A/N" *barrels in, out of breath, a wombat under one arm*
*pants, wide eyed, glancing at the basket of chapters she's trying to finish*
*searches frantically for hand sanitizer*
*comes up empty*
*Offers them all to the wombat for licking, like this might substitute*
*begins to curse when the wombat takes a hefty bite out of the paper instead*
*awkwardly wrestles this chapter out of his mouth and hands it to you, a little soggy*
*accidentally drops him when he headbutts in protest*
*races after him, shouting about giving those chapters back*
xx-Kitten.
Closer Than Most
By Kittenshift17
Chapter Three
"You reckon she'll do it?" Thorfinn Rowle asked of his fellow Death Eaters as they all sat around the table in the safe-house, drinking whiskey.
"No," Draco Malfoy scoffed. "Why would she? You tried to kill her," he pointed at Antonin Dolohov. "You were mercilessly cruel to her for six years as her professor," he pointed at Snape. "You, Rowle, were a git to her right up until you left school. Lestrange tortured one of her best friend's parents into madness, and I was a right sod to her all through school. The last thing she'd want to do would be shag any of us. Especially you lot. Bunch of old fuckers."
"Thirty-seven really isn't that old," Rabastan Lestrange rolled his eyes.
"Forty-nine is," Draco fired back, slanting a glance at Dolohov.
"Why her, Snape?" Dolohov asked, frowning. "She is powerful, yes. To have survived my curse in the Department of Mysteries, she must be powerful. But why her? Are there none among the Order that would be better suited. Draco's cousin, say?"
"Tonks isn't powerful enough. Gifted, yes. But too much of her magical energy escapes through her metamorphing. She would not be able to effectively harvest and store the magical energy for a long enough period that it could be put to use."
"What use does Dumbledore have for storing it to begin with?" Lestrange wanted to know.
"He hasn't shared that with me."
"He expects us all to fuck her?" Rowle raised his eyebrows. "Along with who from the Order?"
"Black, Lupin and one of the Weasley's, I believe," Severus sighed.
"Charlie, probably," Thorfinn said, frowning. "You're fine with… sharing her?"
All five wizards glanced at each other uncomfortably.
"Wouldn't be the first time any of us have shared a witch," Rabastan muttered, looking away as he took a long pull on his pint.
"Aye, but that was at a revel with nameless bitches we never see again," Thorfinn grunted. "We'd have to see this one again. Repeatedly. We'd be bound to her until she dies, or something terrible enough happens to sever the connection, or some shit."
"She won't do it," Draco insisted.
"What makes you so sure?" Antonin asked the young wizard curiously. "Last year I'd never have said anyone in this room would be considering it, either. But here we are. All of us thinking about fucking that little mudblood and hoodwinking the Dark Lord we've all sworn in blood and magic to serve. You think she is so different that she is incapable of changing her mind?"
"She's too proud," Draco shrugged. "She's the type of girl who gets up in arms about House Elf rights."
"House Elves don't have rights," Lestrange frowned, confused.
"Yes, that seems to be what she takes issue with," Draco drawled, smirking before he took a long draw on his whiskey glass while the wizards around the table all shared a look of horrified bafflement at such a notion.
"Urgh," Rabastan muttered.
"She's feisty, that one," Thorfinn said. "Even when she was just twelve and I was taking the piss and picking on her, she was feisty. She never backed down or walked away without a fight. She'd be a riot in the sack."
"All the more reason she won't want to fuck any of us," Draco shrugged.
"Because I taunted her?" Rowle frowned.
"Because she's feisty enough to tell Dumbledore to fuck off with the entire idea," Draco corrected. "You saw her back there before she ran. She's not some meek little thing to roll over and present her hindquarters to all of us just because some old git asks her nicely."
"Well, that will just fuck us right over, won't it?" Rabastan huffed. "If the Dark Lord knew we were here, we'd all be dead."
"He won't find out if we all keep our mouths shut," Antonin mused, glaring around the room. "I'm a little more concerned by what the brethren would think if they knew we were planning to fuck a mudblood. Repeatedly."
"Well, I doubt any of us plans on telling them," Thorfinn said before skolling his glass of whiskey and pouring them all another round. "We'll just do our bit, fuck her when we have to, and be on our way."
Snape's mouth twisted like he thought things wouldn't be that easy.
"It doesn't work like that, Finn," Antonin spoke up quietly, his Russian accented voice soft in the silence that pervaded the group as they all drank, trying to ignore the niggling thoughts filling their minds of betrayal to their Dark Lord, their families, their blood, and their birthrights.
"What do you mean?" Thorfinn asked, looking over at the Russian.
"As you said, we will be bound to her," Antonin said.
"What? Like, we'd have to bloody live with her or something?" Rowle asked, frowning. "Count me out."
Antonin shook his head, tracing the tips of his fingers along the bristles of his moustache and looking thoughtful.
"Being bound to a witch like that, if it's in the way I think Dumbledore intends, has nothing to do with being forced to live with her or forced to fall for her… But it does… something."
"You've done something like this before?" Snape asked sharply.
Dolohov nodded.
"During the first uprising, before the Dark Lord's fall. Before Azkaban. He tried it with Alecto…" Dolohov answered quietly. "It's why she's so unhinged and so obsessive. The ritual to link us all to the witch in question is a perversion of a marriage bond. Not with any call for fidelity or trading of names or blood… but it links us to her, and to each other, nonetheless."
"If you're linked to Carrow, how can you link to Granger?" Draco asked, frowning.
"The link to Carrow severed when we were all rounded up and sent off to Azakban," Dolohov shrugged. "Couldn't get out of the cells. Couldn't access our own magic with the Dementors keeping us all out of our heads. The bond has to be renewed, often, to maintain it, otherwise everyone involved starts to crack."
"That's why you're a crazy bastard?" Rabastan asked, raising one eyebrow.
Dolohov flipped him the forks.
"The type of magic involved in this is… addictive," he said quietly after sipping his whiskey, a faraway look in his eyes. "It makes the sex better, and the transference of magic like that is… intoxicating."
"How does it work?" Thorfinn asked. "What? She drains it like some kind of magic-vampire?"
"Something like that," Antonin nodded. "But you have to be willing to give it to her. If you don't want to let her into your magical stores – if you don't push your magic at her while you fuck her – it doesn't work. Just makes it feel like regular sex. But if you do…"
He trailed off, shaking his head a little, a slow smile curling across his face.
"Addictive," he muttered. "The ritual unlocks your reserves, and she draws on them. It leaves you feeling weak after – but in the way it feels after a really hard fuck. It makes you feel closer. To the witch. To the others engaged in the ritual. By the end of this, if Granger goes through with it, we'll all be half in love with her, and closer than brothers or best mates, ourselves."
"You can't stand Carrow," Snape drawled. "How's that work?"
"That connection was severed," Antonin repeated. "It… the severance fucks you up. It hurts. Hurts worse than the most painful and delirious detox after a prolonged addiction. Alecto is still obsessed with me because she still craves it. For her, the link is still alive, even if it's faint and tattered. She hung onto it too tight after I was locked up – I'm the only one still living from the group who originally bound themselves to her on the Dark Lord's orders. It's why she clings so hard. She wants it back, but it can't come back. Not without the others."
"Why are you here, old man?" Thorfinn asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "You look… wistful… when you talk about it."
Dolohov's lips twisted self-deprecatingly.
"I am wistful," he admitted. "It felt good, being linked like that. It was nice fucking that hard, without worrying about hurting anyone's feelings, or needing to bother with seduction and cheap pick up lines and all the bullshit. And like I said, it's addictive. There's nothing like the feel of having a witch drain your magic until you're not sure you'll be able to even lift your arm to cast a spell. Your body fights when she takes that much, you know? But the more frequently you empty those reserves and the harder your system has to work to overcome the weakness that follows it, the stronger you get. You think I'm this powerful by some miracle of birth?"
The others eyed him like he was mad, but if Dolohov cared, it didn't show.
"You want that again," Rabastan said finally. "Like an addict reaching for the needle one more time."
Dolohov didn't bother looking guilty or contrite. Instead he smirked.
"If I can feel that again… If I can taste that little death on the back of my tongue when I'm seconds from passing out as all my magic and my come shoots into a pretty little witch, you bet your bloody arse I'm reaching for that needle one more time," he said.
"I don't think I want to be a junkie, hooked on a bit of Mudblood pussy," Draco said quietly, frowning.
"Do you want to stay under the Dark Lord's thumb, instead?" Dolohov asked. "I've seen the way you squirm under it, ditya. With Potter still caught in the throes of that curse, there is no end in sight that isn't grisly and doesn't end in the Dark Lord ruling the world."
"But we fight for him," Draco protested. "If he wins, then so do we."
"Does it feel like winning when you're writhing under the Cruciatus curse because he's lost his fucking mind?" Rabastan wanted to know. "Does it feel like winning when your mother and father are screaming, and you're too broken to lift a bloody finger and your throat's too raw from your own wretched screams?"
"Then why the fuck did we sign up with this arsehole?" Draco asked. "If you all hate it so much, and if this is how he treats us – his loyal followers – what kind of stupid are we to willingly play with him?"
"He didn't used to be this way," Dolohov said. "When I took the mark, he was cunning and charming and sane. Still twisted, but aren't we all a little twisted?"
"Then what changed?" Draco said. "Why is he like this, now?"
"Potter," Snape answered quietly. "The curse that rebounded when he tried to murder Potter as an infant did something terrible to the Dark Lord. His soul is fragmented and broken. He is so inhumane because his humanity is scattered in pieces and withering more with each passing day."
"And the answer is that we all tie ourselves like junkies to Granger, hooked on shooting her full of come?" Thorfinn asked.
"Got a better option?" Rabastan raised one eyebrow.
Thorfinn shrugged. "Not one that involves free sex."
"Oh, it's not free, ditya," Dolohov shook his head, chuckling. "You will pay for the act of fucking her every time you do it. The ritual plays with your magic. Plays with your head. She'll play with your head and your heart and you dick until you don't know if you love her more than life, or if you want to wrap your hands around her throat and squeeze until she stops kicking. Look at me. Do I look like a man who hasn't paid the price of his choices? Does Allie?"
"What did the Dark Lord have in mind when he instigated this with her?" Snape asked, frowning.
"The ability to store the magic the way this ritual does is given only to witches," Dolohov shrugged. "It's got something to do with the womb and their ability to create life. We wizards can't do it. We can only provide the bit of something needed to ignite it. But once the magic is stored within her, it can be used in whatever way she sees fit. She can use it to perform fantastic magical feats, or she can funnel it into whatever she likes."
"The Dark Lord had her funnel it all into him?" Rowle guessed.
Dolohov nodded. "I don't know how. He's not supposed to be able to store it – and maybe he didn't. Maybe he needed it for some feat and could channel it long enough to wield it for himself before it could dissipate. Bit like the temporary ingestion of a Strength potion, I suppose. Use it while it's in your system, or it's wasted when it wears off."
"You think Dumbledore will use it to have Granger revive Potter and Weasley?" Draco asked. "You all want to give her your magic and your bloody time, and a vow that links you to her for life, for the sake of waking up Potter?"
They all shared significant glances and Draco narrowed his eyes on them all, trying to understand what they were thinking.
"If that is Dumbledore's plan, Potter will wake and will fulfil his destiny to face off with the Dark Lord. It's the only way the war will be won for the Order," Snape said quietly.
"Is that what we want, now?" Draco asked. "The Dark Lord will slaughter us all if we're caught working with the Order. And that's exactly what this would be."
"The Dark Lord is unhinged," Dolohov said quietly. "He will, eventually, turn on all of us. I've seen it beginning before. He keeps all of us only long enough to serve his purpose. If we all grow too powerful, or if we all seek too much for ourselves, he will kill us all off, one by one. It was no accident that Allie and I were the only ones left alive from the harem he insisted on. One by one, the others grew too powerful and didn't know how to sit on their power and maintain their loyalty to him. Should he win, he will slowly kill us all off, paving the way for more malleable subjects too afraid to challenge or threaten his rule. Potter must kill him."
"And if we're caught before Potter wakes?"
"We won't be," Thorfinn said stoically.
"Besides," Rabastan chimed in. "When the Dark Lord is defeated and they're rounding all of the Death Eaters up, it will certainly be in our favour to have Dumbledore vouching for us as having sacrificed blood and magic to the Order's cause. By then, I expect Granger will be fond enough of all of us that we would all avoid prison."
Draco's eyes widened, realising they were all being entirely too cunning for their own good, thinking only about how to survive and to improve things for themselves in a way that meant less time writhing on the floor of the Manor. He couldn't say he blamed them. He'd rather fuck Granger than spend another night fearing for his life. And so, he bit his tongue on his questions about what would happen when the war was over, and they all avoided Azkaban if they were still all magically bound to the frizzy haired little mudblood.