Author's notes: I'm sorry everything is so vague at the moment, too many Scorsese films and not enough reading I'm afraid. I've promised myself to finish this one, so I've written a story board and produced a shiny new chapter. Draco is in it because... it's just not a story if he isn't. This chapter is the prologue to the prologue. Basically the next few chapters will explain why Hermione was in the position she was (in my own roundabout way), and then I will continue on from the original point. Please leave a review if you enjoyed it or have constructive criticism.

Summary: Set three years after the fall of Lord Voldemort, the wizarding world is still in turmoil and the Death Eaters are growing in number and power. There is a leak in the ministry; an agent with the façade of working for the government who has for the past year in secret been working for the followers of Lord Voldemort. Hermione is facing life in Azkaban for crimes against wizard kind. Blaise is her appointed legal aid and is less than convinced by her adamancy that she has renounced all her ties with the Light and started working for the Death Eaters.

The Jackal

By Collett-et-Noir

Chapter One

She pulled the quill across the parchment, her hand dipping and ebbing with the script. One page. Three sentences. The fate of the entire wizarding nation.

Drawing in her breath she sealed the letter and tied it to the delivery owl.

All she had to do now… was wait.

---

"Come on Malfoy," Hermione muttered to herself, standing against the door frame of her family home. Her parents were inside, the dull hum of their conversation drifting out of the house on the early summer air.

She tried not to flinch when the nineteen year old Malfoy materialized before her, his face void of any palpable emotion.

"I need to talk to you." She folded her arms, taking an imperceptible cleansing breath.

"Evidently Granger. Care to elaborate?"

A fraction of a second after he spoke, Lucius Malfoy appeared beside him.

"Yes, please do Miss Granger. I must admit I found your note rather intriguing." He sneered, his gloved hand gripping her neck.

"Shall we go inside?" He released her and she nodded, gasping for air.

The elder Malfoy followed Hermione directly, his wand placed firmly into her back. Hermione wanted to wince in pain but she made no visible sign that her life was currently under threat.

"Hermione dea- Hermione, what is this?" It was an expression of horror she had never before seen on her mother's face.

"Ah, parents. Avada-" Lucius stopped.

"No!" Hermione screamed, pulling his wand down.

"No," she said quietly, "Let me show you."

"Avada Kedavra!" Her mother's slender finger crumpled to the floor.

"Hermione, please, what are you doing?" Her father moved to hold her limp mother on the ground.

"Crucio!" She cried, watching her father fall against and armchair, gripping it in pain. She kept her arm poised, watching her closest living relative writhe in pain.

"Avada Kedavra." She spat out. There was a resounding thud and then all was quiet.

"I daresay mudblood; that was quite some show. Anything else you'd care to tell us?" Lucius stepped over her dead mother's corpse, nudging the face with his shoe.

"You know there is, I offer myself to your cause. I have information-"

"Do you really? Well I suppose we'd best take you with us. Unless of course I decide to kill you right now. What do you think, Draco?" Lucius enquired to his son as if asking for his opinion on an upcoming Quidditch match.

"Bring her. If she's to be of any use we'll know soon enough."

"Very good." Lucius sneered, snatched her by the arm and disapparated.

Moments later they appeared inside a great hall at the entry of a portrait lined passageway. The room was dark and covered in a thin layer of dust.

"Watch her. I must summon the others." Lucius nodded at Draco and left Hermione standing beside him, her arms folded.

Once his father was out of earshot Draco smirked and turned towards her.

"So, why are you really here?" She scrutinized him acidly.

"Power," she spat.

His grin grew wider as he leant forward to pull on one of her curls.

"That was almost," he gave it a little tug for emphasis, "believable." He straightened up as his father returned with several other men in his wake.

"Do come with us."

---

Seventeen hours later, without sleep or food, Hermione was escorted from her questioning room to an old bedroom on the second floor. She fell against the bed without much ceremony, kicked off her shoes and pants, and crawled beneath the duvet. An odd sort of relief accompanied the knowledge that every scrap of information, every detail and name that aided the Order of Phoenix was now handed over to an enemy she fought so long to destroy. No more running, no more hiding. They knew, and they'd keep her protected as long as she remained of use to them. Of that fact she was hardly concerned.

Several hours into the night she felt someone shift beside her and a velveteen finger trace the profile of her face.

"I still don't believe you."

"You're only saying that. If you thought I was lying you wouldn't be here." She remained still, her eyes barely open.

"Hm. Perhaps." He watched her, his back resting against the oak headboard and his knees bent.

Hermione opened her eyes and returned his gaze for a moment before giving into fatigue and falling asleep.

When she awoke the next morning she was alone.