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No matter the country, no matter the era, history has always been like a doll you can dress up however you want. Whatever kinks or preferences you have, you can project them right onto it.
There's only one condition... You have to be the winner.
There are far too many legends about John of Arc. So many, in fact, that historians still argue over whether she even truly existed. But in the end, the most fitting version of her story is the one told by John of Arc herself.
Don't be fooled by the fact that she was a little girl. Her ability to speak and inspire was absolutely legendary, on par with Hitler himself.
Hearing her story, it didn't take long for Tom and the others to get completely drawn in, as if they'd been dragged back to that brutal, primitive era of constant war.
Jeanne was born in a small village called Domrémy.
When she was thirteen, she had a dream. At least, that's how Tom understood it. According to Jeanne, it was a revelation from the Lord.
In that vision, she saw the Archangel Saint Michael, along with the Virgin Mary. They delivered God's will to her, telling her to step forward and lead France's soldiers against the invading English forces.
And so she left her village, left the region of Lorraine, and arrived in Orléans, the place that would change her life forever. Even now, people still call her the Maid of Orléans.
In her short life of barely over a decade, Jeanne never studied magic in any systematic way. She relied entirely on her devotion to "the Lord," stumbling her way into a handful of abilities.
Most of them involved bolstering morale or healing wounded soldiers. As for direct attacks like flames, those only came later, born from rage after she witnessed English troops slaughtering entire villages.
She believed these powers were divine miracles. In the eyes of soldiers and kings, though, they were witchcraft. Magic. When France stood on the brink of collapse, no one cared. But once the war slowed, once the English were willing to negotiate, Jeanne's usefulness naturally ran out.
Logically speaking, a King of the Century should have been able to escape. Neither the soldiers nor the Church should have been able to touch her.
But the Church played their hand perfectly. They exploited Jeanne's piety and her love for her country, using a religious trial to guide her, almost gently, into accepting her fate. And so she walked, resigned, into the flames at the square in Rouen.
To prevent her from truly exploding in fury or realizing the truth, the entire process was handled with extreme care. She was practically coaxed all the way to the stake. There was no torture, no brutal punishment, nothing like that.
It took a full three hours for Jeanne to finish recounting her short yet dazzling life. When she finally stopped, everyone listening was left with their own complicated emotions.
But there was one feeling they all shared.
This girl was unbelievably foolish. Foolish to the point of being incomprehensible.
Believing in God was one thing. Even among wizards, there were plenty of brainwashed believers. What made Jeanne different was just her sheer strength.
But calmly accepting death by fire? That made no sense at all.
You literally received divine revelations. By any standard, your status and closeness to God should've been far above that pack of so-called holy men. So why listen to them?
Even Tom felt a bit regretful. His hand moved out of habit and came to rest on the girl's head.
Jeanne's whole body stiffened. She wasn't used to Tom being so casual with her, but she didn't dare dodge away either. Her small face was practically screaming grievance.
"All right," Tom said. "Since you're here now, stop dwelling on the past. I'll arrange a place for you to stay first. Take your time getting used to life here. You might start seeing things differently."
Ariana reached over and brushed Tom's hand away. She kept a wary eye on Jeanne, but Jeanne still nodded to her in gratitude.
"Mr. Riddle, there's really no need to go to such trouble," Jeanne said awkwardly. "A pile of hay, or maybe a tent, would be more than enough for me."
Tom was speechless. He exchanged a look with Ravenclaw, who gave a small nod, clearly understanding what he was thinking.
Right now, the most important thing was to make Jeanne "normal."
Only after that could they even think about letting her teach.
"Leave it to me," Ravenclaw said softly.
Tom nodded. Before Jeanne could even process what was happening, she was already being led away by Ravenclaw, with Ariana following behind.
One of Ravenclaw's personal hobbies was designing houses. The layout of Hogwarts itself had been his handiwork. Since the study space had vast stretches of empty land, Tom had set aside an entire residential area and let Ravenclaw do whatever he wanted with it.
Now, it was finally being put to use.
A country girl like Jeanne had never seen living conditions like this. When she stepped inside the house, she was so afraid of dirtying the carpet that she barely dared to walk.
Ravenclaw patiently corrected her habits, little by little.
...
Elsewhere, Tom and Andros were drinking, their conversation also circling back to Jeanne.
"Now I get it," Andros said, downing his glass of strong liquor in one go. "Why she could become a Century King at that age, without formal training, without a teacher."
"The mind really is a wizard's greatest power. Her devout faith turned into unshakable will and emotion. Her magic has no technique at all. It's pure feeling."
Grindelwald disagreed. "Andros, everything you're saying rests on her absurd level of talent. There are countless devout believers in the world. Why is there only one John of Arc?"
"Without talent, even the strongest mind is useless," he continued. "The power of the heart just lets that talent fully manifest."
The two of them started arguing again. Tom lost interest halfway through and simply left the study space to get some sleep.
---
Early the next morning, he got up and sent a message to Nicolas Flamel.
Nicolas Flamel had been born in 1326. John of Arc died in 1431. In other words, during the years when Jeanne was active, Nicolas had already made his name and successfully created the Philosopher's Stone. There was a good chance he knew something about her.
『Tom Riddle』: Old man, you up?
『Nicolas Flamel』: I wasn't, but you woke me.
Tom curled his lip. The old man's temper really was getting worse by the year. Still, he wasn't about to argue with someone six centuries his senior.
『Tom Riddle』: As long as you're awake. I've got a few historical questions.
『Nicolas Flamel』: History? Go on.
『Tom Riddle』: Do you know Jeanne d'Arc?
It took Nicolas a while to reply.
『Nicolas Flamel』: That illiterate village girl? The Maid of Orléans?
『Nicolas Flamel』: I never interacted with her directly, but I do know she was a witch. A real one. A canonized saint who was actually a wizard. Pretty ridiculous, isn't it?
Tom straightened instantly. This old monster really did know a lot. He hurriedly urged Nicolas to keep going.
『Nicolas Flamel』: I don't know much more than that. During the years she was active, I was busy hiding from other dark wizards who wanted to steal the Philosopher's Stone. All I know is that she used magic to help the French army win several key battles.
『Nicolas Flamel』: But that put her in an impossible position. Muggles feared and hated her, she violated the Statute of Secrecy, and she even helped the Church arrest some wizards. The magical world completely abandoned her.
『Nicolas Flamel』: I've heard that during her trial, many wizards secretly stirred things up and pushed for harsher charges. Otherwise, a national hero wouldn't have been sentenced to burning so quickly. That's all I know.
Tom couldn't help baring his teeth when he finished reading.
Good grief. How many stupid mistakes did she manage to make?
If you said Jeanne got wizards killed because she was evil, that would be completely wrong. It was simply that the Church's doctrine was too deeply ingrained in her. When she discovered wizards, she naturally reported them.
『Nicolas Flamel』: Why are you suddenly interested in her?
『Tom Riddle』: I came across a piece of unofficial history claiming Jeanne d'Arc really was a witch, so I figured I'd ask you.
『Nicolas Flamel』: There aren't many records of that. It was the height of the witch hunts back then. Wizards weren't eager to publicly admit one of their own had turned traitor. Hard to blame them.
『Tom Riddle』: That clears things up. Don't slack off on your end either. I'm still waiting for those apples.
The moment Tom sent that message, he snapped his notebook shut. He could already imagine the flood of French profanity that was about to follow.
His roommates had already gone out to eat. Tom wasn't in a rush, so he headed into the study space instead, straight to Jeanne's new house.
The girl had changed out of her prison clothes and shed her shackles. She was wearing a simple white dress now. When Tom arrived, she was spinning in front of a full-length mirror, the hem of her skirt fluttering as it caught the air.
"Ah!"
She yelped when she saw him appear out of nowhere. Her left foot caught on her right, and she went down hard with a thud.
Tom: "..."
"How long are you planning to stay face-down?" he asked helplessly when she refused to lift her head out of sheer embarrassment.
Jeanne finally looked up, her face bright red, and scrambled to her feet.
"I…"
"I get it," Tom cut in gently. "Liking pretty dresses and new clothes is normal. There's nothing to be ashamed of."
She gave a barely audible reply.
He led her into the living room, and the two sat facing each other.
Tom's expression turned serious. "Jeanne, there's something you need to understand. You must teach me everything you have. Your talent, your abilities, without holding anything back."
"I know," Jeanne nodded earnestly, then frowned in distress. "But I never went to school. I can't even read, let alone teach someone else."
"That's your problem, not mine."
Tom dropped yesterday's gentleness and spoke sharply. "The fact that you're here means this is the Lord's will. If the Lord says you can do it, then you can. Or are you planning to complain to Him?"
Jeanne's face went pale. She immediately began murmuring prayers under her breath.
It was the Lord who had brought her here. Which meant the voice in her head was God. And Tom, as the ruler of this space, was… the Son of God?
Once she reached that conclusion, the way she looked at Tom completely changed.
It was fervent. Reverent. And tinged with a childlike devotion.
[Congratulations to the host. Jeanne d'Arc's approval has reached 25% … 50% … 100%.]
[Reward extraction in progress…]
Tom: "???"
It hadn't even been twenty-four hours, and this girl had already been completely won over.
.
.
.