Sunday mornings were typically lazy in the village. Very few in the wizarding world ever rushed off to church services. Faith in a higher power was almost unheard of in the community that could bring forth fire and death at the end of a stick. Its lack was an oddity that once upon a time interested her. She knew a Muggle-born wizard who rose as high as the Head of the Magical Maintenance Department at the Ministry. When her duties brought her to London, she'd engaged in many interesting discussions and debates with him about why organized religion hadn't gotten its hold on those with magic. Sometimes her mind would travel back to those days and she wondered what ever happened to the man. Had he survived all of the numerous purges that plagued the Ministry over the years? Or was he still wandering through the building making certain that the floors remained mopped and shiny?