Neville determinedly kept his head down during the assembly, trying to drown out Voldemort's words and stop himself from grabbing his wand and just doing something. As awful as life was now, he wasn't quite ready to die, not while he could still help people. Professor McGonagall, however, coughed quietly, and discreetly shook her head. Neville understood what she meant - disrespecting the Dark Lord was worth than fatal. Still, he couldn't stand to listen to that awful, awful monster praise them for their cooperation in acclimatising to the new regime, and congratulating the fifth and sixth years on their O.W.L. results. All students were having to re-take the year they'd missed or struggled with during the war, and the seventh and eighth years wouldn't be ready for their N.E.W.T.s for at least another six months. Still, they had all the time in the world - Voldemort wasn't going to let students graduate Hogwarts with poor grades the same year he'd taken over, it would reflect badly on him. As a school treat to celebrate the success of the O.W.L. students, he was calling for a school trip to Lueur de Cristal, a beautiful magical province in France. Of course, France had been the second country to fall to Voldemort's expanding empire, and going there would remind them all of it.
To try and distract himself, Neville looked around at his fellow students, but regretted it as memories of their own pain flooded his mind every time he did so.
Hermione was at the far end of the Gryffindor table, away from the teachers. Of course, he was lucky to be alive these days, much less at Hogwarts. Most of the muggleborns - or mudbloods, as they were now legally classified - in the country had had their wands snapped and their qualifications revoked; they were no longer wizards in the eyes of the law, and ownership of a wand was a one-way ticket to Azkaban. It had become the fashion in the last year for wizarding families to hire "mudbloods" as domestic slaves - Neville's own grandmother had bought a family of three immediately to protect them, and was trying to find reasons to buy more. But whilst Voldemort was evil, no one could say he was stupid, and the "mudbloods" most likely to succeed had been granted special licences to carry wands and perform magic, provided they used them to serve society. They were nearly suffocated by laws and regulation, and at Hogwarts Hermione and the three other "mudblood" students remaining at Hogwarts were the lowest, but it was still a massive step forward.
His eyes drifted over to Ron, Ginny and the twins, who were sat near Hermione. By rights, as purebloods, they should have been sat closer to the teacher's table, but no one forgot they were once blood traitors. Voldemort had been remarkably lenient with most of the Weasleys - Molly and Arthur were free - Arthur's job at the Ministry kept him under control and Molly was just a housewife, so there was little to be done there. Charlie, Bill, and the twins had done very little work for the Order that opposed Voldemort (Percy Weasley had done none at all), and the worst thing they'd done was fight in the doomed Battle of Hogwarts, so they had been spared. Charlie was allowed to leave for Romania - a Dark country who was beginning to ally with Voldemort - provided he only returned to Britain for a maximum of eight weeks at a time, barring emergencies. Bill had resumed his job with Gringotts, because it brought a lot of money into the country and it apparently sent out a good message to other countries. Percy was still working in the Ministry as the imperiused Pius Thickness's personal assistant because he was an efficient worker, and sufficiently controlled by the threat Voldemort and his puppet minister posed to his little sister. And the twins now had the right to take their N.E.W.T.s, in exchange for a relatively small percent of their profits from Weasleys Wizard Wheeze - which was bombing as parents tried to shield their younger children from the reality of life now.
No, it was the youngest Weasleys Neville pitied.
Ginny had been sold, like livestock. She was a pureblood, but wasn't socially important or likely to achieve academically, so to save her own life, she was auctioned off to be someone's wife. Neville didn't know who her husband was, but her surname was now Morcott - for now. Voldemort had been cruel - she was a wife for hire; to be married to produce a legitimate male heir to a pureblood line, then they could divorce her, and someone else would be able to marry her, and the cycle would repeat. Once this Morcott guy had finished with her and the divorce was settled, she would become a social leper, even more so than she already was. And in accordance with the new laws, she would have no legal access to any children she produced, without permission from her husband - so presumably, Neville thought, that just meant the boys, pureblood families didn't need daughters unless they were marrying them off. And Ron was only even allowed at Hogwarts to serve as a living reminder of the futility of opposing the new regime, even ideologically. The moment he graduated, his wand was to be snapped, it would be illegal for him to own a wand, and he was to be exiled to the muggle world. Voldemort had, arguably, been lenient there. He had, for reasons no one knew, changed tactics, and instead of annihilating the muggles, had just totally separated the two worlds, in all the countries he'd conquered. So it wasn't exactly going to be a hellhole for Ron, but it would be for the next generation of muggleborns. The moment a child showed signs of magic, they were to be taken, their parents heavily obliviated, and to be raised as slaves - a new spin on house elves, who were falling out of fashion.
Neville's gaze travelled to Lavender Brown, but he quickly glanced away again. She had survived being savaged by Fenrir Greyback during the Battle of Hogwarts, and had, of course, become a werewolf herself. She was also crippled - parts of her leg bones crushed so badly that even magic couldn't restore them. Her once beautiful face was a scarred mess, her mouth forever pulled into a grotesque leer, and she was bound to crutches for the rest of her life. As… compensation, Neville supposed it was, Voldemort had permitted her to remain at Hogwarts provided she took the wolfsbane potion every full moon without fail. However, the summer holidays were fast approaching, and thanks to the new werewolf laws, all new werewolves had to join their creator's - or alpha's - pack without exception. Lavender was a young, crippled, female werewolf who would soon be transforming around several strong, aggressive male werewolves. Neville never let him dwell on that for long, but he knew what it implied, and it made him sick.
Then there were those who'd lost loved ones in the Battle of Hogwarts - far, far too many for Neville to name them all. Dennis Creevey, Parvati Patil, Romilda Vane, Jemma Moon, Lee Jordan, Fay Dobbins… and that was just in Gryffindor. Their table in the once Great Hall had far more empty places now than the others. At the other end of the hall, however, the Slytherin table was one of luxury and opulence, and almost cheer, if their pureblood pride would allow them to be so crass. Glancing over, Neville could see a head of messy black hair, and had to clench his fists to tightly his nails dug straight into his palms. It was so, so painful to look at the boy who had once been Harry Potter.
Harry had been granted the gentlest, but perhaps the cruellest punishment of all. He hadn't been hurt in any way, he kept all of his wealth, was allowed to continue at Hogwarts and was doing better in his studies than ever before. He had a future so bright that the sun should pale in comparison… but he was not Harry Potter. Not anymore.
When the dust had settled after the battle and the survivors had been dragged into the nearly demolished courtyard to be accessed and sentenced, Severus Snape had done something no one had ever seen coming - he'd moved in front of Harry before Voldemort could begin torturing him in front of everyone, and begged him to take his own life and spare Harry. Voldemort had cast a silencing ward around them so no one had heard what passed between them, but Snape got his wish, and was killed on the spot. Now Harry of course, was still a threat. Even thought Snape had convinced him not to kill him, he couldn't just let him go - the second he got his hands on a wand, he'd just come after him again. And so, Voldemort had entered Harry's mind, and broken it down. His memory had been wiped clean, and his personality altered to make him loyal to the Dark. He looked like Harry, he sounded like Harry, but even though he himself didn't even know it, it was Voldemort behind his expressive green eyes. The Dark Mark sat proudly on his left wrist - bright red to show he was one of Voldemort's most trusted; an "honour" shared only with the three Lestranges and Walter Nott - and even from the other side of the hall, Neville could see him nestled contentedly into Draco Malfoy's side, the paler boy's arm clearly curled around his waist. Voldemort had believed Draco was a traitor - why, Neville wasn't sure - and both his parent had made the same plea Snape had, and again, it had been granted, and Draco's memory removed too. The two boys were now engaged, and were probably the safest people in the whole world, since Voldemort had declared Harry his ward. They were happy together, and though it eased Neville's heart a little to see them - Harry in particular, of course - smile, free from the memories of the war, it clawed at it all over again to see him idly standing by as his fiancée degrade the "mudbloods", Hermione in particular, just for having better grades. He wanted to scream at Harry that it was all so wrong, but if he did, he'd just get a cold stare of disdainful confusion from the same boy who'd given him his confidence in the first place.
The Hogwarts staff too, had been brutalised. Some old faces remained because they were the top of their fields, and devoted to their students rather than Dumbledore and the old Harry. McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and Slughorn were even able to remain the heads of their respective houses, but everyone was aware that a single slip-up could cause them to be dismissed. Trelawney, for no earthly reason as far as Neville could see, had suffered the slowest, most painful execution of all. Merlin only knew how the low level Death Eaters tasked with removing the bodies had managed to get rid of the… well, sludge was the only way Neville would really describe the old Divination professor's remains. The centaur Firenze had been permitted to stay on with full pay as a regular teacher - Voldemort himself didn't seem to be prejudiced against half-breeds. The Carrows had been killed in battle, which no one had cried about, but they'd been replaced by far, far worse. Bellatrix Lestrange herself was now the Dark Arts professor - a stand-alone subject now - and it burned Neville every time he had to take her classes. She ignored him though - maybe Voldemort had told her not to kill any students, or maybe she'd plain forgotten about him at last. She was certainly crazy enough for it to have slipped her mind. Muggle Studies had been scrapped altogether, and Magical Defence was filled by Rabastan Lestrange. Unlike his sister-in-law though, he was remarkably fair and seemingly indifferent to all students, except those who stood out, and even then he was no worse than Snape had been in the old days. However, it was Bellatrix who was in charge of punishments now, and her cruciatus curses were infinitely more powerful than anything Amycus Carrow ever produced. Of course, she got to use them less and less as time went on - having Lord Voldemort move into the Headmaster's quarters had done wonders for "improving" behaviour.
With a silent snort of disgust, Neville turned his eyes back to Voldemort just in time for him to dismiss the students, and he quickly rose and fled back up to Gryffindor tower with the rest of his house, except for Hermione who had to go to separate quarters elsewhere in the castle that se shared with the other three "mudbloods". He wanted to say something to her, but stopped herself - she wasn't allowed to speak without permission, and he didn't want her to get in trouble. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Harry and Draco heading towards the dungeons at a far more relaxed pace, and quickly looked away, before tears of hopelessness blurred his vision once more.
The rebellion was crushed. The nation was in Voldemort's iron fist, and any resistance could cause him to crush it. It hurt Neville, knowing it was actually hopeless, but as long as he breathed, as long as he had a wand, he'd protect people, at Hogwarts and in society - even from themselves in Harry's case.
He kept his head down all the way back up to the tower, almost wishing that he was still someone who'd bury their head in the sand for an easy life.
But, if everyone did that, what would change?