AN: Much thanks to my beta fury-shashka. Her awesomeness is…well…awesome!

Trivia: All my chapter names are parts of sentences lifted from different scriptures in the bible.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story of J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Five: The Righteous With The Wicked

"Brother."

Lucius turned his head and found Rodolphus staring at him intently, his usually blank eyes suddenly alight with life. At present, they were in the communal showers, completely naked as they washed away the grime of the day from their bodies. Today—exactly four weeks since they'd first arrived to the Church of Saint Mary—had been a hard day of construction work and carpentry for poverty-stricken Muggle families. Lucius couldn't scrub his skin hard enough to erase the diseased feeling of being near such repulsive creatures.

That Granger woman really was audacious. To force him into hard labour for a species that were beneath him showed how impudent the little bitch was. Nevertheless her iron will was commendable. Despite the various forms of insubordination she received on a daily basis, she dealt with each moment with a stoicism that was equal parts taught and inherent. No matter the occasion, the rebuffs, or the spitting insults made towards her, her orders were to be obeyed.

A true leader in the making.

But he only conceded that fact begrudgingly. He still despised Sister Hermione Granger and the very essence of what she was. Regardless of her admirable attributes, few as they were—namely, her leadership skills—he still thought she was a worthless waste of space and needed to be rid of immediately. She and her kind served no purpose in this world but to contaminate it with their dirty blood, and to infuriate him with their ongoing existence.

"Brother."

"What is it, Rodolphus?" he replied coldly.

"We've a plan."

"A plan? Concerning what?"

A moment of silence ensued where the only sound that could be heard was the steady gushing of water from the pipes. Then Rodolphus finally continued, his voice many degrees quieter:

"To resurrect our lord."

This gave Lucius pause. A rapid succession of emotions overcame him: shock, wonder, fear, indifference, regret, hate, hate, hate…

No.

Never. Never again.

Twenty plus years of his life had been dedicated to that…that abomination. He'd risked his life and the lives of his wife and son for a creature that had had no understanding of responsibility. His wife had left him, his son had disowned him, and he was currently serving a prison sentence for crimes he'd committed under the orders of him. No. Never again was he going to allow himself to be fooled into servitude.

His days of complete and unabashed loyalty were over.

He'd been given a second chance, and he was going to use it wisely. The world that the Dark Lord had longed for—that they'd all had longed for—was impossible now. The Muggles and their abhorrent culture had heavily infiltrated the Wizarding world, and there was no going back. He was not going to risk his life and his comfort all over again to try to reinstate his traditional beliefs. Murdering and torturing—regardless of those who deserved it—were behind him. When his stint at the Church of Saint Mary was over, he'd be off to unknown parts to live peacefully and, hopefully, Muggle-free.

He could care less for resurrecting dead dark lords. Let the beast rot wherever he laid!

Carefully, he adapted a mask of pleased curiosity as he turned to Rodolphus.

"Is that so?" he enquired. "However do you propose to accomplish this feat whilst incarcerated?"

Rodolphus eyes seemed to get even brighter. "We will use the girl."

Lucius was surprised by this admission. "The girl? Have you forgotten that she played a significant role in our lord's demise?"

"No," replied Rodolphus with a smug smile playing about his lips, "the other girl."

"Ah, the bothersome chatterbox," deduced Lucius.

Rodolphus nodded.

"But how shall she be of use to you—to us?" pressed Lucius, genuinely interested now as an idea began to form in his head.

Rodolphus did not immediately respond. Instead, his black eyes glittered as he stared hard at Lucius. "Brother, can you be trusted?"

Lucius breathed hard, working his face into a hard exterior of anger as he pretended to be affronted by Rodolphus' query. Then, in as deadly a voice as he could pitch his, he said:

"Lestrange, are you honestly questioning my loyalty? I, who have been the longest and most diligent supporter of our cause? The one who the Dark Lord himself named as his second-in-command? Are you, Lestrange?"

He knew he had achieved his goal by his first statement, but he'd wanted to rub it in to ensure that he'd be privy to Rodolphus' schemes. A plan of his own had formulated, and it would be useless without the information that Rodolphus and company were hiding.

"Of course, of course," responded Rodolphus with a nod. "My apologies, Brother. I merely wanted to confirm your place in this very important mission."

Lucius nodded.

"As I've mentioned before, we—myself, Bella, Rabastan and Antonin—have decided to use the servant girl for our means. It seems that she is taken with Rabastan, and that he is willing to falsely return her affections so she can do as he bids her. She will—"

Rodolphus' explanations was cut short at the entrance of the evening shift Aurors: Hugh Davies and Trevor Lodge. They'd replaced Michael and Terry in the evenings due to the long and tiring shift. The new duo, Lucius noticed, were not as stringent and careful as Corner and Boot. Whereas the former two were constant watchdogs in the event of mischief-making, the new Aurors tended towards slack supervision.

"Come on, come on!" hollered Hugh. "Shower time's over."

Suddenly realising that he and Rabastan had been discoursing whilst very naked, he turned off the pipes and reached for a towel to cover himself. He was a little irritated by the Aurors' bad timing, but he consoled himself in the knowledge that he'd just acquired a fantastic bargaining chip. Whatever else Rodolphus had to say, he'd learn soon enough. And when he did, so would Sister Hermione Granger—as long as she agreed to his requests first.

With a sharp, ear-splitting crack, the Knight Bus appeared alongside the gate of the church. Feeling very queasy after the lurching, speeding drive, Hermione made a hasty retreat from the vehicle, and wobbled her way to the gate. Standing still, she waited for her heart to slow, for the nausea to ebb, and for her rubbery legs to regain their strength. Good Lord, she was never taking the Knight Bus home again. Never.

Why she'd even thought to use that form of transportation was beyond her.

But remembrance returned.

Oh. Right.

She'd just returned from a trip to the Weasleys, hoping to rebalance herself with familiar faces and a loving atmosphere. Being cloistered in the church amongst such venomous and hateful souls had taken its toll on her mentally and physically. She'd wanted a reprieve. Constant prayer had seemed futile against her trials, and she'd even found that the wickedness of the hearts of the men and women she gave refuge to had begun to rub off on her.

Thus, she'd felt that a visit to a place where love and respect prevailed was in order.

How she'd been wrong.

Excited, and feeling like a burden was about to be lifted off of her shoulders, she'd Floo-ed to the Weasleys. Expecting shouts of pleasurable surprise at her sudden presence, bone-crushing familial hugs from Molly, and possibly a bit of a comfortable chat with Ginny, she'd stepped from their fireplace and into their living room with the biggest smile on her face in ages.

Oh, how she'd been so, so wrong!

Instead, as she'd turned to head towards the kitchen, she'd been confronted by the sight of a very pregnant Lavender lounging in the sofa. It should have been her first sign of things terribly amiss, but she'd ignored it in favour of the greater questions: why was Lavender here, and why was she pregnant?

"La-Lavender," she'd greeted with a stiff smile. It was public knowledge that Hermione and Lavender were not the best of friends due to Ron's infidelity with the blonde witch mere weeks before Hermione had taken off for university. But as a Christian soul, Hermione had learnt to forgive and forget. Somewhat. "How nice to see you."

"Hello, Hermione," was Lavender's cool response. "How've you been?"

"Fine, fine," Hermione had responded. "And you?"

"The same," said Lavender, and then there was nothing else to say. The silence that had stretched between them was as wide and as heavy as Lavender's belly. Hermione's eyes had then proceeded to defy her. Try as she might not to ogle Lavender's rotund stomach, she just couldn't help it. And the question had chased its tail in her mind—who's the father? Is it Ron's? Who's the father? Is it Ron's? Who's the father? Is it—

"Lav!" Mrs. Weasley had rounded the wall to enter the living room, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. At the sight of Hermione, her face had lit with shock, and Hermione had thought that things were looking up.

Then the oddest thing happened. Instead of rushing forth, arms spread wide for an accommodating hug as Hermione had envisioned, Mrs. Weasley's face had become shuttered, and her arms had fallen to her sides.

"Oh, hello there, Sister Hermione," Mrs. Weasley had greeted in semi-cool tones. "How nice of you to visit."

Sister Hermione?

"Molly, did you need me for something?" Lavender spoke before Hermione could say anything.

Molly?

"Of course not, Lavvy, dear," Mrs. Weasley had answered, smiling dotingly at Lavender. "I just wanted to make sure that you've been resting your swollen feet."

They'd then proceeded into a conversation about the pains of pregnancy. There had been no sugarcoating the obvious: she was being ignored. The blatant rudeness had astounded Hermione. She hadn't known where to begin to be surprised. Whether it should be from the stiff use of her official title by Mrs. Weasley, Lavender's comfortable use of Mrs. Weasley's first name—an honour that had been forbidden for Hermione—or the fact that Mrs. Weasley referred to Lavender as 'Lavvy.'

Eventually, Mrs. Weasley had had the decency to enquire whether she'd wanted a bite to eat, and Hermione had agreed to the offer. Their following conversation had been exceedingly forced and detached, and Hermione had just been on the verge of questioning Mrs. Weasley's awful behaviour when Mr. Weasley and Ron had arrived home together.

If Hermione had never encountered true awkwardness before, then she'd done so in that moment.

Her discomfiture had tripled. Hardly anyone had spoken, and if anyone did, it had been Mr. Weasley asking her how she was for the umpteenth time. The ordeal had gotten so overbearing, that she'd burst out angrily:

"What is wrong with all of you?"

"You! That's what's wrong!" Ron had retaliated instantaneously.

"What do you mean 'me?'" she'd demanded. "What have I done?"

"What have you done?" Mrs. Weasley had cried suddenly. "What have you done? You're harbouring criminals in your house! Criminals!"

"I am not harbouring criminals, Mrs. Weasley," she'd tried to explain. "I am contributing to their rehabilitation so that they can reintegrate into society—"

"They deserve to be dead, the lot of them!" Ron had proclaimed with such venom it had surprised her. "Dead. Just like their stupid master."

She'd risen from her seat, shaking with indignation and hurt. "And that's why you've all seen it fit to treat me so poorly?"

"Hermione, you can't expect us to be welcoming when you're helping those bad men—" Mrs. Weasley had begun, but Hermione had suddenly turned to Lavender.

"Lavender, is that Ron's baby?"

Lavender's victorious smile was unmistakable. "Of course it is."

"So what happened to Luna? I bet he cheated on her with you, didn't he?"

Lavender's pout was answer enough.

Hermione had turned back to find Mrs. Weasley's face mulish and pinched. Then, pointing at Ron, she'd made her parting words: "You know what, Mrs. Weasley? I'm not the only one harbouring bad men in my house. Here's a prime example of the worst kind of man one can ever meet: a man who can't keep his penis in his pants long enough without sticking it between the first pair of legs that opens up to him."

And with a dizzying about-face, she'd ran from the house. She truly didn't even know how she'd ended up on the Knight Bus in the first place.

Feeling better, she opened the gate and slowly made her way up the walkway to the church's entrance. It was a particularly cold night as it tended to be in mid-January, and the chilly breeze robbed her of what little warmth she had. As she exhaled, plumes of thin mist hung at her lips for mere seconds before drifting away. How she longed for a nice warm cup of cocoa, and to forget about what had transpired today.

The sanctimonious hypocrites they were!

She thought this angrily. How dare they judge her for her work? How dare they accuse her of doing wrong when she was obviously doing right? What was wrong in trying to save lives from needless deaths? Hadn't the world suffered enough unwarranted losses?

And to treat her as though she were the enemy, as though she were no better than the souls she were trying to save! Their horrid behaviour had been equal parts hurtful and surprising. She felt as though she'd been betrayed. And, for some absurd reason, the worst of the feelings of betrayal had come from the sight of pregnant Lavender.

Inanely, outrageously, she'd felt a sudden, overwhelming surge of jealousy.

Flinging the church door open, she announced to the lined pews:

"I've no need to be jealous of that fat and ugly trollop!"

Then she noticed that someone was sitting at the front row of pews, and she immediately regretted speaking aloud. These past few weeks, she'd been cursing more and more, and it seemed as though her regular recitals of Hail Marys were not enough. Blaming Lillian's influence had grown old. Plain and simple: she'd developed a potty mouth. Now how was she to save face after her blatant name-calling? That wasn't a very nun-like thing to do…

The person stood, and her eyes automatically honed in on the long, blond hair, held meticulously into a ponytail.

Malfoy.

What was he doing here?

Quickly, she glimpsed at her wristwatch. It was thirty minutes before his curfew.

He turned into the aisle and began walking towards her, his long legs making quick work of the job. He was tall—taller than her—and his current robes advertised how broad and strong his shoulders were. His walk was purposeful and confident; his face impassive. She wondered what he wanted. Did he intend to harm her? Well, it didn't matter. The sensor in his arm was protection enough.

Still, you never know…

She withdrew her wand.

"I've no ill intentions towards you, Miss Granger," he said quietly as he finally stood before her. "You needn't draw your wand."

"What do you want?" She was going to get this over and done with. Being in Lucius Malfoy's presence had a harrowing effect on her, and after the ordeal she'd previously been through at the Weasleys, she hadn't the strength to deal with him tonight.

He did not answer right away, only surveyed her in the quietude that followed. It was maddening. The way those eyes of his seemed to have the ability to stare straight into her was the reason why she hated being in his company. Despite the fact that he was the prisoner and she was the one in charge, he constantly exuded this aura of self-assurance whereas she usually fought to suppress her anxiety.

"What do you want, Mr. Malfoy?" she repeated, fists clenched into tight balls. "If you've nothing to say, then it is best you return to your room and stop wasting my time."

He smirked. "Patience is a virtue, Miss Granger. Surely you know this?"

"Sadly, patience has never been my strong suit," she answered. "So speak now or forever hold your peace."

"Ah, we've moved on to marriage ceremonies."

"Yes, of course, a marriage of my wand to your person if you don't state your business immediately."

He gave her an assessing look before responding, "You seem awfully tetchy, Miss Granger. I might have enquired after your welfare, but I mustn't digress. I have some information that would be useful to you."

"Is that so?" replied Hermione, affecting boredom. "And I'm sure the release of this information comes with a price?"

It was the first genuine smile she'd seen on his face. It transformed his features, and Hermione suddenly realised that Lucius Malfoy was an attractive man. The discovery was highly disconcerting. It only served to reinforce her secret belief that Lucius Malfoy was Lucifer on earth. She was forcibly reminded that before the acclaimed 'Morning Star' had fallen, he'd been the most beautiful entity that had existed.

The handsome Light Giver that had been banished from heaven because of his pride and wicked heart.

She took a step back.

"Such a smart little witch you are," he said, eyes trained on her. "And to think I've questioned your intelligence so frequently."

She squinted at him. "Mr. Malfoy, I'm in no mood to play games. Either you say what you've got to say now, or I swear I'll hex you. I'm in a hexing kind of mood."

"First, I'll state my price: my curfew is to be annulled, and I'm to have free reign of the entire compound. I am also to be allowed outside of the compound whenever I choose."

"Absolutely not," was her immediate response. "Do you take me for a fool?"

"Hardly, but it is a shame that you would not know the goings-on beneath your roof before it is too late. Good evening, Miss Granger."

He turned and began making his way towards the stairway that lead to the second floor when Hermione demanded he halt. She did not like the ominous way he'd spoken, and she felt that it would at least be wise to hear exactly what he had to say before rejecting his requests outright.

"Mr. Malfoy, I am willing to consider your wishes but I cannot do so unless you clearly disclose this important information that you boast of."

He returned to where he'd been standing, and Hermione wished he hadn't. She did not like the way he towered over her, as though it would be dreadfully simple to overpower her if he felt so inclined. Once again, he was quietly scrutinising her before his next words shocked her to the core.

"They are plotting to resurrect the Dark Lord."

And before she could recover from her horrified gawp, he added,

"And I am willing to…well, in simple terms, 'be a spy.'"

AN: Thanks to those who reviewed the previous chapter. Hope you enjoyed this update.

It is a pity that there are so many who consider this story either: a) blasphemous or b) not worth reading because it has religion in it. -:shakes head:- Hopefully, if there's an award out there for most controversial HP fanfiction, this story can be a contender! :D