A/N: I am so sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. There have been some significant changes in my schedule due to my personal life – for those curious, I may have met my soulmate and fell in love! Which means less time to tuck myself away for hours at a time writing fictional love stories, but it does mean plenty of inspiration for it when I do have the opportunity. It might not have been an enemies to lovers trope, but it's lovely all the same. Anyway, enough about me. Let's get to what you're really here for!

Warning to all of the Ron-haters out there, this chapter will have some Romione in it. We'll get to the Dramione eventually, but they don't call it a slow burn for nothing.

Hermione wondered if having the school occupied by Death Eaters posing as professors would make it feel like they were constantly at war. The first few days felt precisely as she had expected. Everybody kept a tight grip on their wands, even throughout breakfast, and nobody roamed the halls on their own. Skin was constantly goose-pimpled, and cold chills always occupied a handful of spines. But no Dementors were flying overhead. Curses were not being shot down the corridors between classes. Eventually, people started to settle into things. It was a new normal. Which, to Hermione, felt almost as terrifying as if there had been daily duels in the Great Hall.

Voldemort had not visited the school since his initial appearance, and the Carrows were too busy to care about daily patrols. The students owed everything to the pre-war professors, like Minerva, who did their best to keep everything studious and on-task.

Perhaps they could claim that their feelings of relative safety were thanks to nobody needing to be punished yet – not that anybody would ever need one of the punishments the Carrows had in mind. But folks were on their best behaviour in a way Hermione would have loved in her first years. Now, it just felt like the camaraderie of school was missing. She ached to think about how Fred and George would have reacted to the change. She could imagine them in as much of a fit as they were under Umbridge's leadership, throwing fireworks or sneaking pranks, not feeling untouchable but rather being more than ready to accept the consequences. It was their school, after all.

The most significant technical difference was the strictness in their schedules, like how curfew began immediately after dinner. Most students didn't mind, especially in those early weeks. For some, it offered a chance to escape the intimidating presence of Death Eaters and reminders of the battle. For others, the long evenings were the only time they could let themselves feel normal, gossiping about the other houses in front of the fireplace. And for Hermione, she tucked herself away in the corner, always working on her homework. She knew everything already, of course. She could write another essay on Everlasting Elixirs in her sleep. Despite the ease, she still ached to feel the pride of an assignment well done, which was something to hold on to. And while she used to loathe helping Ron with his homework, she now let herself delight in fixing his mistakes and pushing him to complete his readings.

As expected, the greatest differences in their schoolwork showed up in Muggle Studies and Defense Against the Dark Arts, which was now just the Dark Arts. Taking a Muggle Studies course taught by Alecto should have been one of Hermione's biggest fears. She knew it would be filled with hate and false history lessons, and she was right. But she had counted on these things and approached them with a readiness that everybody else had tried their best to mimic.

What she didn't count on was having Draco Malfoy in her class. The Gryffindor students were paired with the Slytherins, which had pleased Alecto. From the first day of classes, the green-robed students would all take to the front of the room. Half of them sat plastered with smiles, excitedly learning about the scum their parents had taught them about. The other half remained quiet, confused, and unsure of how their lessons would benefit them. Draco was the outlier. He would sit at the back of the room between quiet Gryffindor students. His hand had yet to rise, which Hermione compared from earlier days as being against his usual character. But then again, Hermione had also stopped raising her hand. She had no desire to prove herself to the professor and couldn't bring herself to answer the hateful questions that were being posed. Sure, she craved validation. But it meant nothing if it came from her enemies. Another part of it may have been fear of drawing attention to herself. It was easier to be Potter's Mudblood without the namesake, but she knew that eyes would still wander her way if she dared to speak too much.

She also wondered if Draco noticed her behaviour change like she had noticed his. But then she shamed herself for the thought, remembering how little she wanted him in her thoughts at all.

Eventually, on a dreary Wednesday when she had barely gotten hours of sleep the night prior, Hermione couldn't resist. Her hand didn't shoot up on purpose, ready to share her knowledge with the world. It was a reflex, one that she had thought she'd forgotten. The question had been simple: which professions could Muggles take up in the non-magical world? Hermione wanted to say dentistry, remembering her parents. She could have shared any jobs she had seen during her upbringing. But despite her raised hand and the absence of others, Alecto did not call on her.

"I must remember to drop my expectations for you all. You have spent years under the teachings of incompetent fools. It is no surprise that you can't answer such an easy question," Alecto spoke down her nose before providing a few examples of Muggle jobs of the lowest esteem.

Hermione wondered if, perhaps, she was still sleeping. Maybe she was watching the class in a nightmare, or worse; she had fallen asleep in the lesson only to imagine what came next. But a few curious glances from her fellow students, indicating that her raised hand had been ignored, confirmed the most likely cause: Alecto would never call on her.

"Don't worry about it, Hermione. You're better than everyone in this class, anyway, and you know it," Ron leaned into her, whispering words of encouragement.

He was right. She knew more about Muggles than anybody in the room, and especially more than Alecto or any other Death Eater who had only been taught the worst kinds of things.

Thanks, Ron, Hermione tried to say back, only to be met with silence. Her lips had moved with the words, but no sound had come out. Thanks, Ron, she tried again, a slight tremor of panic pulling at the base of the words.

It took Ron longer to catch on to what had happened. He looked at her curiously, as if she had decided to mouth the words on purpose. Perhaps she didn't want to be caught talking in class. It wouldn't have been peculiar for her. But she had meant to speak aloud this time. But she hadn't noticed a spell being cast against her. Not that Alecto wasn't powerful enough to do so with such secrecy. Was it possible that she had been silenced in every class during the semester so far? It wasn't the idea of having to keep quiet that bothered her. Instead, it was the awareness that somebody had charmed her, and she had been none the wiser. She should have expected it to happen. Even if she couldn't have prevented it, she was the type of witch that knew better than to drop her guard. Or, at least, she used to be the type of witch that knew better. Was she losing a piece of her strength? Had she spent too much time letting herself grow comfortable with being whisked away by the mundanity of routine, no matter how much horror hid behind it?

She spent the rest of the class trying to imagine where else she may have slipped up. Could there be curses in her dorm or hexes just waiting to land? Her days of slipping into safe thoughts of schoolwork had to stop. Hermione decided, there in the back of her Muggle Studies class, not to let herself stand still any longer. She may not be able to fight, but she could still remember who she was: a witch that wouldn't be messed with.

As if he had read her thoughts, or at least seen her raise her hand earlier in the class, Alecto had decided to pull her fears of inadequacy to the front of her mind and keep them there. When Hermione stood up at the end of the lesson, moving to grab her books and follow Ron into the corridors, she felt stuck. Her feet would not move with the rest of her body as if she had been glued to the floor. She may as well have been, because somebody had charmed a puddle of mud at her feet in front of all her classmates.

The Slytherins started to chuckle when they realised what had happened. Draco was not amongst the bunch, as he had rushed out of the room too quickly to see the ruckus.

"That absolute toad," Ron spat quietly as if wanting Hermione to know that he was on her side, but not so bravely as to earn Alecto's attention or that of an equally hateful student.

"What's all the commotion?" Alecto eventually joined in as the laughter grew louder, and Hermione's expression deepened.

"Just a Mudblood in her natural habitat, Ma'am," an unrecognisable Slytherin girl told Alecto with pride.

"Ah, yes. As you have hopefully learned, Mudbloods should stick to where they belong. That doesn't include trying to answer questions in my class," the professor responded, piercing her gaze through Hermione's skull as if it had been a personal offence to her that she dare try and participate.

"But carry on, students. Surely even her kind can produce a simple cleaning spell," Alecto offered to the rest of the room. "Go on then."

Hermione knew she wouldn't have been able to utter a spell with a silencing charm hanging over her. But she also couldn't stand there in the mud for much longer. So, she decided to do something that she knew she shouldn't. She would regret it and would likely suffer the consequences later. However, if she didn't, she may have risked another classmate scourfigying the mud for her, and she would not allow someone to get in trouble for helping her.

Hermione cast the spell non-verbally, much to the chagrin of Alecto Carrow, who looked both surprised and angry that she could do such a thing. Everybody else in the room seemed to catch on to her bubbling fury, too. The laughter quickly died down, and both the Slytherins and Gryffindors rushed to the exit, hoping to miss the wrath of the Death Eater.

Despite her wildest expectations, Alecto did not act. Instead, she stood in place without so much as a change in her breathing. Hermione and Ron quietly followed the rest of the students in their departure, both aware of the breaths they were holding.

Hermione had not realised that she wore a smirk on her face from the moment she had successfully cast the non-verbal spell up until she left the room unscathed. She may be punished, but the feeling of winning something, no matter how small, had been a previously lost feeling that she was all too happy to recall.

"I don't want to hear it, Ronald," Hermione said in defence, suddenly aware that they were finally alone together.

"We can't go around challenging the professors right now. You're the one that said we had to stay quiet. You're the one who said that we needed a plan before we did anything."

"I didn't do anything!"

"Bollocks, Hermione! You outsmarted a professor and smiled while doing it! Do you not think they'll punish you for that?"

"I did not smile!"

"Of course you did. You always smile when you get to prove yourself. But now is not the time. Those were your words!"

Hermione knew that he was right. It wasn't the time. She could better assess her surroundings and challenge herself by being aware of any hexes or charms thrown her way. But anything done in defiance of someone on the Dark Lord's side would only hurt their chances of fighting back down the road when they had more time to form a plan. Or when they could find other members of the Order that remained active. But could she help it if she acted out during a moment of helplessness? Ron would never understand the desperation of proving her worth as a witch, and she had been given the opportunity on a silver platter.

Even though it was her who should be angry, furious even, at what had transpired that day, Hermione caught sight of the distress painted across Ron's face. It was almost harrowing how hurt he looked as he stared at Hermione.

"I'm sorry, Ron," she lied quietly. She wasn't sorry. But she was willing to pretend she was to help calm him down.

"You can't do anything that will get you hurt. I need you, Hermione."

She knew.

"Okay," she sighed, moving closer and falling into his embrace. "I'll do better at keeping quiet."

"I can't lose you, too," he whispered into her hair, holding her tightly.

Ron wrapped his hand around Hermione's at the breakfast table the following morning. It was a closeness that the pair had experienced dozens of times before and should not have felt out of the ordinary. Only, it did. The softness of it surprised Hermione. Ron had not held her hand since the start of term, and she had only just now realised. Had he stopped on purpose? Was he aware of it now?

Her stomach turned with a sense of peculiarity. She had gone weeks without a handhold from the boy she had spent years loving and hadn't noticed. Before she could consider the feeling, the table was hit with copies of the Daily Prophet. Ginny picked one off the pile, clearing her throat and reading the front page with disgust.

HOGWARTS REOPENS UNDER PROPER LEADERSHIP

Magical folks from around the world were devastated by the destruction of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry earlier this year. The damage, caused mainly by improper use of magic by wanted criminals forming the Order of the Phoenix, not only tore down centuries-old landmarks but also left the school's future with a giant question mark.

Fortunately, the castle has completely recovered, thanks to plenty of hard work from the Ministry and immeasurable donations from Pureblood families in London.

"The castle looks better than ever. It's hard to imagine why anybody would want to attack such legendary grounds," said Amycus Carrow, one of the new Deputy Headmasters appointed by none other than the Dark Lord himself.

Carrow added how well the new semester has begun, delighting in the new crop of students who, as he puts it, have the "strongest magical signatures" he has seen in ages. "Not only are we seeing a record number of Pureblood students, but we're also on track to have the highest scores on student OWLs and NEWT examinations. It is clear that anything is possible under great leadership, which we are seeing thanks to the Dark Lord."

Lord Voldemort has drawn attention for defying expectations and allowing Muggle-born witches and wizards to return to Hogwarts to complete their education. The decision has served as a reminder of the kind of open and honest leadership we have grown to expect in this new era of the Wizarding World. Despite our differences, there is a place for everybody.

Ginny finished her reading, taking the time to scowl at the various pictures printed on the paper. Multiple photos of Voldemort roaming the halls accompanied the article, giving readers the impression that he was nothing if not an attentive headmaster.

"It doesn't sit right with me that he's been in the castle without us knowing," said Neville.

"It's all bloody propaganda anyway. We can't trust a thing they print. Look at the next page!" Ginny spoke furiously, showing a headline about Voldemort meeting with international allies. "They just want everybody to forget how many people have died thanks to his so-called 'leadership,' and to make him look like the good guy."

"I guess that makes us the villains," Hermione added, understanding the strategies being used by the media.

Ron caught her eye and shook his head gently. Now is not the time, she reminded herself.

Hermione went to classes that day carrying more nerves than usual. Alecto had chosen not to punish her yesterday, surprising everybody. But that didn't mean that the Cruciatus curse wasn't coming. Or maybe Alecto would be more creative with her punishments. Could Hermione be used as a practice dummy for some anti-Muggle spells or slurs? Or perhaps she would be forced to write an essay on all the ways a Muggle could be killed, with and without magic? Something was coming for her. There just had to be something. She just didn't know how to prepare for what it was.

Hermione and Ron sat at the edge of their seats throughout the class. Hermione never dared to raise her hand, going so far as to sit on them whenever a question was asked in case her pesky reflexes kicked in. She didn't try to speak a word, even though she was desperate to test out the silencing charm. She watched Alecto like a hawk for the entirety of the class, never once catching her throwing a charm Hermione's way. But that was just it. Alecto never threw anything in Hermione's way. Not a glance, a piercing glare, a charm, or a hex. It was as if the professor was trying to ignore Hermione as hard as Hermione was trying to figure out Alecto.

The same thing happened the next day. And the next. After the weekend passed and they return to class, Hermione spent another lecture dancing around Alecto's line of sight. Was her punishment just being ignored even more aggressively? Did the professor know that torturing her with anticipation would be as effective as other forms of torture?

It takes a few more days of uneventful classes for Ron to successfully convince Hermione that they may have caught a lucky break. Maybe Alecto and the rest of the Death Eaters Turned Professors were so busy dealing with reclaiming the wizarding world that they had no time to punish teenagers for silly acts of rebellion.

Ron breathed a heavy sigh of relief when Hermione finally agreed with him. It was clear that he was living in a state of dread over her eventual punishment and was perhaps even more nervous than she was. Should she feel guilty over his stress? Should she have done more to calm his nerves? She wasn't sure how to act around him anymore, but she finally found a way that made sense on an evening after classes when Ron acknowledged the emptiness of the common rooms and took her hand, leading her up to his dormitory.

They had slept in the same bed and pressed their bodies together for warmth, comfort, and grief enough to remember the feeling. And they had kissed a handful of times now, too. Yet, the two acts had never been combined. Everything was soft and friendly in passing. But Ron now approached her with an intimate aggression that she had never seen from him, or anybody, until now.

He took her face in his hands and pressed his lips against hers firmly, slowly walking forward as she felt her legs hit the corner of his bed. She had no choice but to fall on top of it, taking his weight with her. Hermione returned the kiss, which now felt entirely unfamiliar. What was Ron's plan with her tonight?

"Ron," she managed to get out between kisses, eager to ask Ron if he wanted to take a break and talk things through. They had never properly touched each other or even broached the topic of sex. What if those were his intentions?

"Hermione," he moaned in response, unaware of her need to analyse the situation.

She could try again. Hermione trusted that he would stop if she asked him to and knew that these urges must have been beneath the surface for far longer than they should have been. But it felt nice, she supposed, to feel desired in such a way. The warmth of his lips, the wetness of his tongue squirming inside of her cheeks, and the delicate way his hands pawed at her waist all felt nice enough. She might not want it as bad as him, but it was hard for Ron to get lost in things. She wanted to give him that. Slowly, she sunk into the feeling, too, noting something new that had begun brewing beneath her waistband.

They stayed like that, arms wrapped around each other, and mouths entangled, for what felt like hours. Neither of them tried to go further, nor did they know how to ask if the thought dared cross their minds.

It stopped after Hermione moved her hips ever-so-slightly, making new contact with a hardness beneath Ron's trousers. She groaned lightly at the feeling, like something had begun melting within her veins. Before she could explore it further, Ron froze, more aware of his body than ever before.

"Ron?" Hermione asked, concerned about the shift.

He looked down at her and kissed her forehead gently before completely removing himself from their place on the bed.

"Somebody is bound to come back soon. Maybe we should call it a night," he suggested.

"You're right," she affirmed, wrapping her arms around her chest and crossing her legs as if she needed to protect her body from betraying her. But there was shame there, too. Did I do something wrong?

Ron walked her back to her dorm, hand-in-hand, and gave her a final goodnight kiss.

"See you tomorrow," he said as if it was a reminder to himself and not a farewell.

"See you tomorrow."

Every day started to pass in the same way. Hermione would wake up and go to the Great Hall for breakfast, only to be greeted with subpar food and insulting articles in the Daily Prophet. She went to class, kept her head down, and paid attention to the materials and her surroundings, noting which professors keep their hands near their wands and whose eyes never left the classroom door. She also kept an eye out for changes in students and paid close attention to the older Slytherins, who seemed to be enjoying Dark Arts and Muggle Studies a bit too much. Malfoy remained an enigma to her, though. Almost two months of classes, and she's never heard him speak. The younger Hermione would have paid to hear such silence. Now it felt odd, if not suspicious. But he had shown no signs of violence or scheming. He participated just enough throughout his classes to not draw attention to himself. She only wondered what he was like in Dark Arts, as she had not had the pleasure of being paired up with the Slytherins for those lessons.

Every day was a headache, but she had learned how to cope with them. However, the one thing Hermione had counted on had been slowly stripped away from her, leaving her with more frustration than anything else in her chase for sanity. She knew she was delivering coursework above and beyond where students her age were expected to be. She knew the material inside and out and delivered it on every piece of parchment she had turned in. Despite this, Hermione failed all her assignments given by Death Eaters or followers of the Dark Lord.

Was this their plan? To pretend that Hermione and all the other Muggle-borns were so stupid that they couldn't pass their classes? If they were interfering with her basic coursework, they would surely do the same on her end-of-year examinations. Could this be used as an excuse to further isolate Muggle-borns from those with different blood? Would she be sold into slavery straight after graduation because she would "never find a real job otherwise"?

During her lunch break on a late October day, Hermione was finally frustrated and scared enough to approach Professor McGonagall. The act would fall strictly under Ron's list of things not to do since it was in defiance of other professors.

"What seems to be the problem, Miss Granger?" Minerva asked, slipping into her Head of House personality rather than the one of friendship and partnership that Hermione had slowly gotten used to over the summer.

"Professor, I was wondering if I could inquire into my recent grades," Hermione began, trying to sound as scholarly as possible to avoid being seen rebelling against anybody. "I have spent considerable time and effort on my assignments, yet I am failing almost all of my courses."

Minerva raised an eyebrow in response, aware of how impossible it would be for Hermione Granger to fail a course unless the circumstances had been altered.

As if expecting such a response, Hermione pulled out a handful of parchment as proof, handing them over.

"Well, Miss Granger," Minerva starts after examining a few pages. "These assignments appear to be incomplete and incorrect."

"Pardon?"

Minerva slides the parchment back to Hermione, pointing at specific passageways that are not what Hermione recalls writing down.

"For example, you state here that the most painful curse is the Stinging Hex, which is not the case, as I'm sure you're aware…."

Hermione wanted to pull away her parchment in embarrassment. They are all filled with grossly incompetent answers. Ones that even her First Year self wouldn't have written. But no version of herself would have written them, and Hermione knew that Professor McGonagall knew it, too.

"They're being altered, aren't they?" She asked solemnly.

"I'm afraid they are," the older witch answered as if disappointed for not realising the state of things sooner.

"Please, can we," Hermione starts to ask, only to be cut off by Minerva's rising hand.

"Miss Granger, we are both perfectly aware that these scores do not reflect your intelligence. But my hands are tied, too."

"But Professor, if they're altering the grades of Muggle-borns, then you must know what that means! Eventually, we'll have to do something!" Hermione begged.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall responded, much softer than before. "Things are… Things are happening. And I am not at liberty to disclose them right now. There are great minds within these castle walls, and we must be patient. You need to be patient. That is all that I can say."

Hermione knew that it was true. That if there was something that McGonagall knew, then it must be important. And it would be a foolish risk to share it with those not part of the plan. But the reminder that the fight was still happening, just beyond her reach, was more infuriating than any bad marks or unkind professors. And that kind of fury does nothing but light a fire deep within.

What would Harry do? Hermione found herself thinking, not for the first time that day.

He would be more persistent.

He would not back down.

He would beg to join the fight until somebody relented.

But Harry was not there. She was not him. And she would need to be patient.

Many students were unaware of when Voldemort had made time to appear in the castle for all his Daily Prophet photo-ops. Some students suspected that they were magically altered. Others assumed he kept his visits quiet to avoid drawing attention from the few enemies who dared to act upon his presence. But on the 31st of October, Hermione and her friends knew for certain that he had not been in the castle since the first night of the semester. Because he was here now, they could feel it in their spines. Dark Magic filled the air before he had made his appearance known.

The Halloween Feast at Hogwarts was always memorable. Everybody had expected this year to be less festive than years prior, but they had still let their mouths water over the thought of endless sweets and the promise of a better meal than usual. But the excitement switched to dread as each student walked into the Great Hall, clearly feeling the effects of the Dark Lord's arrival.

For Hermione, it wasn't simply the proximity. She had been in his presence before and had come out unscathed. Merely being in the same room with the man who murdered her best friend and thousands of innocent witches, wizards, and muggles was enough to make her want to throw up her pumpkin juice. But it wasn't those things that spread terror through every inch of her body this time. No, it was the promise that his presence had to mean something.

As all the students quietly took their seats, Voldemort rose. The sound of his bare feet inching forward on the ground echoed around the room. Hermione braced herself for impact as he opened his mouth, ready to announce whatever it was that had brought him here. And as he began, sharing that he had exciting news, Hermione felt her insides churn and her heart rate.

What would await them at the end of Voldemort's speech?