Chance: There's an old Chinese curse: "may you live in interesting times."
~ A movie.
Xoxoxo
Xoxoxo
Xoxoxo
There's ivy outside the cathedral.
"We're going today. Best go get dressed."
"Cathedral?" She asks suddenly. "Again? Bloody goodness, Malfoy."
"Every Sunday, eight o'clock, Black," he says smoothly. "Down the passageway, up the cobblestone steps, towards the shrieking shack, sharp left on till' morrow."
"It's awfully far away," she says quietly, "couldn't we just stay 'round here? Perhaps sleep in late, do a bit of charms then go down for a breakfast of syrup-y pancakes?"
"No. Grab a piece of toast on the way, love."
They put on their Sunday best and it's so formal it's almost like they're already little adults with little agendas. And she isn't ready to see the ivy again, hadn't they had enough?
Hadn't she heard of God and Angels and the Devil enough? The immaculate cathedral...didn't it ever get dirty? Because everything got dirty, you know.
It was morbid, and didn't you know? She knew, he knew and probably more than just them, too. When the candles burned out, blood was spilled in that Cathedral. And no one knew whose--come morning till you put the puzzle together. When the candles burned out, the ivy came alive and it shook and tossed with the night wind. The night sky--a brutal black-- sparse with jumpy, sunlit stars.
The haunting. And the ghosts flew about the cathedral and some said they heard the ghosts. But that was impossible--they only came out late at night--and the only ones who could have seen them would have been already dead---thrice times over.
Promises were made in the night and they were broken come daylight.
Paying the piper.
"But Malfoy," she whines but only slightly, "we've been good this week, haven't we? You haven't..."
"...killed any mudbloods and spilled their blood over dinner tables? No, 'Cissa no I haven't. Had an affair? No darling, not this week."
"Then why must we go?" She inquires.
"Didn't you know?" He responds nastily. "The only way I can rid my mad mind of these horrid events that visit me in my sleep is if I go to the Cathedral. And I go always. Every week. Sunday--never late. The Cathedral, my Black, is gorgeous."
"What's gorgeous, Lucius," she says dryly, "is drinking the most expensive white wine with you as we play poker--and didn't you see the dawn?"
And of course he saw the dawn. Every Friday night and other nights they stole.
The dawn would have to wait.
For it was Sunday.
And didn't you know--that on Sunday--they went to the Cathedral.
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