Chapter 43. What's in your heart for me...
In the morning, Ron was still recovering from the attack that had happened the night before. He didn't want to talk to anyone about it, so he sat there gloomy, lost in his heavy thoughts. Only one person at the table knew about his nocturnal adventure, but Jeanne Alter didn't show any sign and remained silent about Ron's fight for his life. At some point, Ron even wondered if it had all been a dream. Finishing his breakfast at the same time as her, he got up from the table and, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, waited a couple of seconds before following her.
"Jeanne, wait a second!" he called out to her.
"What do you want?" she replied, with an expression of genuine confusion and curiosity on her face.
"You..." he began, but his words got lost on their way out, and his thoughts became tangled.
He had no idea how he wanted to talk to her, guided only by his own questions about the events of the previous midnight when Jeanne crossed swords with Jack the Ripper in a battle for Ron's life.
"I wanted to thank you," he stuttered, lowering his gaze. "It really means a lot..."
Jeanne was taken aback by his words, and her face couldn't hide the despair and confusion that had welled up in her soul. She reacted as if not only did she not understand what Ron was talking about, but she also seemed to be afraid of gratitude like it's fire. Not knowing how to respond, she absentmindedly ran her hand through her hair and mumbled some completely indistinguishable words. Snapping out of her confusion, she turned on her heels and silently walked into the girls' dormitory, where she shared a room with Hermione and Ginny.
"Wow," Ron muttered to himself.
For some reason, he wasn't certain that the nighttime incident hadn't been a dream. But that evening, he looked under his shirt and found horrific scratches on his skin. That's when he understood it all.
As the holidays went on, Ron couldn't help but feel on edge. He constantly looked over his shoulder, expecting a new attack, which started to worry his friends. He would always deny their questions, insisting that he was fine and they shouldn't worry about him. Luckily, nothing out of the ordinary happened until they started packing their things to leave.
Mr. Weasley soon recovered and arrived at Grimmauld Place, where he thanked Harry and Jeanne for saving him. All three of them felt ashamed and avoided eye contact: Harry, because he saw the events of the dream through Voldemort's snake's eyes; Jeanne, because of her clumsiness that night; and Jeanne, because she was once again scared of any words of gratitude towards her. Fred and George even joked about it, saying: if you want to scare Jeanne d'Arc, say "thank you" to her.
On the last evening before returning to Hogwarts, Mr. Weasley rushed into the common room. He looked agitated and out of breath.
"Harry, Ron, I need to talk to you urgently," he said, leading them out of the crowded common room.
"What's going on, Mr. Weasley?" Harry asked, worried.
"I received a message that the Death Eaters might target you on your way. The Ministry has issued an order, and you will be accompanied by Aurors," Mr. Weasley replied in a quiet tone.
Ron felt his stomach twist. "Another attack?" he thought, horrified. But why would the Death Eaters be hunting them specifically and right now?
"A safe form of transportation has been arranged for your return to Hogwarts," Mr. Weasley continued, looking around as if expecting someone to jump out at any moment. "You will be traveling on the Knight Bus, departing directly from Grimmauld Place."
Harry and Ron exchanged glances, their eyes expressing concern and worry. They knew they were facing a serious threat, but they couldn't imagine just how dangerous it could be.
Together with Mr. Weasley, Harry and Ron were making their way down the street, carefully studying their surroundings, anxiously awaiting when reality would once again plunge them into a storm of events.
They knew something terrible awaited them, but they couldn't fathom just how dangerous this threat could be. The city was cloaked in dead silence, emphasizing the atmosphere of fear and uncertainty that had engulfed London in recent months, and Harry couldn't help but notice how everyone seemed to be holding their breath, anticipating something dreadful. They walked slowly, as if teetering on the edge of life and death, and every step felt like a trial. But they couldn't stop, because they knew a battle awaited them, one that could change everything.
With them were Mash and Jeanne. Who were they in this impending war? The Servants of the Holy Grail—a powerful argument in Fujimaru's hands for the right to obtain the coveted cup. A cup? Harry wasn't sure about that, but he sincerely hoped that he would not be dragged into the battle for this artifact, and that his role would be limited to the fight against Voldemort, to which he was mentally preparing himself.
He did not feel a calling to be a Master, and in his heart, he felt a strong aversion to any attempt to imagine himself summoning a Servant. This aversion grew stronger in the past few days, as he observed Mash Kyrielight, realizing how little difference there was between her and any ordinary girl from Hogwarts.
He remembered Jeanne's words about the purpose of Servants, and he was terrified to call upon heroic souls through the depths of the centuries, for the sake of the battle for the Grail. Above all, he feared that the Servant he summoned would perish in battle. That thought seemed inconceivable to him. He was resolutely unsure of how he would react in such a case and did not want to find out.
Let others fight for the Grail, let anyone else summon Servants, but not him. He was not ready to take responsibility for the life of a Servant—a person just like him, but marked in history as a hero. Their exploits and their glory—they were real, while everything he had accomplished, his own achievements, were nothing compared to them. And they were better people than him. Even Jeanne Alter tried to be the opposite of the true Jeanne d'Arc, but she too had a heart that remained unchanged. He never doubted this and considered all her pretenses insincere. Sometimes he recalled those rare moments of her warmth towards him and marveled at how, from her words filled with hatred, even the tiniest glimmer of light remained, which he saw in her eyes during those moments. Therefore, the thought of her eventually entering this war for the Grail and perishing on the battlefield was even more frightening to him.
But, no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't change anything. War never comes without sacrifices.
Step by step, they approached their destination, and although it was not far to go, their hearts beat stronger than ever. Harry and Ron walked down the street, feeling the tension in the air growing with each step.
With the Night Knight Bus, calmness arrived, and Ron felt his tension beginning to dissipate. He had been dreaming of riding this bus for a long time and finally fulfilled his long-time dream. Joy overwhelmed him when he saw the conductor, Stan Shunpike, and the driver, Ern.
After they got on the bus and settled into their seats, Ron couldn't help but feel gratitude for all the protective spells and safety measures that Mr. Weasley and other Order of the Phoenix members had taken, accompanying them all the way. He understood that every step in the war could come at a high cost and thanked his friends fighting for their safety.
With each passing second, the bus gained speed and carried them further away from the danger that seemed ready to attack them. The air outside the window was filled with the scent of freezing cold and shimmered with the silver of snow.
When the Dark Knight finally delivered them to Hogwarts, Ron was genuinely happy about the opportunity to hide here, under the roof of his school, shielded from the threat and able to breathe freely once again. Finally, they were back at school. He surprised himself by thinking this, but the prospect of encountering Jack the Ripper again scared him far more than meeting Snape, so he chose the latter of the two options.
On the same day, a whole flurry of questions about the upcoming Dumbledore's Army session in the Room of Requirement fell upon Harry. Harry didn't think for long about the answer and announced that the session would take place as usual at eight o'clock in the evening. When they dispersed, he had already reached the Gryffindor common room when a familiar voice called out to him.
"You're easier to convince than the Goblet of Fire," Jeanne casually remarked.
Harry didn't even understand what she was talking about at first.
"Really?" he asked, bewildered. "Has no one aged at all?"
"And you, Harry, haven't you thought about who could have caused another name to appear on the slip of paper with your name on it, against the will of Bartemius Crouch Jr.?" Jeanne mysteriously said.
Harry even turned pale at the unexpected confession.
"Why then..." he asked anxiously.
"It was clear to anyone that he would try to involve you in this dangerous game, Harry," Jeanne replied.
Harry looked at her with his mouth open, and Jeanne showed no sign of her usual smugness. Her expression conveyed much more than she could have told him. She brought her hand to his chin, and he closed his mouth.
"But why didn't you kill him then?" he wondered. "What exactly happened?"
"A dark wizard always has a backup plan, Harry. He was reborn before your eyes and mine. He didn't disappear without a trace the last time, which means that killing him again would only delay his inevitable return."
Harry looked into her amber eyes and felt confused. Questions swarmed in his mind that he couldn't put into words.
"You are the Servant of the Grail," he said.
"So what? I have a head on my shoulders," Jeanne replied.
Harry tried to remember what he had heard or read about Servants. Hermione had mentioned something about their ability to enter dreams.
"Those dreams... are they real?" he asked.
Jeanne looked at him seriously, not averting her gaze, and then nodded silently, causing him to be shocked. Harry became flustered and, with wide eyes filled with horror, leaned against the wall, breathing heavily.
"How many..."
"Two million," she replied without changing her expression. "And I don't regret it. They betrayed me and sentenced me to death. In return, I passed my sentence on them."
"So it's true," he muttered in confusion. "But why didn't you..."
"I didn't kill the Death Eaters just because they were insignificant. They are an easily replaceable resource. Today, I kill ten, tomorrow a hundred others will take their place, ready to summon Servants with a single word from their master."
Harry listened to Jeanne and was horrified by her calmness and icy calculation. With each passing second, he became more terrified of who he was dealing with. In his bewilderment, he desperately searched for words in his head, just to avoid giving himself away. But Jeanne's gaze was comparable only to how the most ferocious predator looks at its prey, and like a rabbit that has escaped the wolf's attention, Harry was relieved that she didn't see an enemy in him.
"Do you think we will win?" he asked.
A seriousness barely noticeable dissolved from Jeanne's face, a smile lit up upon it, and with her bright eyes wide open, she took his hands. She looked into his eyes, and he understood everything without words.