepared several possible reactions. What she was seeing was well within expectations.
"Jeanne, have you ever considered something?"
"What?"
"The God you believed in… might have been false. A nonexistent being."
"NO. That's impossible!"
Jeanne's cheeks flushed red and emotion surged in her voice. "If the Lord were not real, why would the Holy Son have saved me?"
"Jeanne, I know you're upset, but hold on."
Ariana soothed her, though she didn't retract her point. "I believe that a God exists. But the God you believe in does not. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"
Jeanne nodded slowly. "But the God I believe in is the one true God, so He must exist. The Holy Son is proof."
"No." Ariana shook her head. "How do you prove that the Lord Tom represents is the same one you used to worship?"
One line, and Jeanne's already overtaxed brain started overheating.
Prove that the Lord is the Lord?
"Well? Prove it to me," Ariana coaxed gently. "Is Tom a good person?"
Jeanne didn't hesitate. Her eyes shone with devotion. "The Holy Son is the best!"
"If Tom is good, then the Lord should be even better, right?"
"Yes," Jeanne said instantly.
Ariana spread her hands. "Since the Lord is so good, why did He let you suffer the torment of the stake? If you'd met Tom back then, do you think he would have allowed that injustice?"
Jeanne's big eyes went blurry, her mind turning into mush.
It all sounded… weirdly logical. Yet wasn't the Lord simply the Lord? Wasn't that what she had believed all her life?
"Jeanne, I'm telling you this because Tom dislikes those Church con artists."
Ariana raised the stakes. "And you're my only friend here. We're the only ones close in age."
"If you stay loyal to the Church and upset Tom because of it, I'd be sad as your friend."
Despite the chaos inside her head, Jeanne was moved to tears. "Ariana… you're so kind."
"Hehe. If I'm not good to you, who will be? Think about it slowly. I have homework."
Ariana patted Jeanne's head and left. She never planned to change the girl's worldview in one go. This was the Catholic saint of Orleans—the one countless people worshipped. Her willpower was way stronger than Ariana's.
And the real trump card wasn't anything she had just said.
It was Jeanne's unwavering faith in Tom.
What was that saying? Right—fight magic with magic. Fight faith with faith.
Grindelwald had taught her all of this. Ariana, as a naturally kind Dumbledore, would never have come up with such delightfully wicked tactics on her own.
And why did she want to dismantle Jeanne's imaginary faith in the first place?
Because Ariana was thinking ahead. After resurrection, her own power wasn't enough to help Tom meaningfully. But Jeanne was different. Dumb as she could be, her power was very real.
So she just needed to trick the little girl into doing the fighting later.
"I'm a genius."
Satisfied that her plan had no major holes, Ariana returned to her villa and happily resumed watching Tom and Jerry.
---
Meanwhile, Jeanne was still stuck in a loop of doubts. Two different worldviews were crashing into each other inside her skull, and she couldn't form a coherent thought.
The more she thought about it, the worse it got. Magic surged out of control; furniture and books floated into the air, and the ceiling rattled like an approaching storm.
In the nearby villa, Ravenclaw looked up from her book with a faint frown. She glanced in Jeanne's direction, then ultimately decided not to intervene. She just shook her head and went back to reading.
Some things have to be understood for yourself. And if you fail, that's okay—experience is the best teacher. Another person's answers mean nothing, even if they're correct. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink.
...
No one knew how long it took before the magic riot finally subsided. Jeanne held her head, face twisted in pain, lips trembling as she muttered something halfway between prayer and argument.
"Brandishing the banner of righteousness and God's grace, only to end up tied to a stake. Don't you think you're ridiculous?"
"No. That too was the Lord's trial."
"Everyone betrayed you. They worship false gods. False gods!"
"Nooo…"
"You're running from reality. The God you believe in, when you were suffering the most, did He ever answer you? He didn't. There was only silence."
"They... They were just blinded by ignorance…"
"No. The one who was truly blinded was you. And when you were finally saved, you kept clinging to that false god… People once betrayed you, and now you're betraying the ones who saved you. Tom, Ariana, and the others who cared for you for the first time in your whole life would be truly disappointed."
At that line, the girl's body shivered violently. Magic burst out again, but it was brief, so short that Ravenclaw didn't even bother reacting.
However, Jeanne herself had changed dramatically.
Her ponytail unraveled, and starting from the tips, her radiant golden hair faded into silver-white, still gleaming bright like polished metal.
When she opened her eyes, the soft green was gone. Jeanne's gaze had always carried endless gentleness and compassion toward the world, and anyone who met her eyes could feel it.
Now that was replaced by cold decisiveness.
---
Egypt
To avoid being harassed by Ravenclaw during vacation, Tom had told everyone beforehand not to bother him for a few days. Do your own thing, don't come looking.
He had no idea Ariana was cooking up something huge behind his back.
After picking up several dozen treasures from the goblins at Gringotts, Tom and Hermione returned loaded with loot. Using the address Newt gave them, they located their temporary home.
Being the type who could hop around the world at a moment's notice, Newt Scamander even had a safehouse in the Heka Corridor. Judging by its location, it sat in the northwest corner outside the market's third ring. From the outside, it was an ordinary one-story house. Inside though, it opened into a surprisingly spacious layout with five bedrooms, three of which were suites.
Tom couldn't help letting his thoughts wander.
Seriously… why does Newt need this many suites? Planning to hide mistresses?
Isn't he afraid Tina would kill him?
No, as a good boy, I must tell her.
"Tom, let's go explore!"
Hermione had no idea the boy beside her was slandering Newt in his head. She set their stuff down and immediately dragged Tom back out onto the street.
The smell of spices mixed with merchants shouting drifted through the air. Hermione looked around excitedly before finally picking a direction.
But she didn't get far before she ran into a problem.
She couldn't understand Arabic.
Tom noticed her frustration. He took out his wand and tapped lightly near her ear. Hermione felt something like a thin membrane settle over her ear, muffling sound for a split second.
Then the shouts she couldn't understand moments ago suddenly turned into English.
"Freshly unearthed pharaoh masks from last week, guaranteed genuine or tenfold compensation!"
"Cleopatra VII's authentic lingerie, straight from the source! First come first served!"
"Golden scepters, ninety-nine percent pure gold, symbol of absolute household authority! Only eight hundred Galleons!"
Hermione stared at him in surprise. "How did you do that?"
"Conversion spell," Tom replied, gently tugging her away from a passing camel. "It turns languages you can't understand into English. Only works if the caster knows the language himself."
Next, the little witch wandered over to a jewelry stall, intrigued. The table was covered in bold, beautifully designed gold and silver accessories. Rough style but surprisingly elegant.
"You have excellent taste, beautiful girl!"
The stall owner, a middle-aged witch, immediately showered her with praise. Hermione smiled and nodded, picking up a ring as the woman launched into a dramatic backstory about it.
After hearing the story, Hermione finally felt tempted and turned to ask Tom's opinion—only to nearly faint with rage.
That bastard had wandered off to watch belly dancing across the street.
.
.
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