Chapter 1: The Saint and The Convict

Reposting because the Original was having weird issues with FFN being able to keep it online.

This Fic is a weird one from a writing perspective. lots of argument with my friend who I bounce ideas with.

Keep in mind, I am a dipshit, a dingus on the internet, never been locked up. The closest I've been to prison is the military for a short time before getting myself kicked out for again, being a dipshit. I do have friends who have done time, but we are American. I have spoken with a few British friends but they never done time either, and the best research could produce based on the direction those friends gave me was vague at best.

So keep in mind a lot of the depiction of prison and prison politics are taken from the accounts of the particular prison but heavily influenced by west coast prison culture in the us.

This story came about because I randomly decided, "Hey why no Harry Potter x Jeanne D'Arc"

looked around, no Harry x Jeanne. So I started writing. turns out, I really fucking love Harry and Jeanne as a pairing. Theres just so much potential for so many different angles.

I'm sorry France, I do love Jeanne D'Arc as a historical figure, a saint of the church and the fate character. She is also for those who care to know, a part of US Military History, as the patron saint of the US Women Army Corp until it was dissolve, and still recognized even amongst the protestant minister who are part of our armed forces. Granted she was NOT the only patron saint of the USWAC sharing that spot with another French saint St. Genevieve.

And for that reason, that we Americans have also claimed her... so I'm not that sorry French people.

I ask forgiveness from the god of Abraham if anyone thinks this is heresy. But im also not chriastian...

but i do apologize for all this yappin

onto the story

I hope you guys enjoy the chapter- if you want to access more chapters or see my full library, my is always open at

pa - tre - /on/ under the username Pel853

I do not own Harry Potter nor The Fate franchise. I am just borrowing a depiction of a character of theirs.

It was often said that those who achieve power and renown in life, whether they be mighty heroes from the cloth that Admiral Yi Sun-sin was cut from or eccentric individuals like Olga of Kiev. Yet in the most unlikely places inside their mind they always yearn for a simple life upon death. They live lives either so exceptional or so rung in conflict that they disconnect from the common man and share no kinship beyond their humanity.

A Maiden not unlike those mentioned above, dying by fire upon her last moments also wished for such a life in her final moments. To live a simple and mundane life, perhaps find a husband who shares her values and ideals and settle down and marry and have a family with.

But such was not in her cards, for she had been called from above for a purpose beyond her. So she had been called at seventeen to live by the sword and as such, died for her perceived sins while answering that purpose. But she was truly exceptional, worthy to be invited upon death to the house of war and into its hall of heroes and be granted her wish once her turn came.

So she was born again. Entering the world to parents that would have ideally undoubtedly loved her, and given her the normal life she craved upon her dying wish.

But Murphy's law can be a bitch, and before she knew it, she had been left orphaned amongst a horrible, hateful, and all the more secret civil war amongst a hidden society. Her mother and her uncles and grandparents, murdered. Her father might as well have wielded the bloody sword too, as he betrayed his friends to the same man who killed her mother in the months that followed.

Now he lived serving a lifetime in Azkaban for his sins.

But the little maiden was blessed to have relatives who were willing to step in and raise her as their own. Raising her in a house full of warmth and love. Even in spite of the negative reputation of her father.

Jeanne Black. once upon a time the famed Jeanne D'Arc, the Maid of Orlean.

Now she was the last daughter of two Houses once great, now nearly extinct. The offspring of Marlene McKinnon and Sirius Black.

Since her mother was dead, and her father in Azkaban never to see the light of day again. She was raised by Andromeda and Ted Tonks. Her cousins, though she preferred to call them Aunt and Uncle as a show of respect considering they had basically become her parents.

Jeanne hummed to herself as she picked up her Aunt's briefcase. Andromeda had flooed earlier in the day and asked her to bring it over to her work.

"Where are you going?" Her adoptive sister Nymphadora asked her as she saw her younger sister making her way towards the chimney.

"Auntie asked me to bring her the briefcase," Jeanne replied, "I'm just going to bring it over to her real quick,"

Jeanne Flooed into St Mungo's Hospital for Magical where she walked towards the check in desk, however she saw her uncle standing there with a clipboard and quill in hand.

She walked up to him, and greeted him, "Uncle Ted. Do you know where Aunt Dromeda is?"

Ted Tonks looked up from the parchment he was filling out, giving his adopted niece a smile and said, "Of course dear, follow me,"

As Jeanne followed her uncle, she looked around at all the healers and mediwizards and mediwitches who wove their wands, administered potions and did their best to treat and heal others with a smile.

Perhaps, if she had been thrown in an orphanage until it came time for Hogwarts to start and introduced to magic at the last minute. She might have thrown a fit over heresy. But as she had grown up in the magical world, her magic was as normal and as much a part of her as breathing was.

So it eased her concerns, plus when she had tried to focus her magic into the tattoo on her back. The tattoo that was proof of her service to the lord in her last life, given to her by the archangel michael. She still felt a comforting warmth it emitted, assuring her she was still on a righteous path.

Ted knocked on his wife's office door. And the uncle and niece pair heard a feminine voice welcoming them.

Ted opened the door, making room for Jeanne to walk in first. And as soon as Andromeda saw her, the healer's eyes lit up along with a smile on her face, "Jeanne, you brought me my briefcase! Thank merlin,"

"Something wrong Auntie?" Jeanne asked, and she noticed her maternal figure shoot a quick look at her husband before smiling again.

"Not at all honey," Andromeda said as she took the briefcase. Then she put it underneath her desk and picked up her small purse. Then she took out a couple of notes and held it out for Jeanne as she explained, "Go get some food, Ted and I will be home very late tonight so I'm hoping you could get something for everyone,"

Jeanne took the money and gave her aunt a kiss on the cheek and replied, "Thanks Auntie, I'll see you at home,"

Then as she was leaving she gave her uncle a hug. After the door was closed, Jeanne Black pumped her fist. She fucken loved food, especially any greasy food she could get her hands on. And now she finally could get some, she had been craving it all month long.

Harry Potter sat in the mess hall with his back against the wall. He simply watched everyone else with a keen eye, his tray of food sat empty. He had grown accustomed to eating quickly, and using his non-dominant hand as a shield and to lean forward while eating.

Afterall, doing otherwise was a good way to get your food taken by some punk at HMP Borstal. Typically he was left well enough alone. He was here until he reached majority, in which the rest of his life sentence would continue in the adult complex.

While almost everyone else serving time were just serving a couple months, three years at most before being released. He was here on a life sentence, a fact most of his fellow inmates and convicts respected, but every once in a while some fresh youngster who felt they had something to prove tried to pick a fight or mess with him.

But that was part of being a convict.

HMP Borstal had a certain pecking order, though it wasn't uncommon for that pecking order to be disrupted as fights over which youth gang dominated the prison came into play whenever some new upstarts gang showed trying to displace the six major regionally or religiously run groups.

The Irish, The Scotts, The Slavs, The Catholics, the Protestants and the smallest group, the chavs. Nobody liked the chavs. But as long as they came in on good charges and didn't cause problems… they were left alone.

But eventually some of the newer inmates tried to band together to change the system. They always failed, as these groups were run by shot callers much like himself, all destined to serve a long time behind bars and drilled their gangs members to be ready for war.

As for him? Harry Potter was neutral in all the prison politics, though an older inmate now long free had taken him under his wing. As a result he got on well with the groups and could hang out with any of them, he had earned the right to do so after all.

The dominance wars that broke out every few months were a stupid and useless process, as it usually ended with the complex going into lockdown and other hassles that Harry Potter simply did not need in his day.

Plus it put his little business at risk and messed with his profits.

What? How was he supposed to sell mail stamps when everyone was locked down? It wasn't much, but it was honest work, which allowed him to afford what small luxuries he could like canteen food. Prison food sucked.

Man he definitely shouldn't have killed the Dursleys at ten years old. Granted, he did it because he saw no other way to escape their abuse towards him. But if he could go back in time and advise his younger self, then he'd go out of his way to make sure a younger Harry Potter ran away.

Now he was to sit in a prison for however long he lived for double homicide and arson.

He didn't just regret it because it landed him in prison. Killing his relatives just made him feel guilt. And as much as he had hated Dudley at the time, now he just felt bad he left his cousin orphaned.

And as an orphan himself, that guilt weighed heavily on his conscience. Now that he was older and more mature, and had spent five years in prison meeting different people and hearing stories. Listening to the wisdom of the older inmates. He knew better now.

He knew he was a victim, and in a way, so was Dudley. Because Petunia and Vernon were setting Dudley up to fail by putting him on such a high pedestal. Dudley had become a bully himself and the walrus and the horse pitted them against each other.

But that didn't help alleviate the guilt. Now on this day, July 31st of 1995, his birthday. He got to spend it inside a prison.

Eventually lunch ended and it was back to walking the yard, and met up with his best friend and brother in all but blood Jason. Where he spent most of his day working out, lifting weights, running and exercising.

Afterall, he needed to be ready to go to war at a moment's notice. In prison violence was commonplace and a prison riot or a gang dispute or dominance war could break out at any moment. Though Harry was not associated with any gangs, even though he was friendly with the shot caller of the various gangs in the complex, he knew once things popped off his status as a neutrino did not matter, he would have to defend himself.

He went back to his cell once the guards called yard time over. And as he went back into his cell, he pushed out a hundred more push ups just to close the day out right.

He looked at his bunk and noticed a couple bags sitting in there. He picked up the first, and picked up the box of shoes box cautiously.

Inside was a new pair of shoes, nice. His current shoes were wearing out. That meant his canteen order finally arrived, as he checked the other bag. Soap box, Deodorant, and dry noodle soup packages.

Excellent!

Next day, Harry was once again in the yard, this time he wasn't working out. The shot callers were discussing a new policy in regards to how to handle the constant outbreaks of violence, and how to lower the heat they were getting from the jailers. And considering he was the longest serving inmate with good charges and standing being incarcerated in this yard since he was ten years old, his opinion carried weight behind it.

Currently the topic was in regards to how to handle the amount of fighting in the yard. The current solution being floated was going to a stab only policy.

"What do you think?" the shot caller for the Irish gang Matt Sullivan asked Harry.

"The problem is that we are always going to have new inmates who think they got something to prove, now we are some of the only people doing twenty to life living here, but we aren't going to be in this particular yard for more than three years," Harry started as he stroke his chin, taking a moment to pause, "While it would be an ideal solution for us. Because we already serving our time for years to come, most of these kids don't need to be catching life sentences for murder,"

"He's right," Petrov Milkovich said, "Plus, the jailers would come down on us even harder. We already getting enough heat as is,"

"We need to police our own guys when they arrive into the general population," Harry stated plainly, "Sullivan, you and your people take care of any Irish boys that arrive here. Craig and his people take care of any Scotts, Milkovich you handle any Slavs, and while I may not be part of a gang I got no problem policing any welsh that come in, or anyone who tries to cause problems,"

"You're good with us OG," Matt stated patting him in the back, "If you see any Irish friends acting out you got my permission to police them"

"Potter!" One of the jailers called out to him, as a group of wardens came to the meeting, "Get back to your cell and get your stuff, your getting released,"

Harry was taken about, then waved off the jailer and said, "Stop playing McCaffee, you and I both know I'm serving natural life,"

"It ain't no joke Potter, you got a full pardon," the Jailer said.

"Can you believe this guy?" Harry said turning to Milkovich, "He must think I'm some punk,"

"Whatever man," Petrov said, "You know McCaffee is coocoo,"

"Potter, I swear to fucken god, get to your fucking cell and get your shit. You got some very Important people waiting for you," the Jailer McCaffee said.

Deciding to just do as he was told, Harry stood up from where the shot callers were sitting and walked back to his cell, and did as he was told. He made sure to inform his friend Jason what was going on.

And each step he took towards the security doors to get changed into a civilian outfit and out of the orison clothes the more nervous he got.

Was he really going to be free? Nah it couldn't be. They were just playing a prank on him.

Harry was so concerned with his nerves that he lost situational awareness. And even though he was being escorted, he should have known better.

As he felt something pierce his stomach, and his eyes focused on a face very close to his own. Some punk he had checked some years back, and as he looked down he saw a shank sticking into his stomach and his blood spilling around the jagged edges.

Harry dropped his box of belonging and immediately raised his right arm back and started beating his attacker until a couple of jailers pulled him off of the bastard

His vision started going gray as he fell back and cold started seeping into his body. His hearing was slowly fading away and as he blacked out, Harry Potter's last words were, "I guess this is it. Time to face my judgement day."