Eunoia | Sirius Black

INTERLUDE 9

The history, as they say, is shady. Nothing is right. Not the time, not the facts, neither the semantics nor the memories. 

14th century France was caged inside one of those historical books muggles read, believing every word like a layman. As if the ones who wrote them could've never been wrong. 

Saints, sent by god to protect people. Victims, betrayed by those very own people. Symbol of purity, Joan of Arc panted heavily in front of an old burnt church.

The day had gone badly, undoubtedly one of her worst. Her wit was unmatched and her strength was too. But this man, this man she would never forgive. Never forget. 

Heinrich Kramer has been the bane of her purpose for a decade now. Little did she know he would prove to be so much worse than that.

Malleus Malificarum, previously something people spat on for the nonsense it contained was now copied and held by every prosecutor in sight. And there were loads of them, alright. Every street, every town, every city had them. Standing with torches ablaze, eyes vicious and malicious like the devil. 

Her only duty had been to protect those women. Only reason she'd been staying here for this long. Jeanne d'Ay de Domrémy was tired now. 

The world was set in balance, created by balance. And Kramer was her Apopis, the serpent of chaos. The enemy of ma'at. The serpent of sin had nearly caused her entire life's purpose to go down the drain but everything about Joan was tremulous. Her esoteric warmth was growing dull by the time the wars ended. 

She'd barely survived her trial. Desultorily, Joan trudged up the little hill she'd been trying to hike for quite some time now. It had been around 4 days since she'd last eaten. Though she found enough water bodies to quench her thirst, she would not dare eat a wild plant. 

She was quite indecisive about what to do after running. Not that she was running from her enemies, oh Joan was too brave and proud for that. She was running to find those innocent women she'd last seen being tied up just like her. 

She was tired, so tired. She'd never actually seen Kramer, only his silhouette from inside the church he'd caged her in. Before she was taken away though, she'd caught sight of a faint scar above his lips. 

He never actually came to view the trials, the money he made through the books was enough to keep him at leisure at home. 

Joan huffed out an angry breath, tired and angry and worried about all the other innocent women who'd done nothing but create medicines for themselves. Even an act as mundane as that was considered blasphemy. 

"Nonsense." She muttered. "Foolish, foolish men."

She was still in habit of speaking old English but people around here now spoke it differently. If she wanted to remain anonymous, she needed to not be found. No mistakes, she reminded herself. None at all, not this time. 

She was halfway through her hike when she saw her. 

A little girl in a muddy nightgown, sitting under a tall and beautiful Alder tree. Joan wanted to move away, to go search for her sisters, the women who were taken with her for heresy but she couldn't. The girl was too petite, looking as if she hadn't eaten in a long while. 

Joan felt her lips curve in a frown, "Lassie?"

The girl looked up, tear stains trailing down her cheeks. She remained quiet. 

Joan moved gently towards her, kneeling down so they were level. "Leef? Lite popinjay, look upon me." "Dear? Little parrot, look at me."

The girl turned her head up reluctantly, her wide doe-like eyes twitching with welled-up tears. "Who are you?"

"Hwæt are you doing here?" Joan softly asked, a little smile on her face. "What are you doing here?"

"My modor died," Whispered the girl. "She left me here and asked me to not come out."

"Hu?" "How?"

"Men," cried the girl. "Sum men tied modor up and took her." "Men, some men tied mother up and took her."

Joan felt her chest constrict with anger. She didn't want a liability but never would she ever leave the girl alone here. 

"Æfterfylgan." she said. "Follow."

The girl didn't understand what she said but she knew its meaning nevertheless. She looked around for her mother, but knowing she wasn't here, knowing she would likely never come back, she stood up and took Joan's hand. 

Joan picked her up in her arms, the girl weighed next to nothing in her rags. She had to find shelter soon. No longer could she be known as Joan the Arc, she was rumoured to be sent by the devil, by Satan. Idiots, she thought. Dysig!

It was nearly midnight when she found a hearth still lit. A cottage near an old oak tree. She stopped outside for a moment, merely to glimpse through the window. A man. 

She wasn't scared of men, she wasn't scared of anything truly. She had vowed to be a maiden forever, and an mægþ would she remain. If that man did anything to her or the girl, she knew a million ways to kill him anyhow. 

One, two, three knocks on the door and it opened with a creak. "Gyse?" "Yes?"

"Ich moot cunnian an ham tō slǣp." "I must find a home to sleep."

The man raised a brow, took in the girl in her arms and nodded. "Cuman." "Come,"

Joan went inside and didn't for a single second let go of the girl. When she saw a boy on an oak table, eating mashed potatoes with a huge smile, she had the most selfish thought enter her mind. 

She would find the women, she would save them the best she could. But did she not deserve a normal life, too? Perhaps, perhaps after this war is on hold, she could find a home. 

"Sit," The man told her in new English, a polite smile on his face. "Have food with us. You can stay for as long as you like in Oscar's room. My boy will sleep with me."

Before Joan could say something, he continued, "I am not at home most days, you will feel safe. Perhaps, your girl could find a friend in Oscar."

Joan felt herself feel warm. Mayhap, there was kindness among men. Nyce Joan, she shook her head. She couldn't trust so easily. But this person was a gentleman. He was kind and he was beautiful. 

"Who must you be?" She asked with a slight accent. 

He tilted his head curiously, "William. William Gregory Hawke."

When she'd cleaned the filth off her body and the little girl's who introduced herself as Hella, Joan ate merrily and took the girl to bed. 

That moment, she swore she won't let her get hurt. That she'll repay the Hawkes the kindness they'd bestowed upon her.

"Might I ask you something?" Hella questioned from beside Joan. 

"Awiht." "Anything."

The girl took that as a yes, "What's your name?"

Joan smiled, "Eunoia."