DISCLAIMER: All characters seen here are the exclusive property of JK Rowling. She's the genius, I'm the fangirl who can't resist playing with her creations.

Chapter 1

"Do you want to know what this new world is? I think you can guess what it is. It is the world in which I have been living."
-Oscar Wilde, De Profundis

Two months after the fall of Voldemort, the war was still far from over.

Hermione felt privately that they--or she, at least--should have known it wouldn't be, but it was hard to look into a dark future in those first days after it had all happened. Harry had literally snatched victory from death itself, the terror of the Wizarding world was gone, Professor Snape had survived an attack that everyone was sure would kill him; nobody wanted to admit the truth.

But the truth, two months down the road, was no longer avoidable: it would take months still for the war to end.

There were simply too many witches and wizards still out there who had followed Voldemort, far more than Hermione could have believed in her younger, naiver days. They'd killed so many, and there were so many left. It was down to guerrilla warfare now, small skirmishes in woods and villages throughout the British countryside. It was easy when things could be divided into Order members and Death Eaters, but she, and even Ron and Harry, had been forced to admit that they weren't. The Death Eaters were an elite group, not the only group, as she had discovered the first day that she learned of the Snatchers.

Since leaving school and completing NEWTs, she, Ron, and Harry had devoted themselves to Order work at Harry's insistence. All of them agreed that it was of paramount importance to hunt down every last Voldemort supporter left in the country. The Order generally had good information on the Death Eaters' whereabouts and plans, and, working with Kingsley and the Auror department, they had begun systematically capturing and exterminating as many of them as they could.

Down the hall, she heard the clanging of the ancient Grimmauld Place pipes, heralding the start of Ron's shower. She glanced at her watch. Two hours until they needed to leave.

Each of them had developed different habits and rituals to prepare for these encounters with dark magic practitioners. Ron liked to shower beforehand. Harry did too. Ginny and Hermione waited and showered afterwards. To calm herself beforehand, Hermione read a book.

After several very nasty arguments (some of which had even gone so far as to lead to drawn wands), the boys had learned not to disturb her during these times. The boys, of course, meant Ron, who had taken instead to coming out from his shower and looking at her with sad, bewildered eyes while she read. Possibly he knew that she wasn't actually reading, but only turning pages blankly while her mind ran down the list of lost friends and allies. She remembered each face in turn, telling herself that their deaths were what made this hunting necessary. It was worth taking lives to keep any more of them from being lost.

What she couldn't allow herself to consider, at least not for long, was how frightened she was of ending up on the list herself.

The book she'd chosen to read this time was a seventh-year Potions text. The Ministry had been administering NEWTs to all interested comers from their year, and she'd taken them all and passed with flying colors. No E's this time, especially not in Defense. Between the war and Professor Snape, it would have taken her serious effort to achieve less than an O. Professor Snape had volunteered his services as NEWT tutor both in Potions and Defense, and he had made them work incredibly hard, harder than even Hermione had ever worked in school before.

She sighed. Professor Snape was the newest addition to that list of the lost.

Nobody had expected it. After all, he had seemed to recover so quickly, and had been so insistent that he be allowed to return to duty...

When it had become clear that Snape was not as easily killed as they and Voldemort had believed, Ron had muttered darkly that he would probably run off somewhere and hide out until it was all over. Instead, though, Snape had complained endlessly about being held in hospital for a second more than he felt necessary, and insisted that he ought to be helping. Hermione, of course, wasn't in a position to ask him about his motives, but Professor McGonagall had indicated that he simply wished to continue doing what he'd done all along, and to leave it at that.

Harry, who had become quite enthusiastic about Professor Snape in a very short time, insisted that Snape simply wanted people to finally see his true colors, and that with Dumbledore and Voldemort gone, he had no more reasons to obscure his loyalties.

Whatever the reasons, and she doubted she'd ever be able to ask him now, he'd insisted on being allowed to return to duty, and McGonagall and Shacklebolt had allowed it.

But his reflexes hadn't yet recovered, and the Order had underestimated his value as a prisoner to the Death Eaters, it seemed. The Order knew he couldn't be dead. The Death Eaters--a blanket term, now, claimed by all of Voldemort's lingering supporters--had taken to leaving corpses where they would be found publicly. No more secret disappearances. What was the point? They were out to inspire fear now, and little else.

He hadn't even been captured during the course of a true mission. Snape had made a quick trip to Spinner's End to search for anything valuable that might not have been pilfered already--and then he was gone without a trace. Molly Weasley bitterly blamed the Daily Prophet for mentioning its location in their feature article on Snape's life history. Harry had said privately, though, that it wouldn't be hard to discover the location of the house even without that. There were records kept, after all. Anyone with a contact in the Ministry could have found it out.

There was no question as to what had happened to him, although nearly three weeks had gone by without a word, and Hermione was beginning to fear he might be dead. They'd searched high and low, but hadn't been able to find him anywhere.

Hermione turned a page and looked at it without reading the words. How long would they keep him before simply sending the all-too-familiar bolt of green light flying at his chest?

"Hermione," said Harry, cutting into her thoughts and startling her.

"I'm reading."

"I know you've been, but it's time to eat."

"Already?"

"Yeah. Mrs. Weasley made a roast. Come on."

"I'm not hungry."

"You've got to eat anyway. It's the rules. On your feet, let's go."

She closed her book and put it down, going with Harry to join Ron, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen.

It was a quiet meal. The meals they ate before these missions always were. Death had become a newly intimate reality since they'd lost Fred, Tonks and Remus, and its constant imminence made for a serious mood. Nobody spoke, except for Mrs. Weasley, once, to deplore the fact that Ron had come to the table with his hair still dripping wet and was showering droplets into the rolls every time he turned his head.

"About that time, then, eh?" said Ron, pushing his chair back from the table and running his hands through his still-wet hair.

Everyone stood up. Mrs. Weasley hugged each of them, whispered a word of encouragement in Harry's ear, squeezed Ginny's hand, and saw them to the door. As all four of them turned to Apparate, Hermione caught sight of Mrs. Weasley's face, looking very small and white below a mass of graying ginger hair.

They arrived in the middle of a full-blown disaster. What had been intended as a smallish scouting expedition in Knockturn Alley had, before they'd even got there, turned into an out-and-out brawl. Curses were flying in all directions, Hermione spotted two Aurors down, and what appeared to be three masked Death Eaters darting in and out of alleyways and behind benches and crates. Several other witches and wizards, none of whom Hermione recognized, appeared to be fighting on the Death Eaters' side, as well as several werewolves, a hag, and what Hermione felt quite sure was a vampire.

The enemy had, it appeared, got wind of their plans and staged a quite successful ambush, surprising them all so thoroughly that it appeared the Aurors and other Order members who'd arrived there before Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione had barely even had time to draw wands.

They'd discussed the possibility of ambush dozens of times before, prior to every expedition. The plan, as it had been outlined to Hermione, was to take stock of the situation, take any actions necessary for self-defense, and then wait for orders from the first in command. The first in command, in this instance, was an Auror named Caroline Crowley, and she was so far away from where they'd Apparated that there was no possible way she could give them instructions any time soon.

Harry and Ron appeared to take this as an indication that staying to fight was the order of the day, and Hermione, hardly about to run away, did the same.

She couldn't quite say how it happened. Later, she'd have days in which to think about only that and wonder where and what her mistake had been. All that she knew was that she looked in one direction to block a curse, and then, quite unexpectedly, felt something hit her from behind. Strong arms wrapped around her and pinned her wand arm to her side, effectively incapacitating her. Next thing she knew, whoever it was had lifted her into the air, spinning her around as if they were in a dance.

Harry caught sight of them as they began to Apparate, and, eyes wide, he pointed his wand at them and shouted, "STUPEFY!"

But before the bolt of red light reached her attacker, she felt the unpleasant and familiar sensation of Apparition, and after that, there was nothing.

0 0 0

When Hermione was next aware of anything, she was lying down, with her eyes closed. She shifted carefully, taking stock of her physical situation. She was sore, but didn't feel like she had any serious injuries. There was nothing impeding her ability to move freely. She began to mentally run through the plans she'd been told to memorize in case she got caught.

She drew a deep breath, pretending to be asleep. The room she was in was well-lighted, and she saw it filtered redly through her eyelids. She risked opening them just a sliver. Her head was turned to one side, and she could see feet, and the hem of a set of black robes.

So, she wasn't alone.

She began to carefully pat the ground around her, looking for her wand. The floor was cold, and felt like wood.

"She's going to wake up soon," said someone, sounding bored.

She made no noise, forcing herself not to hold her breath in her nervousness.

"That much is obvious. What are you planning to do with her, exactly?" An answer meant that there were at least two people in the room, and, though she didn't dare check, she doubted very much that she still had her wand.

"Keep her." Still bored. She pictured the owner of the voice shrugging. "There are ways to use her."

"Keep her where?"

"With Snape."

She counted to three and then took a long, deep breath, forcing herself to remain still and listen. Professor Snape wasn't dead. There was good news, at least. On the other hand, he'd obviously been captured by the same people who now had her

"Is that wise?"

"They're both wandless, and the room is very secure. There are wards on every door. If they move at all, we'll know."

"She's one of Potter's best friends. He's going to look for her."

There was a snort. "Brilliant deduction. Of course he's going to look for her, and if he ever finds her--which he won't, by the way--he'll set the wards off, and we'll kill him, and anyone else in the Order that he brings with him."

"If they don't kill us first."

"We've got the advantage over them. The building's unplottable, and it's got good wards. They won't find us, and even if they do, we'll be a match for them."

"You really think it's safe to put the two of them together?"

"Have you got any other ideas? There isn't another place to put her that's as secure or hidden as this one, and they're going to be looking everywhere for her."

"Right. Well, I'm sick of standing around in this place. I'm half-starved and there's nothing to eat but the stuff we brought for Snape last night--and I wouldn't touch that if you paid me. You ought to stock some proper food here."

"Not here often enough or for long enough to make it worth my while. I bring some with me if I'm going to be more than a few hours."

"Let's wake her up already."

"Very well. Enervate!"

Hermione felt the tingling sensation of magic washing over her, and, knowing she had no other choice, she stirred slightly and opened her eyes.

She was in a small room, in what looked to be a small, stone house. There were two closed doors, one of which appeared to lead outside, and no windows. Two masked and cloaked Death Eaters stood above her, looking down from the inscrutable metal shields that covered their faces. One of them had long, stringy, dirty-blond hair; the other's was brown and clipped short. Somehow, it was the expressionless masks looking down at her that really brought the situation home to her.

She wasn't bound. She could fight. What was the best way to go about it? Standing up would take too long, and she only had one chance to take them by surprise. With all of her strength, she swung her body around and kicked at them with both feet.

They both stepped back, out of her range, and the other Death Eater drew his wand.

"Calm yourself, Miss Granger," said the brown-haired one. He was the speaker with the bored voice. "If I planned to kill you, your body would be already cold and stiff at Potter's feet. Petrificus Totalus!"

The spell hit her full-force and she froze where she was, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. She heard footsteps moving to her side and smelled something rather sour. Then, a warm breath moved over her cheek. God, he was close by. If she could have, she would have flinched violently.

"All right, then?" asked the blond wizard, coming into view. "That's a Gryffindor for you. Can't admit defeat." He bent down and hoisted her roughly up, grunting. Without any further ceremony, he dragged her across the room to the door, opened it, and pushed her in.

Still paralyzed, she hit the ground hard. The wizard pointed his wand at her. "Finite Incantatem!" he said. "Welcome home, Granger."

Her muscles freed once again, she backed away from him and into the dark room. There was no point in trying to start a physical fight with two armed Death Eaters who were easily twice her size. Professor Snape was there in the dark, somewhere. Even if he didn't have a wand, there was something reassuring about knowing he was nearby.

"We'll be back, maybe," said the Death Eater, his wand still pointed at her. "Crucio!"

The pain, horribly familiar, went through her body like fire, and she screamed. He held his wand pointed towards her for what seemed like an age, but couldn't have been more than a minute. Then he slammed the door She heard a lock click, and a muffled voice muttering a spell to seal the wards, and then they were gone.

"Miss Granger," said the voice of Professor Snape, in a tone as dry as any he'd ever used in the classroom. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Professor Snape," she said, surprised by the strength of the relief that she felt upon hearing his voice. "Are you--where are you?" Her eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, and she realized that there was a thin strip of light coming from beneath the door. Most of the room was still in deep shadow, but at least there was a little light.

"To your left, Miss Granger, although it scarcely matters. We are alone, in a small room. Incidentally," and his tone took on something new; he sounded almost angry, "what are you doing here?"

"I'd have thought that was obvious," she said, with some asperity. "I got captured."

"That much was obvious, yes. Let me clarify. What absurd, foolish thing did you do to get captured?"

"It wasn't my fault. It was planned, we were in a group. They ambushed us, and I got hit from behind."

"Did you learn nothing in Defense Against the Dark Arts, girl?"

"I was shielding myself from a curse! How could I--"

"By keeping your back to a wall at all times, to suggest only one possible course of action. Merlin, girl, I thought you had brains."

"You can hardly talk," she snapped. "You're here too."

He snorted. "If anything, my own underestimation of the enemy gives me more right to criticize yours, not less."

"That's absurd."

"We will have many hours in which to argue the point, Miss Granger, assuming that I continue to speak to you at all."

Hermione rubbed her arm, which she'd landed on when they threw her into the room. "What is this place?"

There was a very faint rustle of fabric, oddly loud in the silence that surrounded them. She guessed that he'd shrugged. "A house," he said. "I've been more or less alone since I was first brought here. They come at least once a day, for purposes of ... interrogation."

The way that he said it made Hermione shudder. "Have you--did you tell them anything?"

"Miss Granger, I am an experienced spy, and have been for almost as long as you have been alive. I am aware that, amongst Gryffindors, I am not ... renowned for my social graces, but I believe even you ought to be aware that it is bad policy to insult somebody that you will most likely be living in close quarters with for some time."

"It's been three weeks," she said.

This statement was greeted with silence. Just when she thought he was not going to speak again, he said, "I underestimated. Time is difficult to judge here, even with practice."

"We've been looking everywhere for you."

"Obviously not."

Hermione felt in the direction of the doorway until she found the wall. Inching back towards it, she leaned her back on it for support. Closing her eyes, although it made no difference to the darkness that surrounded her, she buried her face in her hands. "They'll find us soon," she said, trying not to think about the three weeks of fruitless searching for Professor Snape that had already gone by.

"Dare to dream, Miss Granger. There is food, of a kind, against the back right-hand corner of the room. Avail yourself of it, if you grow hungry. If you wish to defecate, we have been very kindly provided with a bucket in the back left corner of the room. It has been enchanted with a Banishing Charm, although I suspect that was more from squeamishness on the part of our captors than a desire for our comfort. And now, I am going to sleep."

"You're going to sleep? How can you sleep at a time like this?"

"Miss Granger," he said, amused, "what time are you referring to? I have been here for three weeks, as you so kindly pointed out a moment ago. The novelty has worn thin."

And with that, he left Hermione to the darkness and silence.

Author's Notes: A great many thanks to Heather Jewell, who suggested the plot line that inspired this story. Thanks also to RenitaLeandra, the best and fastest beta in history.

The title of this fic is taken from the title of a piece of prose writing by Oscar Wilde, written during his imprisonment at Reading Gaol. Translated, it means "out of the depths."