#hs.starters

Maybe it was a little foolish to come to Godric’s Hollow after everything that had happened, but even still she couldn’t particularly isolate herself and only communicate through owls. If she did that, with no contact except when they sat down out of nowhere at her work to gather intel that she’d received over the previous week (or weeks depending on just how long it was that the days might have been for the other Order members). Truthfully though, Dorcas needed to at least be able to let her shoulders relax and not be aware of everything around her for a little while. Still, she sat down on one of the logs and huddled close to the fire. “Hey there -- everything staying good at least?”

Maybe it was macabre. Or at the very least it wouldn't take much to turn it that way. But Emmeline didn’t let their focus waver and shift to the pictures and letters and deeply personal items that filled Godric’s Hollow’s empty, broken homes, instead resolutely sifting through the remnants of the deceased inhabitant’s belongings with a singular goal in mind. Em was on a fact-finding mission, a self-assigned search for any and all books on magic or history that might be in some way useful to the cause. Or, more concisely and perhaps more accurately, they were not particularly gifted at being idle, and were rooting around in a dust-filled cottage just to avoid climbing up the proverbial walls. 

They opened a cupboard, ushering forward the small glowing ball they’d charmed to float around, supplementing the paltry light coming through the windows, and let out a quietly pleased noise at the sight of a large cardboard box within. Wasting no time, Em grabbed the box and slid it off the shelf, realizing too late that the bottom hadn’t withstood it’s time languishing untouched nearly as well as they had expected. The good news was that it was in fact full of books. The bad news was that they tore straight through the bottom of the box and to the floor, toppling with a resounding avalanche of thumps that was almost certainly audible out on the street. 

As the dust, quite literally, settled, Em tossed the useless bit of cardboard aside before crouching down to sort through the mess, a muttered “fuck” leaving their lips in a sigh. 

It was something he did a lot, these days, when he couldn’t sleep: took a walk, a lap or two around the edges of their encampment, along the borders of the secret clutched tight in his chest, like he was checking to make sure it was all still there, like he needed to be sure he knew every inch of the place he was protecting. And he couldn’t sleep, most nights, so the path had become well-worn, familiar beneath his feet. Parts of it had been familiar before-- visiting Lily and James, talking walks when the weather cooperated. Now, though...

He’d sat down, at the halfway point, halfway along the loop from where he’d started and where he’d end again, the home he’d claimed as his own for the time being. Had sat down, jacket pulled tight across his chest, and sat back to look up at the stars, to watch his breath furl upwards in the frigid air. It wasn’t a surprise, for someone to approach him -- he was fairly certain everyone knew where to look for him after dark, and it wasn’t in bed. 

     ‘’lo,’ he greeted with a nod of acknowledgement, the footsteps in the grass beside him pulling him out of his thoughts. ‘Just getting some fresh air. Care to join me?’

It was early when Amelia woke; the sun had only just begun to peek in through her ice covered windows. Most of the Order preferred living in the tents at the edge of town, but no matter how insulated they insisted they were, Amelia found it silly to live like vagabonds when there were plenty of cottages to house them all. She had plenty of her own ghosts to be afraid of; the ones that haunted this town made no difference. 

She reached out from under the covers for the pack of cigarettes she’d been hoarding in the drawer in her nightstand. Most people snuck out of Godric’s Hollow in hopes of finding their loved ones, or following up on a foolish lead they swore would help them win the war. Amelia knew better. The only thing she crossed the wards for were cigarettes. Everything else she needed to win the war was right here in Godric’s Hollow, as long as the Order got its act together. "Fuck,” she muttered. The pack was empty. She’d been hoping to stay in bed a little bit longer. A smoke and a few more hours of sleep might help drown out the words that kept circling her mind. Two letters, no more than two hundred words between them. The first, was hers and hers alone to bear. The second provided some hope, if she could figure out what it meant. 

Amelia’s chance at sleep was lost, but she at least knew where she could find more cigarettes. She’d left a pack under a floor board in the war council cottage for when things got especially tense, which had been often lately. Amelia threw on some boots and the warmest jacket she could find before leaving her cottage. She walked through the center of town as quickly as she could, praying no one else was up this early. The last thing she needed was someone asking her, well, anything at this hour. Luckily, she made it to the war council cottage unseen, or at least unbothered. 

Amelia pushed the large desk at the front of the room back a bit, before waving her wand over one of the floor boards. Thank Merlin, they were still there. After prying the pack out from underneath the board, Amelia plopped down against the wall, pulled out one of the cigarettes and lit it on the spot. She couldn’t risk being seen again, and she needed to take the edge off now.

Pandora rose before the sun, untangling her limbs gently from Xenophilius. She grazed her lips across his, stilling the muttering for just a moment. She moved through their small tent carefully, weaving through precariously piled stacks of books, picking up half empty cups of cold tea long forgotten as she made her way towards the kitchen. Pandora cleaned the teacups as she waited for the kettle to boil and brewed herself a strong cup of tea. She shook out three drops from a small vial she kept tucked in the back of a cupboard. Armed with a basket and a small pair of scissors, a notebook and her tea Pandora stepped outside, breathing in the cold morning air.

Godric's Hollow felt more like a ghost town than ever this time of the morning. Pandora didn't let herself look too closely at the empty houses as she made her way through the silent streets towards the northern edge of town. she had spied a crop of solclowermire the day before and was determined to pick as many as she could for her potion making before they died in the light of the sun for another day. Pandora cut the delicate blooms carefully and placed them in her basket, keeping track of everything she picked in her notebook.

It’s easy to lose himself in gardening. He has a greenhouse back home, and some plants scattered about indoors in the less-humid air, and at home he spends much of his time there when he’s not working. It’s soothing, an activity he used to share with his mother, pressing fingers down into loam and mulch while she murmured instructions over her shoulder. It’s hot and sweaty work and he compensates for the loneliness of losing her by talking to her--his--plants. He discusses the state of their leaves with them and tells them stories about his life, talks to them like they still hold memories of his mother puttering about and he only has to chatter along until he unlocks them.

It’s no surprise that he gravitates towards gardening, here. The Lovegoods have an interesting setup--he hasn’t even heard of half the things they claim to be growing, but he’s curious nonetheless, and they’ve allowed him some space to cultivate some of his own. Dittany, he thinks, might be a good addition.

He’s got dirt on his knees and a trowel in his hands, and he’s not wearing gloves, carefully tugging at tiny sprouts of weeds and talking to himself, because it’s a habit by now when there are plants between his fingers.

“I’m really sorry about this,” he apologizes to a yielding weed. “Thanks for being so accommodating, though. These other plants, they’re too polite to say, but they really can’t share the dirt with you.”

They had a little map floating in front of them, marked all over with different colours. Some places circled, others crossed out, a few question marks here and there.

“More than one headquarters....” Greta mumbled to themselves, tilting their head to the side, trying to find a new perspective, hoping that maybe they had missed something before, that a brilliant idea would pop into their head and they would solve the mystery. They had done it once before, they had found a part of the Order, they could do it again. Cause that had to be what Glenda meant, there were more members out there, still alive and still save and if Greta could just figure it all out, fighting back would be a more reasonable thing to do. Strength in numbers, Glenda had said and Greta believed it. Now they didn’t have enough people to make a move.

But Greta had spent days trying to find something just to come up empty handed. If only they could get their hands on a list of Order members, maybe of important locations but they were still fresh meat, still not on that level of trust with anyone. 

“This is frustrating.” They sighed, taking out their wand to apparate a cup of hot chocolate and a chair, sitting down as they frowned.

Location: ‘Charity’s House’ near the edge of Godric’s Hollow 

Status: Open

The ache of loss was a feeling Charity had come to know all too well since the war had stolen into her life swiftly as dark clouds rolling in over a bright summer’s day. She had come to find that familiarity did nothing to dull the jagged edges of her heart breaking over and over in her chest. Once, when she lost her love, she had thought it possible for a heart to shatter past the point of feeling, that she might weep until she was empty of tears. But every fresh loss gave the lie to that desperate dream. Every time she lost another friend or watched one of her few remaining dear ones weep or shudder under the weight of their own mourning it made her soul cry out anew. 

Still, despite the open wounds of grief that decorated the inside of her chest, Charity was likewise no stranger to hope. It had been hope and the love of her friends that raised her from the darkness and it was hope that she clung to keep herself standing as the war wore on. When she lit one of the candles she’d found abandoned in the shed it was the merest glimmer of hope nearly hidden by clouds of panicked grief in Arthur’s eyes that she saw reflected in the flickering flame. The thought sent her rushing back to the shed with new purpose. For all, the sudden surge in population Godric’s Hollow was still far too much like a ghost town and it pained her to see the once vibrant flames of defiant hope sputtering out in so many eyes. She had to try to do something to spark a new light in the heart of the Order. 

The look of understanding that bloomed in Arthur’s eyes at the sight of a pile of candles on her table even before an explanation could fall from her lips was enough to seal her purpose but in the days since telling the others of their intentions doubts began to rise. She had hoped that the idea of a vigil would bring them all closer together but she worried at times that for some it had only re-opened wounds that they had been trying to forget. Charity understood well the urge to turn away from painful things. More often than not she still could not bring herself to speak Althea’s name without tears rushing to her eyes and she loathed to show the pain of such an old wound to her friends who were still reeling from the much more recent attacks. But still, she could not bear to do nothing any longer and she hoped that the vigil would offer a chance for those who were suffering in the dark to find a little light.

To the surprise of many, Charity had been one of the first to move into a house in the Hollow. Everywhere she went was haunted and nowhere was home, plus someone needed to set up a proper kitchen and she was tired of walking through a town full of darkened windows. Oddly it felt more disrespectful to her to leave the houses as untouched shrines instead of trying to fill them with life once again, she sometimes hoped that someone or something was making a home in her house in the countryside the thought of it abandoned and empty only made her sadder when she dwelled on it. She picked a small house near enough to the tents that she was not far removed from the others with an overgrown garden, decent sized kitchen, and a pantry. She eyed the contents of said pantry critically as plans swirled through the haze of her doubts about the vigil.  It was decently stocked between what she had brought with her from her abandoned shop and the items left by the past owner but with the length of their stay in the Hollow unknown, she had been rationing everything as carefully as possible. She baked bread and brewed tea to bring out to the tents regularly, but for the vigil, she was thinking of making chamomile honey cakes and tea charmed to keep them warm in the chilly January evening. It meant cutting into her precious honey stash, but she was hopeful that come Spring she might have some luck attracting bees to the hives she was working on building out back near the garden. She was pulled from her thoughts by a noise near the door to the kitchen and her hand strayed to her wand instinctively even as she turned towards the sound.