A/N: *skids in sideways on the tail end of the year*

*flings a new story at you without warning*

*cackles at your groans about old ones and your glee at a new one*

*scampers off with a basketful of fireworks to set off to ring in 2020*

xx-Kitten.

Closer Than Most

By Kittenshift17

Chapter One

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!?" Molly Weasley screeched from the kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, startling Hermione Jean Granger so badly that she slipped sideways out of her stool to sprawl on the floor, her book clutched tightly in one hand and her eyes wide with terror.

"There's really no need to shout, Molly," Professor Albus Dumbledore sighed, eyeing her disapprovingly.

"Hermione, are you alright?" Remus asked, leaning out of his chair and offering her a hand to get back to her feet.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked, frowning even as she took Remus's hand, letting him pull her up before she slipped back into her seat, glancing around at the apparently hostile participants in the discussion.

She'd been invited into the Order meeting this evening, but she hadn't been paying a lick of attention. Dumbledore had slipped her a book as he'd entered the kitchen, one about the uses of polyandric covens throughout the Middle Ages that focused more specifically on Morgana and her rise to power. She'd become immediately engrossed and had lost the thread of discussion carrying on around her.

"No need to shout?" Molly bristled. "Albus, SHE'S A CHILD!"

Hermione winced at the shriek that rent the air, surely doing damage to Molly's voice box. Her face was red, and the plump witch was on her feet, her face screwed up with concentration and hostility as she glared furiously at Professor Dumbledore. The woman looked ready to commit murder and Hermione frowned, never one to enjoy not knowing what was going on.

"You have to admit, Albus, it's a truly despicable idea," Professor Minerva spoke up, her expression shrewd and pinched, not at all pleased.

"She's of age and she is magically the most gifted witch born in Britain since either of you two delightful women," Dumbledore replied, unsettlingly calm in the face of the rage both women seemed intent on throwing at him.

"Thanks, Dumbles," Tonks grunted from the end of the table. "You really know how to make a girl feel appreciated."

"Begging your pardon, Nymphadora, but much of your power is harnessed by your ability to metamorph," Dumbledore smile kindly.

"Albus, she's just a girl," Arthur Weasley spoke up and Hermione blinked, shocked to see Arthur disagreeing with the Headmaster.

"She's of age," Dumbledore repeated.

"BARELY!" Molly exploded again. "IF YOU THINK I'M GOING TO LET YOU SACRIFICE THAT GIRL OR HER VRTUE FOR THE SAKE OF YOUR TWISTED ENDEAVOUR TO OVERTHROW VOLDEMORT, YOU CAN JUST THINK AGAIN!"

"Bloody hell, she doesn't even shout at us at that pitch," Fred Weasley muttered to his twin on Hermione's other side, his face paling and making his freckles stand out when faced with his mother in such a fury. Hermione supposed he had a point. She'd never seen Molly so livid. Not when they'd tried to expel Harry. Not when Fleur had fallen for Bill. Not even when Fred and George had dropped out of school.

"What's she so angry about?" Hermione asked of Remus, leaning toward the werewolf sitting on her left, tucking her book away onto her lap for continued perusal later.

"You don't have a choice, Molly," Dumbledore informed her. "It's not a decision for you to make."

"Dumbledore's got a twisted idea about how to better harness the power of the Order for the sake of taking down Voldemort," Remus muttered to her, glancing at her out the corner of her eyes before his cheeks cut red.

Hermione felt a sense of bone-chilling dread crawl down her spine. She glanced at the book upon her lap before looking up as Molly pointed a threatening finger at Dumbledore, just daring him to push the issue. Most of the male members of the Order were avoiding eye contact with her.

"You think a nineteen-year-old girl has the maturity to understand what something like this would do to her?" Molly challenged. "You and I both know what kind of sacrifice you would be asking for, instigating such a thing. What's worse is that you know that if it's you who does the asking, she'll agree to it because it's all for the Greater Good, spun into a pretty web of bravery, purpose, and a sense of helpfulness should such a thing actually work. But what of her reputation, Albus? What of her future? What of the effect such a thing would have on her body? On her magical core? Are you going to be there when she ends up pregnant out of wedlock and has no idea who the father is? Are you going to hold her when she cries because the entire wizarding population calls her a villainous snake? A tart? A treacherous vixen? When they call her a whore, are you going to assure her that it's alright, it was all for the Great Good?"

Hermione felt the colour drain from her face and she blinked when from across the table, Sirius Black lifted his head, his stormy grey eyes holding hers steadily. His mouth was set in a grim line, his eyes assessing her reaction; her stance; her body. Hermione felt her stomach twist uncomfortably as she looked away, the book on her lap suddenly feeling not like an engaging tool for learning, but a prison sentence.

"Do you have another option to offer, Molly?" Dumbledore asked mildly. "How many more Order members must we lose before you see that Tom is winning this war? How many becomes too many before we take action and strike back?"

"And just who do you propose would be helping me 'strike back'?" Hermione asked, her voice whipping out over the din of the arguing members, stilling everyone's tongues instantly.

Hermione rose to her feet, setting the book Dumbledore had given her on the table and lifting her brown eyes to level a stern glare at the Headmaster of Hogwarts. He looked away from Molly and her condemning finger to meet Hermione's gaze.

"That choice would be yours, Miss Granger," he answered evenly.

Hermione snorted.

"If that's not a cop out, then I don't know what is," she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't know if you've noticed, Professor, but the lads don't exactly flock to my door begging for my attention. How do you propose I go about luring men to my bed for the sake of harvesting their magical power when I can't even get horny teenage boys to look sideways at me? Maybe you've imagined some silly fantasy or believed the lies Rita Skeeter likes to publish about me in the Daily Prophet, but I assure you that the only person putting their hands up my skirt is me when I'm trying to fish out my wedgie."

George snorted on a laugh, trying to cover it with a cough, and Hermione almost glanced at the twins, knowing they'd be desperately trying to choke back their laughter and failing miserably.

"And so, I'm wondering, sir, how we might enact your little plan to whore me for the Greater Good when no one's stuck their hand up to volunteer at crawling between my thighs?" Hermione went on, knowing she sounded crass and blunt and more than a little waspish, but unable to conceal her fury that the man would suggest such a thing for her.

It wasn't that she was a prude, or that she didn't like sex, she'd simply not had a lot of offers. The sound of someone clearing their throat from across the table drew her glare and Hermione sighed when Viktor Krum raised his eyebrows at her, his lips pursed and his expression a challenge.

"Right. Yes," Hermione muttered. "We were dumb kids and it was a long time ago, and you're married to someone else now, so don't give me that look. My point is that no one else has been trying to get into my knickers, and forgive me, but they're not going to start now."

Viktor's lips twitched on a smile at her annoyance, always too happy to remind her what they'd had.

"Now, to be fair," Fred spoke up from beside her and Hermione turned to him, eyebrows raised. "George and I have been trying to talk our way into your knickers for years, love. You just keep rolling your eyes at our offers."

"You mean your offers when you've had a few pints and you sling your arm around me and try to insist what laugh it would be if I fell into bed with both of you. Usually when I'm reading something, and you've already hit on every other witch in the room?" Hermione challenged.

"Oi," George protested. "It takes a bit of liquid courage and some bloody big bollocks to risk asking you out, Hermione."

Hermione put her hands on her hips, her eyes darting between the twins, waiting for the punchline. When none was immediately apparent, she frowned.

Someone else coughed and Hermione turned her eyes to glare at Sirius, who was doing a poor job of hiding his smirk.

"I did warn you that you're a tad unapproachable, Treasure," he told her in an oh-so-annoying I-told-you-so tone. "Of course, you ignored me and went back to your book."

"Sirius Black, I did not just hear you admitting to flirting with or attempting to seduce Miss Granger," Minerva McGonagall hissed, narrowing her eyes dangerously.

Sirius avoided her eyes.

Hermione turned her attention back to Dumbledore. "Apparent cowardice on behalf of any who might have shown an interest aside, I hardly think you mean to suggest that I just go hopping into bed with people. I do have a little dignity."

"Too much, if you ask me," Sirius muttered from across the table before taking a swig of his whiskey.

"And I don't think I need to point out that not only would engaging this idea label me a trollop, it would be short lived. No one wants to ride the broom everyone's had a go of. Especially when they know they're being used."

"Exactly," Molly harrumphed, crossing her arms over her ample bosom.

"How much of that book have you currently read, Miss Granger?" Professor Dumbledore asked her, nodding at the book he'd given her. The one about the effects of polyandry on a witch's magical core.

"Enough to know why you're making the suggestion," Hermione replied curtly. "And enough to know that unlike Morgana, I'm not bent on overcoming my enemies via nefarious means."

"Nothing nefarious about getting laid, Treasure," Sirius grunted, and Hermione glared at him.

"Have you commenced chapter fifteen?" Dumbledore asked, and Hermione frowned.

"Not yet," she confessed.

"Read it now, if you wouldn't mind, Miss Granger."

Hermione narrowed her eyes before picking up the book. She flipped to the correct pages and began to read, noting the complete silence around the table. Everyone seemed to be silently waiting and Hermione scanned the passage with her eyes, frowning as she read. It was apparently a section taken directly from a diary or writing by Morgana herself.

Perhaps the most useful side-effect of this type of coupling is the release of tension and the service it provides to those among my throng. The rush of sex itself is, naturally, delightful, but there is more to it. I have seen within each member of my throng that there is something inside of them that unknots as a result of our coupling. In the beginning, I thought merely that the rush of magic and power was as we've always expected sex to induce; a release of pent up energy. Now, I think it is more than that.

Throughout the coupling, as I harvest the energy and feel it unlocking parts of my own magical core that I surely could never have dreamed of unlocking alone, there is something to their release that feels profound. They grow more powerful, too. I feel it in the amount of magic I am able to harvest with each coupling. As they give unto me, I unlock in them the same power. It worries me, for I fear that if they knew their own growing power they would surely seek to claim the power for themselves. They come to me willingly, and they support my cause, but there can be no denying that as all beings surely do, they seek power. Knowing that I am giving it to them, and that they are bound to me is both a relief and a bother.

Soon, I am certain, I will have harvested enough to bring about the climax of my campaign. I can feel it thickening in my blood and I can taste it on my tongue. I taste their power, too, as it grows. They grow closer, it seems. In the beginning many resented the idea of sharing me, but now, despite not often joining in group sex, they seem more at peace with one another. Perhaps it is the bond binding them to me in this quest. Perhaps it is some magical link, the likes of which will surely bring about my rule. I know not.

Hermione looked up at Dumbledore.

"Your point of that would be…what, exactly?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. In her opinion, the Order tended to get along well enough on their own. She doubted that having a number of them all shagging her silly would somehow bring them closer. Outside of comparing notes and gossiping over whatever undignified thing she might do in the throes of passion, anyway.

"Camaraderie is important, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said softly. "It also suggests an ability to sway certain individuals from one master, to focus more fully on something more rewarding."

Hermione dropped the book, listening to it snap shut while her eyes went wide.

"Albus, if you're implying…" Minerva began heatedly but Dumbledore held up his hands, stilling her tongue. His eyes never left Hermione's and she knew without a doubt what it was he wanted.

"What if it didn't work?" she asked. "You undoubtedly know the effects the ritual would have. On all participants. Luring loyal Death Eaters from Voldemort's side would be hard enough. What would you do if they took the boon of power and returned to their master all the stronger?"

"You didn't read the entire passage," Dumbledore said softly.

"Luring Death Eaters?" Molly hissed, her face paling. "Albus, no! I drew the line at members of the Order. You cannot ask anyone to lie down with Death Eaters, no matter the cause."

"The ritual is binding?" Hermione guessed, raising her eyebrows, her hands beginning to shake. Both she and Dumbledore ignoring Molly for the time being, staring at one another. "But I… there would be no way to undo…. And then they'd be…."

Dumbledore nodded slowly.

"With the combination of the power it would bring to the Order, in addition to depriving Tom his subjects, he would finally be overcome," Dumbledore murmured, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles.

Hermione felt ill at the thought of what he was suggesting she do in order to bring about such an outcome. Death Eaters. He expected her to shag Death Eaters. It was inconceivable. It was horrible. She didn't think she could even manage with the idea of shagging certain Order members. There were just some things that she'd never imagined herself doing, and shagging a Death Eater was pretty high on that list. If she was honest, she hadn't really envisioned herself shagging anyone. Not since…. Hermione shook her head to clear it before the painful thoughts could set in.

"So much for it being my choice," Hermione muttered, sinking slowly into her seat while every eye of the gathered members remained fixed upon her, watching her for her reaction. She wondered how Dumbledore had pitched the idea to them all that thus far only Molly, Arthur and Minerva had objected. She wondered what he'd said, knowing from the look on Arthur's face, and the slightly pained one on Minerva's, that it must've been convincing. The three of them had only objected out of love for her, she could tell. All three of them loved her like they were her very own parents, she knew that, and she was grateful. But Hermione could see upon even their faces that for all their objections over her dignity, her honour, and her safety and wellbeing they, too, could see the appeal of Dumbledore's plan.

Having read even just the first few chapters of the book that the crafty old wizard had given her, Hermione could see the merit of the idea. The rituals involved in achieving such a thing were difficult and binding, not to mention dangerous, but the amount of power she would harness would likely be enough to bring down Voldemort, prophecies be damned. But was the cost too much? She might personally gain an incredible amount of magical power, but she would do it by leeching some of the power from the men she shagged. It wasn't an easy process. Some small amount of magic and energy was transferred during any sexual contact, naturally, but this would be more than that.

Like a succubus right off the pages of her Magical Creatures books, she would leech the magical energy of her bed-partners and wield the resulting power as she saw fit. The catch was that doing so was dark magic, and that one had to create a bond with the partner in order for it to work. Anyone she considered this idea with would be bound to her, and her to him, as surely as anyone was bound in marriage or by blood.

"Albus, she's a child. Powerful or not, Hermione is a child. You can't ask this type of sacrifice of her. The effect on her magical core, alone, is enough reason not to consider it. Forming that kind of bond with one person in marriage is dangerous enough, to consider it with multiple partners without the protective enchantments of a marriage ceremony could kill her!" Molly protested once more.

Hermione felt the way Remus shifted slightly in his chair beside her almost as though he meant to put his hand on her shoulder in silent support before he thought better of it, his hand twitching on the table before he stilled once more. Her mind was racing as she listened to Molly trying to talk Professor Dumbledore out of this idea. A treacherous part of her wondered if the woman wasn't somehow hanging onto the notion that if she remained unattached and untouched long enough, it might somehow bring Ginny back, or rouse Ron and Harry from their cursed and unconscious states.

The thought of Harry, Ron, and Ginny lanced her heart and Hermione's fists clenched. She ached with the pain of missing them, and she suffered daily knowing that neither Ron, nor Harry, would sit idly by, as she did, were their places reversed. She'd done all she could to research the curses that affected both boys, and she'd done what she could to heal them, but some things were beyond the ability to heal and only the magical strength of each boy would save him.

Not that they'd wake to a happily ever after with Ginny gone. It had been a bad year, Hermione supposed, her nails biting into her palms and leaving half-crescents. The quest to claim the Horcruxes had cost them more dearly than they could ever have dreamed and Hermione knew that much of Molly's protectiveness stemmed from a failure to protect her only daughter and her youngest son from the terrible fates that had befallen them.

"I stopped being a child when I got my Hogwarts letter, Mrs Weasley," she said quietly before the woman could continue and end up breaking down in tears once more over things she couldn't change. "This isn't a question of relative maturity or of the appropriateness of the notion. This is… Professor Dumbledore while I'm certain you don't comprehend the gravity of your request, I'm wondering if you've looked past the potential benefits to see the drawbacks. This would be a big ask of the Order members even before considering the notion of using this to sway Death Eaters, too. And you're not just asking me, you know? You're asking many of the wizards in this room to contribute to this idea, too. They would have to have sex with me in order for this plan to work and, as I've mentioned, there's been little interest from most of them up until now. But let's set that aside for a moment to examine the less appealing side of this request. You want me to shag Death Eaters. You somehow expect that men who are so entrenched in blood supremacy that they joined up with a megalomaniac to persecute us, will inexplicably turn on their Dark Lord for the sake of one little mudblood."

"Don't use that term," several people around the table hissed and Hermione scoffed.

"You can't even stand to stomach the term they use to describe people like me and you think they're going to want to touch me? To crawl between my legs and do unspeakable things to me?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "Please. I'm sorry, Professor, I've read enough of the book to understand why you thought this would be feasible in theory, but in practice your asking men who think I'm a boring, frumpy bookworm and men who think I'm a wretched, dirty mudblood to bind themselves to me and shag me on a regular basis. It's not going to happen."

"Just as you might consider doing this for the greater good, others might too, Miss Granger," Albus Dumbledore said quietly. "A good many people in this world do things they might ordinarily not enjoy for the sake of something bigger than themselves."

"Albus, she doesn't want to do it and I don't blame her," Augusta Longbottom spoke up. "The poor girl has already been through enough, don't you think? Cursed and almost killed in her fifth year by a Death Eater; fighting a war in the corridors of Hogwarts in her sixth and on the run from the Ministry and the Death Eaters in her seventh year. To make matters worse she's endured the death of a girl as close to a sister as she's ever had, and the aching loss of her two closest friends comatose and cursed for months, still unresponsive. She's sacrificed her parent's memories and a good deal of her own blood and bone to this cause already. Do not ask the girl for her virtue, and do not try to guilt her into agreeing just because there are others who've sacrificed more."

Hermione smiled ruefully at the stern woman that Neville called 'Gran'. She was certainly an impressive and powerful witch, Hermione could tell. Neville's lips twitched where he sat next to his grandmother and Hermione's eyes met his when he lifted his head. He held her gaze steadily, no longer the stammering, forgetful lump of a boy she'd helped in class when he was too scared of Professor Snape to concentrate. He'd grown lean over the past few months, having been right there alongside her, Harry, Ron, Ginny and Luna when they'd been hunting Horcruxes. He'd been there holding her while Ginny died in Hermione's arms and he'd been there to help her get Harry and Ron back to the Order, back someplace safe.

He'd been her rock and he'd grown from friend who relied on her for help with his homework, to close friend whom she'd entrust with her life in a heartbeat.

"Harry and Ron would be screaming bloody murder if they could hear this discussion," she told him softly, ignoring everyone else for the moment, speaking directly to Neville.

"They would," he agreed, one corner of his mouth pulling upward. "Might be, if you go through with it, that they'll snap out of their comas just to screech at you."

Hermione's chest tightened, and her eyes stung with the urge to cry all over again.

"You know what Ginny would say?" she asked softly.

Neville's smile grew rueful and he shrugged.

"She'd be shouting whilst being frog-marched from the room," Hermione told the boy. "Thinking about passing up the chance to shag a whole swath of wizards and getting away with it for the sake of the Greater Good? She'd be calling me three kinds of stupid for a smart girl."

Neville snorted, and Fred chuckled softly beside her. Molly's indrawn breath was shaky, and Hermione knew the mention of her daughter and the accurate projection of what she'd likely have said, were she there, had silenced any more of her protests.

"She'd be asking for pictures," Luna's soft-spoken and slightly dreamy voice came from beside Neville and Hermione met the blonde girl's gaze. She wore a little smile, her eyes distant. "She'd be telling you to stop hesitating and commanding that you get her pictures to giggle over and drool over whilst asking for explicit details. And you'd be blushing and stammering and telling her it was none of her business, which would only make her tease you all the more."

A tear trickled down Hermione's cheek as she nodded, recalling the way Ginny had teased her mercilessly about Viktor when she'd been shagging him. Molly turned her face into Arthur's chest when her tears spilled over, and around the table everyone looked rueful as they recalled the vivacious young woman who'd sacrificed her life for the cause.

She knew in her heart that she was going to do it. What was her dignity, her pride, or her reputation compared to the sacrifice of Ginny's life?

"Who did you have in mind, Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione asked, turning her gaze back to the man who led the Order with a cunning that most people underestimated.

"Would you like a list of those I think would be most beneficial?" he asked seriously, raising his eyebrows.

Hermione nodded.

"You're going to do it, then?" Sirius asked from across the table.

Hermione shrugged, getting to her feet and picking up the book Dumbledore had given her.

"I'm going to think about it," she said. "And study how it works. And consider whether it's madness or brilliance."

"The two often go hand in hand," Luna said quietly.

She pushed away from the table and strode around the people gathered in their chairs. When she reached Dumbledore, she held out her hand expectantly, awaiting a list of those he thought she should be shagging for the sake of creating a harem for herself.

"Actually, I rather meant to introduce you to those whom I…." Dumbledore began, handing her a rolled-up scroll of parchment that glowed for a moment, his own magic creating the list without quills or ink.

Hermione didn't wait for him to finish. She couldn't. The longer she stayed the more she was going to feel pressured to do it for the sake of the Order and the harder it would be to say no. She didn't want to agree if she didn't think she could handle shagging those he hoped she'd shag and she didn't want to listen to Molly crying anymore, the woman's tears always setting off her own grief.

She took the scroll and she strode for the door, her wand in one hand, the book under her arm, and the parchment in the other. She used magic to unlock the door, though why they bothered warding it when everyone was inside the kitchen for the meeting was beyond Hermione. There weren't any children to be kept out of the meeting anymore.

She was halfway into the entrance hall before she realised that she wasn't alone and Hermione's wand arm snapped to attention, her body dropping into a duelling stance instinctively when she found herself surrounded by Death Eaters.