Author's Note: I was nervous that I wasn't going to post this week! I was pretty slow to write the next couple of chapters, and editing takes a while! Once again, I'm looking for someone to help me edit! Anyway, thank you for the favorites and follows. I'm thoroughly grateful for them all! Hit me up w/ any questions, comments, concerns, or jokes. Have a fantastic weekend and an even greater week!

My favorite interactions are in this chapter, by the way.

As usual, I don't own anything!

Warnings: implied violence

The DA Abroad

August 1, 1997 - August 2, 1997

"Tom Riddle, alias Lord Voldemort, took no time to begin the Muggleborn Registration Committee. Nearly hours after taking over the Ministry of Magic the man put into position the office, immediately rounding up the Muggleborns that he knew were close to Harry James Potter. It was a tragic turn of events for two siblings who had been on holiday near the British Isles." - Elizabeth Cantor, "The Times and Trials of the Second Wizarding War"

It took fifteen minutes for the members of Dumbledore's Army to assemble in the bedroom. They spread themselves around the space, making an almost picturesque scene. Ginny, Luna, and Neville sat on the ground, exchanging nervous looks. Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet were whispering to each other on the chaise lounge. Across from them sat Angelina Johnson and George, both looking wary.

Harry was lurking by the door, mulling over different introductions in his head. They all knew why he had called the meeting. It was pretty clear after Kingsley spoke, but he was having difficulty figuring out what to say.

"Right. Well, I guess we all know why I called the meeting of the DA," he began, running a hand through his untidy hair. "I mean, it's pretty obvious. We don't have a lot of information, though."

Heads whipped when he began to speak, each individual curious to hear what he was going to say. When Harry continued, the entire room seemed to take a huge breath, holding on to the moment.

"But what we know is that Voldemort thinks he won the war. And he didn't. Not yet. Not until we stop fighting. So we're going to figure out a way to save our friends and families, each person who is with us or under his rule. Our first plan is to figure out how to contact those who are shut off from us, and figure out where they are. Oliver Wood, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, and others."

"Dean won't know what's going on," Parvati Patil said from her position on the bed. Besides her, Padma nodded. "But Lavender and Seamus should be able to get in touch with him and hide him. We don't know how fast He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will take to start tracking down people."

"I doubt he'll attack right away. It'll cause the wrong reaction if he shows he's in power. There's a lot of fear right now. It's more likely he'll create a law that requires all Muggleborns to register. A Muggle dictator did that," Hermione explained.

Fred groaned, leaning back against the wall he was resting against. "This is much worse than we initially thought, isn't it?"

Harry noticed Luna turn her head to Neville's shoulder. Guilt wracked him; he should have known that she was still upset. Taking a breath, he continued. "It's probably going to get worse. We don't have any way of knowing what's going on at home, not yet. We may be able to get a radio station going, if we tried hard enough. Maybe we could use the galleons to get contact with the DA members that aren't here. Hermione?"

"It's something that I can look into. We have a lot of time, seeing as we can't go off on our own." She looked around the room, but nobody seemed surprised. Did they all know what they were planning on doing?

Luna lifted her head from Neville's shoulder, tear tracks still shining on her face. "I'll help. Daddy has mine in his pocket, since my dress didn't have any."

Harry nodded, feeling guilty. He should have done more to help her, but he couldn't think of anything. It wasn't Luna alone, though. He could look across the room and count everyone who had given up a part of their life. All because of the war. Because of him.

"I know that we aren't in classes right now," Harry began. He was searching for something, anything, that could make it better. "But I was wondering if anybody wanted to start up the DA again, unofficially. That way we'd have something to do, and... Well, so we can be ready."

When nobody outright objected, he shifted his gaze to Ron, who lifted his hand. Harry nodded, and the gangly boy stood up from his seat besides Hermione.

"I think it's a good idea. We'll be cooped up here for some time, anyway. Besides, I know we won't be given that much information, even if some of us have been allowed into the Order. They still think they're protecting us, but what they're doing is damning us."

"Agreed." This was Ginny, who fixated her fierce gaze on Harry before shifting to look at the rest of their friends. "We may as well get something out of being here. We could also use some of that time to mull over what the Order is saying."

"Right," Harry said, distracted. Before he could say anything else, a piercing headache struck him. The pain was worse than normal, and he knew that it was Voldemort. There was nothing he could do right now; he hadn't practiced Occlumency in ages.

He clutched his head in agony, curling inwards. As his friends looked on in concern Harry moved aside, making his way to the bathroom. Inside, he barred the door, casting a silencing charm on the door so that he could get some peace and quiet.

He was getting used to the visions coming in a violent and painful manner. It had almost become second nature. But there was something different about this one. It almost felt like Voldemort was straining to get his point across, and was unable to due to his own borders. It was like he was doing it on purpose.

There was something else, too, secondary to the pain. There was a distinct feeling that rose above it all. Glee. He was happy, giddy. Voldemort was floating from his most recent win, making Harry all the more miserable.

Staring into the large oval mirror, another bout of euphoria attacked him. As the feeling washed over him, he stared at his face in the mirror, focusing on the red, ragged scar. It almost seemed to pulse, glaring at him.

A moment later, Harry doubled over in pain, hitting the faucet as he buckled at the waist. Hot, steamy water rushed down the drain, and the scent of water propelled him into a different scene.

He was in a room, somewhere. It was dark and dingy, as if someone had squashed out any sort of light. Thin eye slits allowed him to observe his surroundings, which seemed to have seen better days. He felt the dampness of the room in his bones, and as his gaze adjusted, he noticed that they were in a dungeon.

There was only one person present: Draco Malfoy. Malfoy looked pale and nervous, his face thinner and bonier than the year before. He had adapted a nervous tick, his right hand flinching with every breath. He looked young and terrified, and a hint of disgust clutched at the boy's gaze.

And Harry was Voldemort, looking down at someone who he had gone to school with. He saw the snaky skin reach out, curling his fingers to beckon forward the boy.

"Draco," they crooned. "How kind of you to join us. Tell me, how did the border patrol go this morning? How many Mudbloods did you capture?"

Harry tried not to wince. Hermione was right, they were catching Muggle-borns. He didn't want to know what they were doing, nor who they had caught. It could be someone he knew. And Draco had been helping! Rage burned in him as he stood as Voldemort.

The blond boy looked nervous as he approached, and Harry felt Voldemort's glee at having caused it. "We caught sixteen people escaping just this morning, my lord. Four of them were friends of Potter's, disgusting Gryffindors who worshiped him. We killed the parents and asked the boys to turn to you."

"And?"

"They are in the dungeons with us," Draco replied. Voldemort seemed to think this an adequate answer, but Harry felt a rush of confusion and anxiety. "Would you like to see them, my lord?"

"All are in the dungeon, Draco?"

Blond hair shook in quick, frantic movements. "Just those two. The others had no information, so Fenrir disposed of them. A few of them were filthy Muggles, of course."

"Good." Voldemort leaned closer, placing a gnarled hand on Draco's shoulder. The boy shuddered with his head bowed. After a moment, he attempted to move away, but the steely grip prevented him. "We'll see how long it takes for them to question their loyalty to the Boy-Who-Lived. After all, he is the one who abandoned them."

Anxiety flashed in Harry, but he could do nothing. Voldemort was laughing, high and cold, and he was whirling away.

His eyes flashed as they re-registered with his surroundings. With some effort, he relocated his wan face in the mirror. Nervous, green eyes flickered around the area, resting on the running tap water. With a groan, he turned it off, then rested his head on the mirror. The cold grounded him, allowing time for thought.

He was getting tired of this, the constant battle for control over his own mind. He knew Hermione would say that this was his own fault for not practicing Occlumency. No matter how hard he tried, though, he couldn't do it. He was unable to understand how to close his mind, even with tutelage. He blamed Dumbledore, who had chosen to focus on Horcrux hunting instead of how to clear his thoughts.

Leaning back, Harry ran a hand through his hair, then trailed his hand down his face. He could always read up on it again, or at least some of the practices. But then again, there had to be a use for his strange connection to Voldemort. He was already halfway there; he had learned something already.

Voldemort had already begun to capture and kill Muggleborns and their families. Harry groaned, slamming his hand against the counter. He needed to let everyone know what the new development was, but he couldn't quite face them yet. It had only been minutes since he had thrown himself into the bathroom.

He hoped that Ron and Hermione had cleared the room. As Harry undid his charm, he pressed his ear against the wood of the door. He heard movement from the outside, but nothing else. Sighing again, he moved to reopen the door, only to hear a distinct knock.

"Harry?"

It was Luna, clear as day. Her voice sounded tired and sleepy, and as he moved to open the door, she spoke again.

"You can come out now. I'm the only one here. Ron and Hermione went off to discuss things in a different room. We assumed you'd want your privacy," she explained. He heard more shifting, and her palms pressing against the wood.

Harry turned the knob, and she shifted away. As he cracked open the door, he was struck with how slight she appeared, her blonde hair tangled and in disarray. Her face was still marked with dried tears, but she was acting in a way that made pride soar through him.

He immediately enveloped her in a hug, knowing that she needed it more than anything. He pressed his chin against the top of her head, breathing in the scent of rose oil that tended to follow her around. "Luna, I am so, so sorry," he murmured. "For everything."

"It's okay," she whispered, pressing her head against his chest. "It really is. I'm sure Daddy is okay, wherever he is. I'm sure he's at home writing for the Quibbler. If I'm not home, I can't get him in trouble."

Harry winced, removing himself from the hug once Luna's breathing was steadier. "We'll keep him safe. Don't worry."

"I'm not worrying. You and Ginny worry enough for the rest of us. You should talk to her, you know," Luna murmured. As she withdrew from the embrace, she rubbed beneath her eyes.

His brows knitted together in a mixture of worry and emotion. Of course Luna would be reminding him of that while she was under considerable distress. It was how he knew she was such a great friend, and he was thankful that she had been attending the wedding. He wasn't sure what he would've done without her, and he knew that the others agreed.

"I should have checked to see that you lot were okay when we arrived. Is she?"

Luna fixed him with a steady gaze, and he could see the cogs rotating in her mind. "You know exactly what I meant, Harry Potter. You need to remember how much your friends trust you, and you need to trust them. And you need to talk to Ginny."

"You know, you're the second person to say that today." Harry ignored her final statement, focusing on the other part of her message. He tried to bring some levity to the situation, but found that it wasn't quite working. "I'm trying to take it to heart. It's a very difficult time."

"I think it's a very good thing that you're not going off on your own," Luna said cryptically, blinking owl eyes at him. Harry realized that he hadn't quite come to the conclusion yet, but it was true. If anything, it allowed them time to further research how to locate Horcruxes. Of course, that was the optimistic version of it.

"Yeah, I guess it could be."

Her small hand reached up to pat at his cheek, a vacant, dreamy look on her features. It was normal, strange in the situation that they had found themselves in. "Well, goodnight, Harry Potter. See you tomorrow morning."

With that, she exited the room, quickly replaced by Ron and Hermione. Assuming that the two of them had been lurking right outside the door, Harry turned towards the bed, flopping dramatically onto the mattress.

"Can we talk about what just happened?" Ron asked, leaning up against the back of the door. Hermione stood a bit further into the room, glancing between them.

Harry, face down, announced, "No."

"Can we discuss the vision that you clearly had?" Hermione tried.

"Nope," he responded, still aimed towards the comforter.

"Should we just ask Luna?" Ron wondered aloud, clearly speaking to Hermione. The bushy-haired witch shrugged, stepping towards their friend. While Harry remained motionless, she sat down on the bed, causing a rift.

"Harry, are you going to bother to talk to us this evening?"

A few moments passed in silence before Harry rolled over, covering his eyes with his forearm. "I haven't decided," he remarked, clearly frustrated. "It's been a rather rough evening. Have sleeping arrangements been decided?"

"Sort of. Mum said you can take this room, and Hermione is down one with Ginny and Luna. Neville and I are on the other side of you. I told her you weren't feeling well, so she said you could have the room to yourself. Count yourself lucky, mate."

"Voldemort was just inside my head, Ron. Or I was inside him. I still haven't figured that part out," Harry said in exasperation, shooting his friend a look.

Hermione, looking like she wanted to say something in regards to the visions, sat up a bit. She shrunk once Ron crossed the room, sitting down on the bed as well. The three of them were completely silent for a few moments, each in deep thought.

It was clear that they were all still attempting to comprehend the heavy events that had ensued that day. This caused a combination of exhaustion, fear, and anxiety through the minutes, each feeling transitioning queasily to the next.

Ron leaned back onto one of the pillows, looking between the other two. Harry briefly removed his arms from his head to stare at the ceiling. And Hermione, still digesting each and every detail of the day, hugged her knees to her chest.

This was too much. They had fought and fought and fought, but it wasn't worth anything. They had rallied their friends, but the result was almost crushed by the weight of the response. Despite every effort they had made, Voldemort had won.

They knew that they had to stay positive. That they had to fight. But there was still a sort of awkward apprehension that came with the idea: why did they have to be positive? What was there to be positive about?

People were going to die. This was a simple fact that would not change. People were going to die as a result of this. Whether or not Voldemort enacted each and every thing that he wanted to, people were going to die. Their friends. Their families.

"I feel broken," Hermione finally said, her eyes glassy. "I just feel… broken."

With a little nod of his head, Ron murmured, "Yeah." He fell silent almost immediately after, his eyes sliding shut in thought.

The pause that rested between them was a blanket, and it carried them into the night, easing the trio into an unsettling sleep that they weren't prepared for. They were nestled all on the same bed, the three exhausted friends, and when Molly went looking for them later, she refused to move them out of a combination of pity and understanding. They were young, and they needed time.

When morning struck, Hermione was the first to wake.

This had been a typical thing at Hogwarts. She had always been the first to wake up in her dormitory, leaving Lavender and Parvati grumbling and groaning if she made too much noise. It had started as a fear that she would wake up too late for classes, or that her homework would not be perfect. By the end of her third year, it had turned into a desire to conquer the day.

Of course, the anxiety was still there, but it had turned into something more. Whenever she woke up, she was eager to create a list of exactly what she needed to complete that day. Yet, when she pulled herself out of sleep, she felt a distinct lack of desire to get out of bed.

It only partially had to do with how close she was to Ron, who was snoring steadily beside her. She also didn't want to disturb Harry, who had somehow spread out along the entirety of the bottom half of the bed. And, most importantly, getting out of bed would be acknowledging the actions of the past day.

Only twenty-four hours ago she had awoken to prepare for a wedding. Now, she was with her best friends, a political refugee.

Hermione pulled herself out of bed, disentangling herself from her friends. The heels of her hands dug into the back of her neck, trying to regain feeling. From the top of her head to the tip of her toes she was awash with the feeling of emptiness, topped off with the occasional sore muscle. With a groan, the witch rubbed at her eyes.

Feeling the floor for her beaded bag, she let out a sigh. A shower might help her think, she decided, and as she pulled out a pair of fresh clothes, she pulled out her soaps as well. One clattered to the ground with a bang, and Hermione nervously whipped her head upwards.

Neither of the two boys moved, though it seemed like Harry had stirred a little. With a little sigh of relief, she scooped the pile up, padding towards the bathroom.

Turning the lock in the door, Hermione glanced around at the well-furnished room, dropping her clothes in a pile next to the sink. There were still some towels in a dark wooden cabinet under the sink, and the shower didn't look disgusting. The Order had stocked up well, or else there had been house elves in the farmhouse. She would have to ask Mrs. Weasley if there were any working there still.

If it was so, she wanted to make sure that they were getting some sort of compensation. That was the least that she could do at the moment.

Decided, Hermione turned the faucet with determination. Hot water immediately flooded the tub via the showerhead, steam floating up in waves. She shed her clothes, stepping into the warm water a second later.

She thought of nothing except scrubbing, attempting to drag the anger and rage out of her system with soap and warm, pulsing water. Her skin was pink from the effort, but once she was drying off, the witch felt much better.

Sure, she knew that they were inevitably still doomed. The world was still terrible. But now she was clean, and that checked one thing off of her to-do list.

As she pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a sweater, her eyes were no longer red and swollen, but sharp and determined. Her face was clear and focused, her posture sincere. She was going to be able to conquer both the day and the world.

Running her hands through her wet hair, Hermione decided to let it air dry before she put it up. Picking up her discarded clothes, she exited the bathroom, running directly into a disheveled looking Ron.

"Mornin'," he said, running a hand through his hair. It was clear that he wasn't awake yet. Ron fanned a yawn past his lips as he regarded Hermione.

Offering him a smile, she edged out of the way, dropping her stuff back into the endless bag. "Morning. Need something?"

"Mm..." The lack of response faded out, but he did move closer to the bag, his bleary eyes unfocused. Hermione snorted, dropping the pack into his arms, unwilling to go into it again.

As he rifled through (creating a lot of noise), she stood awkwardly by his side, trying to decide what to do. On own hand, she could leave the room in search of food, Luna, and Ginny. On the other hand, she could wait on Ron and attempt to locate sustenance together.

She chose the latter, knowing that he likely wasn't going to shower. When he finally managed to pull out some sort of outfit, she sat herself back down on the bed, pulling her boots on. As soon as she finished lacing them up, Ron had already exited the bathroom, rubbing at his eyes.

"Food?"

Apparently, he was still unable to form more than one word. She simply nodded at him, a smile on her face. Casting one last look at Harry's sleeping form, the pair slipped out of the room in search of the kitchen.