Same disclaimers as before.

Chapter 5: The Perverted Priest

Finch walked briskly down the hallway, two manila folders tucked under his arm. The black marble halls of the Ministry of Magic echoed with his footsteps. It was quieter now under the new regime. People still milled about doing their jobs, but they declined socialization and there were far, far fewer workers than there had been before the summer.

Finch took a left into a lift. Normally, they would be hard to catch and filled to the brim with all manner of sorceries. Now, however, there was just a nervous young doorman who quickly jabbed the button for the Auror Department. The doors slid closed and the lift jerked backwards.

Finch glanced at the doorman. "Morning," he said.

The doorman breathed heavily. "Here," he took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Finch.

"What's this then?"

"My family tree, sir," said the doorman, rubbing his wrists nervously, "I'm the son of Myrtle Blackweather and Joseph Jones. I-I know me dad's a muggle, but me mum's a witch through and through! I-I didn't steal me magic!" The lift halted with a shudder and the doors clicked open. Finch sighed; he didn't have the time, patience, or will to search the poor man's family tree for any errors at that time. He handed the paper back to a grateful doorman and walked away.

He quickly found the office he was looking for and banged on the door. "Come in," said a sickly sweet voice from beyond. Finch sighed; at least she didn't have that gruesome eyeball anymore. Undesirable Number 1 had taken it when he had secretly infiltrated the ministry in September.

Finch stepped into the pink office. "Morning ma'am."

"Good morning, Mr. Finch," said Delores Umbridge with a wide grin, "What can I do for you today?" Finch helped himself to a seat across her desk. Her walls were lined with pictures of cats, all of which snarled at him. Finch ignored them as he slapped a folder on Umbridge's desk.

"I've been digging through files on Lewis Prothero all night," he explained, "Came up with this at two in the morning."

Delores opened the file and took out a report. "This report denotes upon Lewis Prothero the duties, rights, and powers of an Auror," she glanced up at Finch, "What is this?"

"It's an order from Minister Thicknesse. It deputizes Lewis Prothero as an honorary Auror. It was rescinded a week after it was issued."

Delores smiled. "I can see that, dear."

"Of course, ma'am," said Finch, "But this is what I came to see you about." He handed her the other file. Delores took it, but didn't read it aloud.

"This seems to be in order," she said finally, "It's just a report the late Mr. Prothero filed concerning one of our research facilities. It all makes sense, Mr. Finch," she explained, "Minister Thicknesse must have wanted some publicity so he made Mr. Prothero an honorary Auror so the minister could show off the humane and helpful research being done at," she checked the sheet again, "Larkhill. Yes, that must be it. Lewis Prothero would never tell a lie on his show so he must have wanted to see the research that proves that mudbloods are thieves of magic for himself."

Finch nodded. "Well that's just the thing ma'am," he said, "What's Larkhill?"

"It's one of our new research facilities, of course."

"According to that file," said Finch, leaning forward in his chair, "But I've already spoken with the head of the Department of Mysteries and the head of the Department of Magical Research and Development, but they both claim never to have heard of this Larkhill place."

"Hmm," tittered Delores, "How strange."

Finch hesitated, but he decided to press on. "Ms. Umbridge," he said quietly, "You represent the upper echelon of the Ministry's New Order. I understand if you have to keep secrets of state, but this is a matter of national defense. So I must ask you," he took a breath, "Was there a research facility called Larkhill and what experiments were performed there?"

Delores thought for a moment. "I'm afraid I cannot recall a facility under that name." she said brightly, "Perhaps if you look in the records department-"

"I've been through the records," Finch said with a sigh, "This is the only mention of Larkhill in the entire ministry."

"Well there you have it then, Mr. Finch," she said, a new, hard edge present in her spritely voice, "It would appear that there was such a facility."

"Ma'am," said Finch, running his hand through his hair, "Did you know if there was anything different about this facility?"

"I told you, Mr. Finch, I simply cannot recall. Perhaps if you look in the records again-"

"Your records," snapped Finch, "Are deleted, omitted, or missing." He stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked out of the room. "Larkhill," he muttered to himself as he stormed down the hall, "What the bloody hell were you?"

. . .

Evey stared up at the mirror. It was a tall thing made of solid bronze with a gold inlay and a gilded frame. Above her reflection, a motto was emblazoned into the metal. "Vi veri veniversum vivus vici," she read to herself.

"By the power of truth," she looked up and saw V in the mirror standing behind her, his arms folded behind his back, "I, while living, have conquered the universe."

She looked over her shoulder at him. "A personal motto?"

"From Faust."

"Faust. That's about trying to cheat the devil, isn't it?"

"Yes."

Evey turned to the next mirror. "What does this one mean? What's Erised?"

V hesitated, considering what to do, but he knew it wouldn't matter. Evey looked at the mirror and gasped. Standing behind her were her parents, looking down at her with pride. At her feet was her younger brother. "How?" she whispered, "What?"

"The Mirror of Erised," said V with a sigh, "It shows you with what your heart truly desires. I've been meaning to move it; the thing can be quite addicting."

Evey gently touched the glass. "It's wonderful."

"It is a lie."

"Perhaps," said Evey. She pressed her forehead against the side of the mirror. "But it's a good lie." She hummed contentedly. "My father was a writer. You would have liked him. He used to say that artists use lies to tell the truth while politicians use them to cover the truth up."

"A man after my own heart."

"He always told the best stories. Sometimes mum would come into our room to act out the stories with him."

"Our room?"

"My brother and I had to share. We lived in a pretty small flat." She hesitated and placed her palm flat on the mirror. In her reflection, her mother reciprocated the movement. "They died when I was pretty young. They said it was a gas explosion, but I later found out it was two wizards dueling in public. You remember Sirius Black?"

"I'm sorry, Evey."

"Everyone thought it was him. Then almost fifteen years later they said, no it was th other wizard. At that point, I didn't care. I'd been living in an orphanage since they died. When I got my Hogwarts letter, I thought it was some cruel trick until Professor McGonagall came to see me. You remember Professor McGonagall, don't you?" Evey giggled. "What am I saying, of course you do. You probably were only a few years ahead of me." V didn't say anything. Evey's smile faded as she watched her family. "You're right," she decided with a sad sigh, "It is a lie." She turned away from the mirror and V nodded with approval. She hesitated, but knew that the world she lived in had made her decision for her. "V?"

"Yes, Evey?"

She took a deep breath. "I've decided that…that I want to help you." V turned his head to the side. "In this revolution, I mean. If there's anything I can do to help, you'll tell me, right?"

V hesitated. "If you wish."

. . .

"Here you are, Mr. Finch," whispered the Unspeakable, one of the many workers in the Department of Mysteries, "This is everything we have on Larkill."

"Of course," muttered Finch, "The only reliable records are the tax records. Thanks, this is an enormous help." He took the red file and walked off.

. . .

Evey was in her room reading a book. Faust to be specific. There was a knock on the door and she put the book down. "Come in."

V entered the room. "I see our conversation the other day left you inspired." He said, nodding to her book.

Evey shrugged. "I was interested to see just how a man planned to cheat the devil."

"Speaking of which," V rocked on his heels, "I was wondering if your offer to help is still standing?"

Evey looked up, her eyes wide with hope. "Of course!"

"It seems unforeseen circumstances have accelerated my original plan," said V, "As a result, I'm in need of a thespian of some craft."

"I'll do my best!" Evey said earnestly.

"I believe you will," said V, walking out of her room, "I believe you will."

. . .

"Another strange request for someone to visit Larkhill," muttered Dominic, "What were they doing that required so many high-profile visitors?" Finch sifted through loose files until he came across one that caught his eye.

"No idea," he replied, "But this is interesting; the highest paid person at the facility was a priest."

"Really?"

"Yeah, a Father Lilliman. Paid him almost 200,000 Galleons a month."

Dominic leaned back in his chair. "Interesting. What did they need a priest for anyway?"

Finch shrugged. "I guess we'll ask him on Sunday."

"What?"

Finch reached into his pocket and handed Dominic a copy of the Daily Prophet. "Page 16, Wizard Priest Made Bishop. Lilliman was promoted a few weeks ago. He's holding a special mass in Westminster's Abbey this Sunday to celebrate."

. . .

Lilliman took a deep, bracing breath as he stared out into the chapel of the world's most famous abbey. In less than twenty-four hours, he would hold the mass of his life. He could already hear the people praising his righteousness and piety.

"I deserve this," he said to himself with a smile, "I've worked so hard to get here." He smiled up at the cross hanging in the middle of the room.

"Your grace?"

Lilliman turned and smiled at his young assistant. "Marty, how many times must I ask you to call me Harold?"

"At least once more, your grace." Said Marty. Lilliman smiled and walked out of the chapel into the abbey itself. Marty followed close behind him.

"Has everything been arranged?" the holy man asked quietly. Neither wizard nor muggle that he preached to knew of his darkest secret; only Marty knew of his lusts.

"Yes, about that, your grace," said Marty, "The girl just arrived and it appears that there was some confusion at the agency. She's considerably…older than your usual guests."

The bishop shot him a glance. "Not too old I hope?"

"No, your grace, still quite young."

Lilliman smiled happily. "Ah good. You are a diligent worker, Marty. An example to all those who serve God. Why don't you take the night off?"

Marty shot him a glance, "But your grace, who will make sure you aren't interrupted?"

Lilliman laughed. "Don't worry. I'll just spread the word that I wish to rest before my big sermon tomorrow and I will be left alone for the rest of the evening."

Marty hesitated but shrugged. "It is your decision, your grace. I'll see you tomorrow then."

"See you tomorrow, Marty," said Lilliman, "God be with you."

As soon as he was out of earshot, Marty scowled. "No, you old perverted wanker," he hissed, "God be with you."

Lilliman walked around the abbey thrice, a habit he'd had since he was a boy. It gave him time to think and relax for the temptation he was about to face. By the time he had finished his third lap, the crescent moon was high in the sky over the dark streets of London. "It is time," muttered Lilliman. He composed himself and walked up the stairs to his private quarters. He paused before the double doors to his room, but opened them with an eager smile.

"Oh my," he whispered. Sitting on his bed was a young woman in a lovely white and pink dress. She looked as fragile as a china doll and smelled like fresh roses. She was a bit older than the bishop would have liked, but he didn't care; she was beautiful and she was his for the entire night.

The girl looked up and gasped when she saw him. She quickly stood and gave cute little curtsey. "Y-your grace," she stammered.

Lilliman slowly walked forward, admiring his prize…er, temptation with every step. "To think that I doubted your loveliness for even an instant," he said, "Dios mio, my child, Dios mio."

The young woman glanced at the windows nervously and leaned in closer to him. "Listen to me, your grace," she whispered, "We don't have much time. I have to tell you something."

Lilliman nearly clapped with delight. "Oh, the confession game! I love the confession game! Tell me your sins, my child."

"This isn't a game your grace!" whispered the girl, "Someone's coming here to kill you!"

Lilliman cocked his head to the side. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm telling you this because I want some kind of protection," the girl whispered quickly, her eyes darting towards the window, "Or amnesty, or whatever. I had nothing to do with the Bailey and I made a serious mistake at the station, but if I save you it should balance out."

Lilliman was now thoroughly confused. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm Evey Hammond!" hissed Evey, "I've been the prisoner of the terrorist V for the last few weeks! And I'm telling you that any moment now, he's going to come in through the window and kill you!"

A light bulb went on over Lilliman's head. "Oh, wonderful!" he chuckled, "I've never played this game before!" He looked at Evey hungrily. "What a delightful mind you have." His eyes darted down her dress and back up again. "I only hope the rest of you is just as interesting."

"No! Please!" protested Evey as Lilliman began to rub her leg and move his hand around her waist, "You have to believe me!"

"Oh I do!" said the bishop, grabbing her arms roughly, "Now, let me show you the firmness of my belief in you." He rolled over on top of her and began reaching for his belt.

The window shattered and glass flew through the air like shrapnel. Luckily, the bishop was kneeling over Evey and took the full blast. He howled as the glass embedded itself in his back and he quickly crawled off the bed. "What was-" he looked over at the window and gasped. Standing there was a white Guy Fawkes mask surrounded by a black cloak, the terrorist V.

"Reverend," greeted V, stepping into the room.

"My God," whispered Lilliman in terror, "She wasn't lying." V turned sharply and stared at Evey, now standing besides the bed.

"I'm sorry, V," she said, a single tear running down her face, "I'm sorry." With that, she ran out of the room, V's head following her the whole way. Lilliman took the opportunity to draw his wand.

"Avada Kadavra!" V ducked under the green curse and grabbed the bishop's wrist, twisting it painfully in his vice-like grip. Lilliman screamed in agony and dropped his wand. V stepped on it with a satisfying crunch, breaking it in two.

V pulled the bishop close. "And thus I clothe my naked villainy," he recited, "With old odd ends stolen forth from holy writ and seem a saint when most I play the devil."

"Please!" gasped Lilliman, "Have mercy!"

"I seem to recall asking you the same request," Said V, "Not tonight, Bishop, not tonight."

. . .

Evey ran out into the night street in her frilly dress. She had only just left the abbey and turned a corner when she ran smack into the chests of two burley Snatchers, their badges proudly and stupidly displayed on their lapels.

"V!" she said quickly, "In the abbey! He's going to kill!" The two Snatchers only had to consider it for a moment. Have their way with a clearly insane woman, or catch the infamous terrorist? They ran off at full speed towards the abbey. Evey breathed a sigh of relief and ran off again.

She stopped on a street corner and caught her breath. Now was the opportunity she had been waiting for. She took a breath and focused on the image of a suburban home. With a familiar squeezing sensation, she apparated to the house in question; the home of her childhood friend. She ran too the door and banged on it harshly

"Please!" she shouted, "Tonks! Open up! It's me-" The door opened up and Evey found herself looking into the face of a very tired looking, very familiar old man.

The man peered at her from behind a weathered pair of spectacles. "Evey Hammond? Is that you?"

"Mr. Tonks!" said Evey with relief, "Can I come in?"

"Of course!" said Theodore Tonks, stepping back from the doorway, "Do come in! It's been years! Nymphadora isn't here now, but you're welcome to stay if you like. Would you like some tea?"

. . .

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