A/N: *Dashes into the room in Wellingtons, carting an umbrella, hair damp*

*grins from ear to ear, wet all over from jumping in puddles*

*presents the chapter to you, giggling*

*gives you all a big, wet hug*

*Flutters come-hither eyes at you enticingly*

*dashes back out into the rain and high jumps right into a huge puddle, cackling with glee*

xx-Kitten.

Closer Than Most

By Kittenshift17

Chapter Two

"How did you get in here?" she snarled, her eyes darting over the faces surrounding her.

Five pairs of eyes blinked at her and five wands were trained on her dangerously. The scraping of chairs and the shouts of the Order as they rushed to her aide almost drowned out the reply.

"Miss Granger," Snape growled, his eyes narrowed on her. "Lower your wand. Now. They are here by invitation."

"Cruel of you to 'invite' them to their own demise," Hermione replied, flicking a hex at the dark haired and bearded Russian wizard levelling her a cold look from across the room.

He was quick with his shield, but Hermione was quick with her hexes, too.

"Enough!" Dumbledore commanded, and Hermione bared her teeth like a cornered animal when her wand sailed out of her grip to be deftly caught by the Headmaster.

"What's going on here?" Neville demanded, having apparently jumped the table to be one of the first ones at her back and ready to fight alongside her.

The door to the meeting room slammed closed in his face and Dumbledore warded it, shocking Hermione mute for a long moment. Neville banged on the door from the other side and Hermione raised her eyebrows at Dumbledore, backing away from the gathered Death Eaters filling the Entrance Hall of Grimmauld Place.

"You invited them?" she asked, and she felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach when he patiently waited for her to connect the dots, looking pointedly at the list he'd given her.

Hermione paled, feeling like she might be sick.

Around the room, the gathered Death Eaters watched her, and Hermione shook her head slowly in denial. She recognised the five men before her. How could she not? All five had their faces on Wanted posters at this stage. One had been her classmate, another the boy who'd mercilessly tormented her during her first year after she'd tattled on him for being inappropriate in the library. One was her former Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and generally a man who unsettled her. A fourth was a man whom she knew by reputation only, but there could be no mistaking his regal features and vibrant green eyes. The fifth man in the room had tried to kill her and Hermione thought she might actually be sick.

"No," she said slowly, shaking her head, her eyes darting back to Dumbledore. She clutched her book tighter, loathe to be without her wand even if Dumbledore now stood between her and her enemies.

"I had meant to discuss this matter with you in further detail, Hermione," Dumbledore said gently, holding her wand out to her when her hand twitched for a weapon. "Preferably in private."

"Then why are they doing here?"

"That's hardly polite," a green eyed Rabastan Lestrange sneered.

Hermione threw a hex at him in reply. He blocked it, smirking and Hermione bared her teeth again.

"If you continue to hex these men when they are here by my invitation and under my protection, Miss Granger, I will relieve you of your wand again until you have calmed yourself."

"Calmed myself?" Hermione repeated, outraged. "Why don't I line up a whole bunch of people who want to kill you and then tell you to smile pretty while they fuck you, Professor?! Why don't we see how calm you feel then?"

Thorfinn Rowle snorted and Hermione narrowed her eyes on the hulking Viking hatefully.

"Well, if the little goody-two-shoes didn't grow up and learn to cuss," he drawled.

"Eat me, Rowle," Hermione retorted.

"Careful," he warned. "I'm partial to brunettes."

"I'm not doing this," Hermione told Dumbledore. "You can forget it. Wipe their memories or kill them if you have to, but get them out of here before I return all the favours they've paid me over the years."

"I told you she would take this for an ambush, Albus," Snape drawled, and Hermione shivered at the sound of his voice.

"Severus, now is not the time. Perhaps we should continue this discussion upstairs, Hermione?"

"What? Afraid the Order will break out of the kitchen and murder them before I get the chance?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows in challenge. "I'm not going to do it, Dumbledore. You can forget it."

"Nice to see you too, Granger," Draco Malfoy drawled.

"Lick Bubotuber pus, Malfoy," Hermione snapped.

"Oooh, not very friendly," he smirked, apparently amused.

Hermione lost her temper. He'd always been good at making her do so, and without pausing to consider her actions Hermione pulled a Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder bomb from her pocket and threw it on the floor. The room was engulfed in darkness and Hermione made a break for it. She raced across the entrance hall, grunting when she slammed into a solid and muscular form that had to belong to Rowle before shoving away from him and running for the door.

These days she always knew the ways to the exits and the obstacles to exiting any room, and she always carried weapons and gadgets that might help her make an escape. It was paranoia and she knew it, but right then she was thankful for it. She didn't really think of a destination, she just ran. Out the door, she Disapparated from the top step with a sharp crack.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

"No one mentioned that this plan would involve Potter's Mudblood," Antonin Dolohov complained when the darkness began to clear, the girl long gone.

"No one mentioned fucking her, either," Rowle said.

"As though you object to sticking your cock wherever you can?" Rabastan scoffed.

"I would appreciate it if you all refrained from using the term 'mudblood'," Albus Dumbledore said.

"Yeah, good luck with that, old man," Antonin muttered.

"I told you she wouldn't take it well," Severus said and Albus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and slanting a glare at Severus. He refused to look repentant for the comment.

"You want us to shag Granger, sir?" Draco Malfoy asked of him. "I think I'd rather take my chances with the Dark Lord."

"Yeah, 'cause that's been going so well," Thorfinn Rowle grunted.

"Fuck off, Thorfinn," Draco glared at the other blond wizard in the room.

"Don't you two start at one another again," Antonin sighed. "Explain to me why we are here, Dumbledore. Why the Mud… Why Granger?"

"She's the most powerful," Severus answered before Albus could open his mouth.

"Is this supposed to be some sort of… what? Reverse harem thing? Like what the Dark Lord tried to get Bella doing?" Rabastan asked. "Only we fuck the Mudblood?"

"I'd rather fuck Bella," Antonin muttered.

"Enough!" Dumbledore snapped. "Severus, if you would be so kind as to take our friends to the safe-house while I see about having a discussion with Miss Granger, I would appreciate it."

"She's not here, Albus," Severus drawled. "Didn't you hear the crack? She ran out the front door and Disapparated."

Albus sighed, feeling a headache beginning to niggle behind his eyes. Young people were so impossibly impulsive and disobedient. And Miss Granger might be the worst. A surprise to him, since he'd thought dealing with Harry had been difficult enough. But the girl was clearly smarter than Harry and knew when to argue back and knew the right questions to ask when she was given a directive. She didn't just rush in full tilt because he said it would help them win.

Apparently, she was less Gryffindor and more Slytherin than he'd anticipated, but that was no matter.

"Why are we here?" Rowle wanted to know. "Is that your master plan for taking down the Dark Lord? A muggleborn witch slight enough that she'd probably lose in a fight against a wet paper bag? She might have a decent head on her shoulders, and she's quick with that wand, but she's tiny, Dumbledore. The Dark Lord has been implementing this same idea with Bella and of the two, I know who'll win in a fight."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Draco spoke up, his hand reaching to touch his nose. "She can swing a decent punch."

"Beating you in a fight would be easier than fighting off a pygmy puff, Malfoy," Rowle taunted.

Children, Albus decided when the Malfoy boy made a rude hand gesture. They were all just children. Maybe Molly was right. Maybe there was a better way, one that relied on less people. Maybe he could just go up against Tom and kill the wretch himself like he should've done when he was still a cruel boy rather than a psychotic and cruel man. Albus was tired. They were losing and with Harry out of commission they needed a new plan. He'd hoped the Granger girl would cooperate willingly, as Harry tended to do, and he was annoyed that she'd run away.

"Got to admit, if this bunch of fuckers were coming at me, cocks out, I'd have run for it too," Lestrange offered his commentary on Miss Granger's actions.

"You want us all to fuck her, right?" Dolohov asked. "Who else? Who from among the order?"

"That's not important right now," Albus hedged. "Unless Miss Granger can be located and convinced that this is a sound plan, none of your services will be required."

"For fuck's sake, Albus, don't refer to it as 'services'," Severus hissed. "We're not stud stallions."

"Speak for yourself, Snape," Rowle smirked and Albus decided that he'd had enough for one day.

"Out!" he snapped. "Now. All of you, get out. Severus, take them to the safe-house. I'll be along shortly. After locating Miss Granger and talking some sense into her."

"As though you've any idea where she'll go?" Severus sneered.

"I will ask her friends." Albus snapped.

"Won't be too easy, since one of them is dead and the other two are comatose," Severus spat and Albus fought the very real urge to hex the spiteful man.

"Whose fault is that?" he retorted, and Severus's eyes flashed with hatred.

The other Death Eaters, seeming to realise that there was an ocean of tension between the two powerful wizards all fell silent and their Slytherin tendencies were obvious to Albus as he watched them all assessing the situation carefully.

Without a word Severus threw his arm out and darted a glance at his fellow Death Eaters. They didn't speak as they all moved forward to grasp his arm and Severus disapparated all of them at once, leaving Albus alone in the entrance hall for a long moment.

Waving his wand after taking a deep breath, Albus unlocked the door to the kitchen and Neville Longbottom burst through it. His wand was drawn, and his eyes were wild.

"Where's Hermione?" he demanded immediately and Albus recognised the difference between the young man he'd become compared to the boy he'd once been.

"I was hoping you might be able to tell me," Albus replied quietly. "She left. A new development regarding the plan was a little too much for her, too soon, and she left."

"Right," Neville muttered.

"You invited those fuckers here?" Sirius Black asked, his voice low and dangerous as he followed Neville into the entrance hall. "All of them?"

Albus nodded. He had briefed Sirius and Remus on the plan before unveiling it to the rest of the Order, since their participation was vital.

"No wonder she ran," Sirius muttered. "You can't just ambush the poor girl, Albus!"

Albus might've smiled at the similarity between Sirius's and Severus's words were he in a better mood.

"Neville, where would she go to be alone and collect her thoughts?"

"Did you check the library?" he asked, frowning.

"She disapparated after dropping an Instant Powder bomb," Albus supplied.

"Right… well, if she's not in the house…" He frowned for a long moment and glanced at Luna when the young witch came up beside him, slipping her hand inside his.

"We won't find her," Luna said. "She's always been private. If she's left the house, she'll have gone somewhere none of us can follow."

"You don't have an agreed upon place to meet if things go wrong?" Remus asked quietly.

"We do," Neville nodded. "But she won't be there. That's the first place we'd look."

"Check, just the same, please," Albus said. "It's vital that I speak with her."

"You can't force her into this, Albus," Molly said, having recovered from her tears enough to speak.

"I have no intention of forcing her," Albus replied evenly.

"We'll check the meeting point," Neville said, still holding Luna's hand. "We'll be back shortly."

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Hermione climbed in the window of the fall-down cottage deep in the woods. It had been her grandmother's once, long ago, before she'd died. Her parents had kept it, rather than selling it off, and they'd spent a few weeks here every summer when Hermione had come home from school.

Without their memories, her parents no longer recalled its existence and Hermione didn't get there often enough to take decent care of it. The door was jammed shut and magic hadn't budged it, and so she was climbing in the window. Little more than a hovel, the roof sagged and the paint had long since peeled off. It'd been well-cared for, once, but now it was sad and creepy. As a girl, when Gran had still been alive, Hermione had thought the place spooky. Covered in vines and nestled amongst the trees, it was easy to miss. The drive to the place had long since grown over, though it had never been more than a faint track winding through the trees.

Now, it was beyond creepy. It looked like the residence of the wicked witch who might eat unsuspecting children that wandered too close, and the irony of her own witchcraft was not lost on her.

Inside the cottage it was dark, but a flick of her wand lit some candles and another brightened the hearth. The dust was thick in the air and Hermione coughed, frowning to herself as she took in the state of the place.

The door hadn't budged, it seemed, because a large branch had fallen through the roof and was pinning it closed. Using her wand, Hermione levitated the wretched thing free and she set to work on tidying the house, cleaning the mess left by countless storms, drying the floor, and repairing the roof. When that was done she used more charms to alleviate the damp smell that lingered in the air and she made a face when she discovered that at some stage a weasel had tried to make a home of the oven.

When it was habitable, and the furniture was all clean, Hermione settled herself onto the couch in front of the fire and stared at the book Dumbledore had given her.

"I can't do it," she said, speaking to herself.

She clenched her fists, recalling that Ginny would be shouting at her to stop being a prude. Ron and Harry would be telling her that it was madness and that she'd couldn't possibly be expected to shag Death Eaters and, anyway, she was their Hermione. No one would want to have sex with her to begin with.

Hermione pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes when they prickled at the memories of her friends. She had no guarantee that they would ever wake up. Ginny was gone forever, but the girl would surely have jumped at the chance to sleep around without having anyone be able to tell her she was a tart because it was all for a good cause.

Peering at the list Dumbledore had given her of the men he thought would be most helpful to her cause, Hermione hated the niggling curiosity she had to see who was on it. With no one there to judge her for indulging her curiosity, she reached for it and unrolled it slowly.

Sirius Black

Remus Lupin

Charles Weasley

Severus Snape

Draco Malfoy

Thorfinn Rowle

Antonin Dolohov

Rabastan Lestrange

Eight names. Eight wizards. Hermione frowned that more than half of them were Death Eaters before realising he'd countered Snape as an Order member, rather than a Death Eater, bringing the count to four and four.

"But they're all…" she frowned, tracing her finger over the parchment and trying to understand why he'd chosen these particular men. Draco, she would admit, made the most sense. He was her age and he'd never seemed very secure in his position as a Death Eater. He could be easily swayed and no matter that he'd always been a bit of a coward, he was a powerful wizard and he came from a powerful magical heritage. He would have untapped power reserves in his very blood that she could unlock and harness for the sake of the Order. His inclusion might not please her, but it made sense to her.

The others just confused her.

Charlie had come home from Romania when Ginny had been killed, but he had a lot of potential for one day marrying a pretty witch and furthering the Weasley bloodline. That chance would be ruined if he bonded with her for the sake of this harem.

And then it clicked.

Dumbledore had picked the men on the list, despite most of them being at least twenty years her senior, because they had limited prospects, relationship-wise.

Sirius, Lestrange, and Dolohov were all escaped Azkaban fugitives. Remus was a werewolf. Snape was… well, Snape. Rowle, before his involvement with the Death Eaters, had been a Quidditch superstar but if he was ever caught by the Aurors, he'd been thrown in prison; and Charlie was a Dragon Tamer who'd never showed much interest in witches when he could spend his life wrestling dragons. They were all in their prime, magically speaking, and they were all unlikely to ever marry – most of them would be lucky to even survive the war, if she was being completely honest with herself.

In that sense, Malfoy actually made no sense. He was young, he was powerful, certainly, but he was a coward and he was the last of his bloodline. In fact, most of them were. Remus had no siblings. Sirius's only brother had been killed. Rowle, she knew, had a sister who'd been in Fred and George's year, and a brother who'd been in her year at school, but she didn't know of any other Rowle family members who were still living. Lestrange had a married brother, but to her knowledge Rodolphus and Bellatrix had never conceived a child and they were surely getting to a point when doing so might be difficult and risky.

Hermione frowned, trying to find similarities and differences between Dumbledore's chosen participants. Surely Draco, Sirius, Remus and Snape would be better off not getting involved in this. They would one day want heirs of their own and if they were bound to her for this endeavour they would have to have them with her, or not at all.

It occurred to her that Snape likely never wanted children, given how much he loathed them. Remus, she knew, never wanted kids for fear of passing on his condition and fear of the ridicule such a child might face with a werewolf for a father. She knew little about Dolohov, Lestrange and Rowle. Did they not want children?

Did they not have pretty witches they'd prefer to fuck?

Hermione shook her head.

"This is madness," she muttered. "Dolohov tried to kill me! He murdered Molly's brothers, Ron's uncles. What would Ron say to know I was considering fucking the wretched bastard for the sake of the Order? And Lestrange tortured Neville's parents into madness! What is Dumbledore thinking, inviting the two of them to the party? It'd be bad enough shagging Malfoy and Rowle, without adding known murders and sociopaths to the mix."

Hermione bit her lip as she considered the rest of the names on the list. The most appealing choices were, obviously, the Order members. Charlie, in particular, she wouldn't even mind shagging. He was handsome as sin and she'd always been partial to redheads – as evidenced by her interest in Ron, once upon a memory. Charlie was strong, he was very powerful, magically speaking, and he was funny, to boot. More than once since Ginny's death and Ron and Harry's loss of consciousness, Charlie had been the person whose shoulder she cried into.

She wouldn't mind shagging him, if she was completely honest with herself.

Sirius was another matter. The man was reckless, and he was wickedly funny and quick witted, and she rather enjoyed arguing with him, but they always argued. He was Harry's Godfather, for Merlin's sake. She might've noticed how handsome and charming he was – because how could she not? – but she hadn't ever seriously considered anything sexual with the man. He was twenty years her senior and with James and Lily gone, Sirius was the closest thing Harry had to a father. Harry would surely never forgive her if she shagged him

Remus wasn't much better. Like Sirius, he was a father figure to Harry. The voice of reason to Sirius's recklessness and also handsome as the devil. His lycanthropy only made him all the more appealing in her eyes because all that animal magnetism spoke to her on a primal level she couldn't even describe.

If she had to shag them, she would do so. If they agreed. She knew Sirius would. She might've fudged the truth a little about the number of boys trying to put their hands up her skirt. More than once, when he was deep in his cups, Sirius had pulled her into his lap when no one else was around and he'd suggested that they'd be more comfortable in the privacy of his bedroom.

She'd always brushed it off as just him being drunk and lonely, but when she thought back to the way he'd watched her at Headquarters, waiting for her reaction, she got the feeling that not only had Dumbledore already approached him with the suggestion, but he wanted to do it. And of course, he did. He'd be able to contribute more fully to helping the Order. Like Malfoy, he also came from a powerful and pure magical bloodline and he would have magic reserves inside him untapped and just brimming with the need to break free.

In fact, she supposed that Charlie, Lestrange, Dolohov and Rowle would also have that in their favour, purebloods as they all were.

Hermione ran and hand through her tangled curls as she considered the other names on her list. Death Eaters aside, there was one name that unnerved her entirely.

Severus Snape.

Her Potions teacher. Her Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

She could get by the notion of Remus having been her teacher because that had been years ago and since then he'd become a friend. He was well-read and funny and charming, and every now and then, when the moon was almost full, he'd give her a look so hot it usually dampened her knickers.

But Snape was different.

Professor Snape had been her teacher up until just over eight months ago. Her least favourite teacher, in fact – aside from Umbridge and Trelawney. He was a person who'd held authority over her and someone who'd been impossibly cruel to her on more than one occasion. His hooked nose and his greasy hair certainly didn't make him an attractive option, and to make matters worse, he was dirk tongued, cruel, and a downright bastard. Even thinking about snogging him made her feel stupid and he would undoubtedly be as unkind in private as he'd always been in public. Given that he'd probably be as uncomfortable as her, she imagined that would be a very awkward attempt at seeing this idea through and she shook her head.

She couldn't do it. Not with Snape. He was so… mean. Taking her clothes off in front of him would be a form of torture and she doubted he'd be thrilled to take his off in front of her, either. What would Harry say if he could see her, thinking about undressing Snape?

Hermione snorted to herself.

The Greasy Git of the Dungeons? Fucking her? Yeah, right.

Hermione sighed, pursing her lips and wondering if she could go through with it. She didn't think she could do it. She'd admit that she might've overreacted at the sight of Rowle and Malfoy, not to mention Dolohov – who was at least twenty-five or thirty years older than her and who'd once tried to murder her. But this was a big ask. She would have to have sex with each of these men on Dumbledore's list. She would have to take off her clothes in front of them. She'd have to kiss them and touch them and let them fondle her breasts and touch the place between her legs.

Picking up the book Dumbledore had given her on harems, Hermione opened it once more, trying to find the answer to why he would ask this of her. Trying to make rhyme or reason of what would drive him to think this might actually work. Sure, it might link them all to her, rather than letting the Death Eaters continue to be loyal to Voldemort, but there had to be more to it. She knew that doing this would mean she could harvest the energy created by sex, and leech their magical power. It wouldn't drain them or weaken them, from what she understood of the process. She wasn't stealing the power in the sense of taking something and giving nothing back.

The exchange was more like draining pus from a wound, if she was honest. Every magical being had magical reserves within them. They were usually left untapped unless things grew particularly dire. Should one fall ill, the reserves helped heal and sustain them. Should they be in a fierce duel or perform extremely complex magic, they might deplete the stores. But as with regular energy within the body, the reserves could be drained and then would replete themselves over time. If she were to perform the ritual, she would harvest the energy in those reserves and store it within herself – something exclusive to a witch's power, she'd read, and the reserves within each wizard would replete. When enough magical power had been stored within her, she would be able to harness it all and unleash it for whatever purpose she saw fit.

Hermione wondered what Dumbledore wanted her to do with it. She couldn't fight Voldemort and win. That was Harry's destiny. Maybe he hoped she would be able to heal Harry and Ron – to revive them and let Harry get on with stopping Voldemort and ending the war. Maybe he had some other goal in mind he'd meant to share with her before she'd run off in a huff.

Sighing, Hermione decided it would be best to gain a full and proper understanding of just what she would have to do before she even thought about going back to face them all. Settling back on the couch, Hermione sunk into her book once more.