A/N: *frantic eyebrow wiggling*

mwhahaha

xx-Kitten.

Closer Than Most

BY Kittenshift17

Chapter Four

Sirius Black paced across the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Hermione still hadn't returned. She'd run for it when they'd ambushed her with the idea of them all shagging her, and she hadn't come back. Neville and Luna had returned from their rendezvous spot with no news of the witch. For two days now, she had been gone and Sirius was beginning to think she wasn't going to ever come back.

"You're pacing again," Remus commented, watching him over the rim of his teacup as he strode back and forth.

"She's never coming back, Moony," Sirius said.

"I can't say I blame her," Remus muttered. "Dumbledore went about asking this of her all the wrong way. He should've spoken to her about it in private, like he did with us. Stuffing a book into her hands on the subject before putting the request to her in front of the entire Order was foolish."

"He wanted to put her on the spot and make her feel pressured enough to agree. He thought her pride would keep her from looking like she wasn't willing to do whatever it took to bring the devil down."

"He underestimated her willingness to tell all of us to fuck off," Remus agreed.

"She needs to do it, Remus," Sirius muttered. "I need to do this so we can wake Harry up."

"I know, Pads," Remus sighed. "I know you want to help, and I know you hate feeling impotent in the face of his continued suffering. But this is a lot to ask of a nineteen year old girl. I don't think she's had a lot of experience with men, aside from her relationship with Krum. To be asked to shag eight different men – five of them known Death Eaters – is a lot. Dumbledore stupidly ambushed her, having all of them here. She'd have had enough trouble reconciling shagging the two of us, old boy. We're both twice her current age, after all. I used to be her teacher. You're the closest thing to her best friend's Dad. Can you blame her for needing time to mull it over? And that's just us. He also wants her to fuck Malfoy, Lestrange, Dolohov, Rowle, and Snape. A git, a torturer, a murderer, an arsonist, and a bloody sadist. These are men who've been nothing but horrid to her for all the time she's been a part of the magical world. Dumbledore's mad for thinking she'd go for this. Especially after broaching it in front of Molly and Arthur."

Sirius nodded distractedly, continuing to pace. He'd been more than passingly attracted to the clever little witch since before he'd had any business noticing her brilliance, if he was being completely honest with himself, but she'd always turned down his advances when she'd come of age and he'd allowed himself to make a pass at her. No matter the times he'd pulled her into his lap and tried to talk her out of her knickers, she'd always told him he'd had too much to drink and that he needed to go to bed. Alone.

She was a good girl. A little too moral for anyone's good. A bloody bookish swot. Slanting a glance at Remus, Sirius smirked, noting the similarities between the werewolf and the young witch. He almost laughed, recalling that Remus tended to say the same things whenever Sirius got drunk enough and lonely enough to make passes at him, too. The git.

Just as he turned, pacing the length of the kitchen once more, a bright white otter patronus swam through the wall and straight to Remus. It glittered for a moment, frolicking like the air it swam through was waves and Sirius eyed it curiously. Remus blinked.

"It's Hermione's patronus," he said.

"Remus?" the voice of the witch in question filled the room, emanating from the patronus. "Could you please meet with me? Alone? At the place I told you about… that time in third year."

Sirius frowned at the patronus when it paddled in a circle for another long moment before it dissipated.

"What place?" he asked Moony. "What time is she talking about?"

Remus was frowning deeply, staring at the spot where the Patronus had been.

"It was a long time ago," Remus frowned. "I assume she means the place she told me about during her exam in her third year. One of the questions on the exam was that she had to describe her favourite place in the world outside of Hogwarts."

"Bit of a weird exam question, Moony. Where is it?" Sirius asked.

"I was trying to get a feel of Harry without telling him who I was to James and Lily, yet. And you can't come with me, Pads," he said. "You heard her. She wants to meet with me alone."

"Why?" Sirius asked.

"I don't know," Remus shrugged. "I suppose she trusts me or wants my advice. I'm prone to giving it to her whenever she has questions."

"Why doesn't she just come home?" Sirius asked, and he knew he sounded whiny, and like a clingy twat, but blast it all he had to help Harry. He needed to convince the bushy haired little chit to agree to Dumbledore's plan.

He wanted to fuck her, confound it all!

"Probably because she knows you'll be here, trying to seduce her into agreeing," Remus said.

"I'm coming with you," Sirius said stubbornly.

"You're not," Remus argued, getting to his feet. "You don't know the way, and I'm not going to tell you. This needs to be her decision, Padfoot. Can't you see that? If we try to push her into it, we're no better than rapists."

Sirius reeled back, frowning fiercely at his best friend. He hadn't thought about it like that.

"Right," he muttered. "I'm… I'm going to go and check on Harry. Be careful. Bring her home, Moony."

With that said, he hurried out of the room, leaving Remus to sigh heavily before he collected his coat and made for the door, intending to apparate.

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

Hermione looked up when her wards rippled with the arrival of who she hoped was Remus. Peeking out the kitchen window of the cottage, she searched the woods for the werewolf. She hadn't been sure he would remember where she meant when she'd sent him her patronus, being purposely vague, knowing he would likely be with the others. She hadn't wanted to see them.

She didn't want Dumbledore to know where she was. She didn't want to be pushed into this before she had all the facts and could decide for herself.

Spying the sandy haired werewolf when he strolled out of the woods along the faint deer trail that led toward the front yard, Hermione pulled her wand from her pocket. She knew he'd be able to see the house through the wards, his lycanthropy allowing him that much, but he wouldn't be able to cross them without her invitation.

Crossing to the front door, Hermione peered down at herself, frowning a little. She'd been inside the cottage for two days now. When she hadn't been researching the ritual, pouring through the book from cover to cover, and hadn't been agonizingly gazing at the list of names Dumbledore had given her weighing up the pros and cons of each wizard, she'd spent every other minute nervously and obsessively trying to tidy the cottage. It was her inheritance, after all, and she didn't want to just let it fall to ruin.

She'd showered, and she'd used freshening charms on her clothes, but having run out of Grimmauld Place without her beaded bag or any supplies but the few potion phials, a decoy detonator, and instant darkness powder bombs that she'd had in her pockets, in addition to her wand, the tome from Dumbledore, and the list, she had no supplies. She'd managed to make do for meals based on what few canned food items she'd found stored in the back of the pantry in the cottage, but she knew she would soon need to return to Grimmauld Place, if only for fresh knickers to put on.

Crossing the threshold of the cottage and descending the front steps, Hermione could tell the minute Remus spotted her through the wards. He was alone, as she'd asked him to be, and he looked a little anxious and like he hadn't been sleeping very well. She wondered what phase the moon was in, before recalling that everyone at Headquarters was probably worried for her wellbeing.

After all, the last time she and her friends had disappeared, Ginny had died, and Harry and Ron had been cursed and left comatose. They had ambushed her, and she'd had to run right past several Death Eaters to even get here. They were probably sick with worry that she'd been captured or killed.

"Remus?" she asked quietly.

He didn't bother raising his wand, since the wards would repel his spells if he fired any.

"What answer did Hermione Granger give on question ten of her final exam in my class?" Remus asked her seriously.

Hermione wracked her brain to recall what question ten had been. Was it the description of the most fearsome beast of the magical world, in her opinion?

"Um…I think I wrote wizards, for that one," she said.

Remus narrowed his eyes a little, awaiting her security question.

"What did Remus Lupin and I discuss last week in the library?" she asked, holding his gaze, her wand trained on him.

"Alternatives to the Wolfsbane Potion that would have fewer unpleasant side-effects that were being explored in China," Remus answered.

Hermione sighed with relief, fishing a scrap of paper out of her pocket and reaching across the wards to hand it to Remus. He read it quickly, memorizing the address and the name of the cottage before handing it back to her and taking her hand. When she tugged him across the wards, Remus smiled gently at her, his eyes trailing over her and no doubt noting the frizzy state of her hair and the frazzled state of her person.

She knew she looked a mess. She'd barely slept, unable to shut off her brain as she turned over the proposal in her mind a million times, trying to look at it from every angle.

"You've been busy," he said, clearly noting the fact that the garden had been freshly weeded and that the rest of the house and the yard had been tidied as well as she could manage.

Hermione nodded.

"You're alone?" she asked.

Remus nodded his head. "Everyone's been worried about you, Hermione," he said quietly.

"I know," she sighed. "But I can't… if I tried to think about this there… they'd just…"

"Guilt you into it before you'd had time to mull it over properly," Remus finished for her. "Yes, I believe that was Dumbledore's intention when he ambushed you with it during the meeting. I tried to warn him against it, but he would not be deterred, hoping you would be like Harry and would leap at the chance to do anything you could to improve our chance of winning, no matter the cost to your soul, your body, or your mind."

Hermione sighed, closing her eyes at how reasonable Remus sounded, rather than sounding like he was upset with her or judging her for wanting to actually consider this properly before just diving in.

"Will you come inside?" she asked. "I want to run my research past you, if you don't mind?"

He nodded, letting her lead him inside the cottage without complaint. His eyes traced over the interior as they entered, and Hermione could tell he was noting that she'd been anxiously and frantically cleaning every inch of it until every surface shone and the floors gleamed.

"Stressed, gealai?" he asked, smiling gently.

"Yes," Hermione admitted. "I've read that book Dumbledore gave me a hundred times, and I've made lists about each of the people on his list, and lists of questions I need answered before I can make my decision, and a hundred other things that I thought might be important."

"You know you don't have to do this, don't you, Hermione?" Remus asked gently, squeezing her hand lightly and giving her a worried smile.

She nodded her head.

"I know I don't have to," she said. "But I kind of do. I mean. If I don't, Harry and Ron might never recover. If I don't, that wretch will win. If I don't, Ginny's sacrifice will have been for nothing."

"Hermione, this decision needs to be made on emotions other than guilt," Remus told her sternly, reaching to grip both of her shoulders and forcing her to hold his gaze. "It's got to be about you. You will be the one expected to share your body and your magic with eight different men. You will be the one harvesting their magical energy. You will be the one whose body will suffer the effects of doing so. And there will be side-effects, Hermione. Harvesting someone else's energy even in small doses such as those transferred during regular sex between non-bonded partners is a bit like getting high. You know that. This will be the equivalent of drinking an entire cauldron full of Giggle Water, gealai. It will make you dizzy. It will fill you to bursting with power. It will alter the way you look. That much magic stored in a single vessel requires strength. You will feel like you have no control over all the excess until your body adapts. You will suffer bouts of uncontrolled magic, just as you did as a child."

"I'll have to shag you," Hermione blurted, her eyes tracing over his handsome face.

Remus blinked, his cheeks turning pink.

"Well, yes," he said. "That too."

"I confess the part I'm having the most trouble with is the notion of getting naked with the eight of you," she admitted quietly. "I know all the theory about the effects, and the dangers, and the perks, and everything else. And I just keep circling back to the fact that Dolohov tried to murder me. He did this."

She lifted her shirt, to Remus's apparent surprise, revealing the starburst of purple flames on her chest right at the base of her sternum between her breasts.

"He almost killed me," she said. "How am I supposed to let him touch me? To let him… see me naked? How am I going to be safe in the presence of the Death Eaters on Dumbledore's list? How am I supposed to look you, or Sirius, or Charlie in the eye again when you'll see me without my clothes, and you'll see the faces I make when I'm… and, Merlin, how am I ever going to look at Molly again? You know she's holding out hope that Ron will wake up and we'll just be like we were. How am I supposed to tell her that though we hadn't told everyone back at headquarters, Ron and I had broken things off while we were on the run, before he was cursed? And worse, how will I ever show my face again if I don't do this, and Harry and Ron follow Ginny to the grave just because I'm too cowardly and too self-conscious to say yes?"

She knew she was babbling, but she simply couldn't stop as the words came rushing out. She had been going mad with all the thoughts buzzing through her mind and she couldn't take it anymore.

Remus smiled at her gently, obviously not wanting to invalidate her worries, but amused by her babble, nonetheless.

"Hermione?" He asked quietly, squeezing her shoulders gently to get her attention just as she opened her mouth to blurt out more of her fears.

"Sorry," she whispered, closing her eyes and fighting the urge she had to cry out of sheer exhaustion.

"You don't need to apologise, gealai," he said. "You're stressed and your scared. It's natural. But before we continue, there is one thing I want you to know. Are you listening?"

Hermione breathed in slowly, holding her breath for a long minute before breathing out. She met Remus's warm eyes, ready to let him speak.

"You have nothing to fear about being naked with us, Hermione. Any of us. No, don't roll your eyes. Listen to me." He said sternly. "What was said during the meeting was true, Hermione. You are... intimidating. The twins weren't kidding that making a pass at you takes a little liquid courage."

"Don't lie to me, please Remus," Hermione said. "I asked to see you while I'm freaking out about this because you've always been honest with me."

Remus smiled gently and nodded toward the couch across the room. "Let's sit, shall we?"

"I...yes," Hermione nodded. "Do you want a cup of tea? I've no milk, I'm afraid, and the leaves are a bit old and stale, but it's all I've got until I can restock the pantry here."

"Sure," Remus said. "That'd be lovely."

Hermione pulled out of his grip, hurrying over to put some water and some tea leaves into the chipped old pot she'd found in the back of the pantry. She tapped it with her wand when she'd carried it to the coffee table, causing steam to emit from the spout as the water instantly boiled.

Remus waited patiently while she fixed their tea, seeming to sense she needed to focus on one task at a time when she was in such a flap.

"Now," he said when his tea was made. "I wasn't lying about you being intimidating, gaelai."

She rolled her eyes.

"Because this frizzy mess and the ink stains on my fingers are so alluring?" She scoffed.

"Hermione," Remus said quietly, his large hands wrapped around his teacup, but his hazel eyes fixed upon her. "We are, none of us, perfect. Your hair is incredibly curly, it's true. All the better for fisting, don't you think?"

"Are you werewolf-joking me, right now? Hermione asked seriously, her eyebrows lifting.

"And your hands are soft and small, your fingers stained with ink. All the better for tracing old scars, wouldn't you say?" he went on, his mouth twitching at the corners as he lifted one hand from his cup to trail a blunt-nailed finger down the scars across his face.

"Remus," Hermione sighed, shaking her head at him.

"And your body is petite and feminine," he went on. "All the better for carrying about and pinning to walls without us older chaps straining our backs, wouldn't you say?"

Hermione could quite help it. She snorted. Laughter bubbled free of her when Remus opened his mouth, obviously intending to go on.

"Stop," she told him, shaking her head and laughing when his eyes settled on her lips.

"Have I made my point?" he asked.

"No," Hermione said. "But you've made your joke. Saying things like this is a bad parody of Little Red Riding Hood but doesn't negate my body image issues or my nervousness, Remus."

"Does knowing that of the selected men on Dumbledore's list, there isn't one among us who doesn't bear wretched scars we wouldn't just as soon keep covered from prying eyes?" Remus offered.

"All?" Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Or just you?"

"All," Remus answered softly. "Do not make the mistake of thinking this life has been easy on any of us, Hermione. My scars are extensive, self-inflicted and hideous to behold beneath these clothes." He plucked at his soft woollen cardigan indicatively. "Sirius bears many to match from years spent by my side attempting to control me when the moon is full and the madness within comes out to play. He bears others from attacking himself and harming himself in his cell in Azkaban. Charlie is a Dragon Tamer by occupation and his body is riddled with tattoos and burns the likes of which you can hardly fathom, right now."

"And the Death Eaters?" Hermione challenged, raising her eyebrows at him.

"As I'm sure you know from your friendship with Harry, Draco Malfoy bears the long slices scarred into his chest and stomach from Harry's reckless use of the Sectumsempra curse," Remus answered coolly. "Severus bears heinous scars from an abusive childhood and a depressed adolescence. Thorfinn Rowle bears terrible Fiendfyre burns from an episode of uncontrolled magic when he was a teenager and he learned his mother had been murdered by muggles. Antonin Dolohov carries the scars of a thousand hexes thrown his way and a lifetime of service to a megalomaniac. Lestrange is the overlooked younger brother of a man mad enough and cruel enough to outshine Bellatrix in cruelty and sadism."

Hermione's brow furrowed as Remus sipped some more of his tea before setting down his cup.

"As I said," Remus offered softly. "We are, none of us, perfect."

Hermione frowned, sitting back in her chair and regarding him for several long seconds of silence.

"How do you know all that?" she asked. "About Rowle, and Dolohov and Lestrange?"

"I was still a teacher when Rowle's incident occurred. He learned of his mother's murder during one of my lessons when I was still teaching at Hogwarts. He injured several of his fellow students and almost killed himself, the violent explosion of fire was so intense. As for Lestrange… well… once upon a time Rabastan Lestrange was best friends with Regulus Black. There was a time when Sirius, James, and I were very well acquainted with Rabastan, through Regulus. Reg told us more than once of the horrors Rabastan survived at his brother's hand. His father's, too. And later, his sister-in-law's."

"And Dolohov?" Hermione wanted to know.

Remus reached into the inside pocket of his cardigan and withdrew several files, resizing them quickly and handing them to her.

"Dolohov's criminal record?" Hermione guessed, frowning.

"His incarceration papers, yes. They list any scars, tattoos, or other identifying features he bore when he escaped Azkaban. As you can see, he has not gone through life unscathed."

Hermione scanned her eyes over them quickly, noting that there were several pictures of the different tattoos and scars he bore. The files on Lestrange, Sirius and Severus depicted the same things. Medical files evidently copied from the Hogwarts school records for Draco and Thorfinn were tucked into the pile as well.

"Nothing for you and Charlie?" Hermione asked.

"I rather thought I could simply show you mine, if you are so curious about them," Remus offered quietly. "And Charlie has never been shy about wandering around the house at Grimmauld topless."

Hermione nodded.

"You brought these knowing I would be in a flap about being naked with all of you?" Hermione asked.

"I brought them because I knew you would have questions," Remus answered. "Truthfully, Hermione, you have little to fear about being naked with all of us. We are all a good couple of decades older than you, except Draco, Thorfinn, and Charlie. It is us who will likely be nervous and uncomfortable, naked before such a pretty young witch."

"You're not really helping assuage my fears, Remus," Hermione admitted.

"I know," he sighed, leaning back in his chair. "And it's not my intention to discount your fears. Self-consciousness is typically something that can only be overcome with practice and relaxation."

Hermione nodded.

"You had more questions?" Remus asked.

"Yes," she admitted, sighing and running her hands through her frizzy hair. "Do you know what Dumbledore hopes to do with the magic he means to have me harvest?"

"Awaken Harry and Ron," Remus told her.

"Wouldn't group casting be more effective?"

"Yes," he nodded. "But I believe that is still his intention. If you have harvested and stored plenty of magic from all of us, and then, say, he, you, and a number of the other powerful members of the Order, including Sirius and myself, were to group cast a number of powerful healing spells not used since the middle ages when covens were rampant, Harry and Ron might stand some chance of reviving."

Hermione nodded slowly, having expected that.

"Are you really comfortable with this?" she asked Remus quietly after a long stretch of silence as she tried to gather her thoughts.

"Yes," Remus said quietly.

"Have you read what's involved?" Hermione asked. "Are you aware of what the ritual involves, and how it will tie you to me, and to the others? It's a bastardised marriage ritual, Remus. Side-effects of breaking the bond involve insanity and even death, should any one of us be deprived of the others for too long. Even if you're not sexually intimate with the others who are bound to me, you will grow closer to them, protective of them, invested in them. The book suggests that previously straight men have become bisexual when participating in this ritual. That even the most vehement enemies end up closer than lovers. Are you sure you want that?"

Remus met her gaze steadily.

"I'm sure, Hermione," he said.

"But… don't you want children, some day?" Hermione asked. "You're not going to be able to have them with a wife if you're still shagging me, you know? And it says if we stop, we'll all begin to crack. Most end up unable to resist and cave to the craving of each other."

"I have no interest in fathering any children, Hermione," Remus said softly. "You know that."

"What about Tonks?" Hermione asked seriously.

"What about her?" Remus asked, raising one eyebrow at her slowly.

"Remus, she's in love with you," Hermione said, exasperated.

"She is not," Remus rolled his eyes.

"She is," Hermione insisted. "She told me she is."

"When?" Remus challenged.

"When she was patrolling up at Hogsmeade," Hermione answered.

"In your sixth year?" Remus confirmed. "That was years ago, Hermione. She's moved on, I can assure you."

"What if she hasn't?" Hermione asked.

Remus sighed and crossed one of his legs over the other before he answered.

"Frankly… too bad," he said eventually, looking annoyed. "I'm not interested in Tonks, and I'm certainly not interested in marriage or reproduction with anyone. In that regard, I'm perhaps the perfect candidate for this little venture."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.

"You have absolutely no urges to sire the next generation?" she confirmed.

"None," he said.

"But you love kids," Hermione protested. "I've seen you with Victoire, Remus. Your wolfish nature adores children."

"Maybe so, but that doesn't mean I want to sire any of my own. I'm a werewolf, Hermione," he reminded her. "I won't inflict myself or my curse on a child for no reason."

"You're a fool, is what you are," Hermione corrected him, and Remus glared at her and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Do you have any other questions, or do you mean to continue insulting me until I'm no longer interested in participating in this venture?" Remus asked finally when they'd stared each other down for several tense minutes.

"Why are you doing this?" Hermione wanted to know. "What personal reasons do you have for wanting to do this?"

"You wish to know my motivations?" Remus frowned at her. "I want to help Harry and Ron, Hermione. I want them to wake up. I want Harry to defeat Vol… shit… You-Know-Who, and I want the world to be at peace, once more."

"Harry's a horcrux, Remus," Hermione reminded the man quietly. "You know that. You know that if he wakes, he will still have to sacrifice himself to you-know-who in order to destroy the soul piece inside him."

"And you know he won't die in that coma – won't surrender to the spell – as long as he remains a horcux," Remus said in return. "Would you prefer to have Harry waste away slowly, forever trapped in between the land of the living and the realm of the dead, because of Tom Riddle's soul piece, tethering him to this plane? He will not age, Hermione. He will not grow old, he will not die. He will simply be, forever, suspended in animation, unless his is revived. And without him, the Dark Lord will win the war, and the world as we know it will be plunged into chaos."

"Not necessarily," Hermione argued.

"Hermione, do you truly imagine that hard-core, dedicated Death Eaters like Antonin Dolohov and Rabastan Lestrange would turn on their master if they weren't fearful of what will happen, should he win? Do you imagine devout blood purists like them would truly be considering repeatedly having sex with a muggleborn – binding themselves to a muggleborn – if the situation wasn't dire?" Remus asked mildly. "I am willing to do whatever must be done to stop that man. And in this instance, it's hardly much of an imposition given that all that is required of me is that I have sex with a pretty witch, with whom I already share a close friendship and affection. Why wouldn't I do this?"

"Because it binds you to me for the rest of your life, Remus. And you're a werewolf. For you, it will be a particularly long life. You know that. Barring having your heart ripped out and eaten by a fellow werewolf, you will live well into you five hundreds, or more. There is a very real chance that the binding properties of this ritual will mean that I will also live that long. That the others who partake in it might, as well. Don't you understand that? You're only thirty-eight, Remus. Thirty-eight out of five hundred or more years. Maybe you don't want children now, but what about later? What about when you're two hundred? Three hundred?"

"I'll never want children," Remus said.

"Bollocks, you won't," Hermione said. "What if I want children, Remus?"

"Nothing would prevent you from having them," Remus frowned at her. "I wasn't aware you had aspirations of motherhood. You say you've seen me interacting with Victoire… well, I've seen you, too. You dislike children. You find them sticky and loud and cumbersome and think they're a terrible distraction from good reading time."

"Yes. Now, I think of them that way," Hermione rolled her eyes. "But if we do this thing and I might live to five hundred, I imagine that somewhere along the line I might suffer the indignity of a ticking biological clock."

"The ritual would not prevent you from pursuing that, Hermione," Remus pointed out.

Hermione scoffed. "With whom? Who would have me when I'm bound to eight men, five of them Death Eaters, three of them escaped prisoners?"

"What's wrong with someone from among the eight?" Remus asked. "Just because I don't want children, doesn't mean the others don't, either."

"And what?" Hermione asked. "Have a child when I'm two hundred and enjoy the horrors of watching that child grow up and grow old and eventually die while I live on, soul-and-body-bound to a werewolf?"

Remus blinked. He looked momentarily hurt before he recovered himself.

"Would you prefer that I back out of the arrangement?" he offered quietly. "It isn't necessary that I participate. Dumbledore simply thought that with the power of my lycanthtropy, the untapped magical stores would be of some use. But you're right, my involvement will drastically alter the course of all of your lives, even more so than the ritual otherwise would. I should speak with Albus immediately, and offer up a replacement for myself… perhaps someone closer to you in age from your school…"

"Remus," Hermione interrupted him quietly. "I didn't say I want you to back out. I only asked if you were sure that this was what you wanted, and how some of the dynamics might work if we proceed."

"But you're right. My involvement further complicates an already complicated situation, it's unnecessary that I be invol… mmmph!"

Hermione cut Remus's rambling off by rising quickly to her feet, crossing the small distance between their chairs, and sliding onto his lap. She claimed his lips with her own to cease his words, testing the waters and figuring out if he might still be interested in pursuing this idea when he had her on his lap and kissing his lips. Reaching to tangle her fingers into his hair, Hermione kissed Remus softly, occupying his lips to prevent him from continuing to talk until he recovered from the shock of her sudden attack, and slid his hands onto her hips, pulling her closer.

His hands were gentle on her waist, his lips polite against hers, his touch soft and non-threatening. Hermione kissed him a little more forcefully, pressing her lips a little more insistently against his, parting them slightly to brush her tongue against the seam of his lips. Remus opened to her slowly, his tongue sliding out in increments to brush against hers, and Hermione used her nails to scratch lightly against his scalp, her insides humming with nerves and fluttering with butterflies until finally, she was snogging him soundly.

It occurred to her belatedly that she had straddled him in his chair in her bid to silence his self-deprecation, but when his hands on her hips guided her closer, pulling her to him snugly, Hermione could feel his arousal stirring beneath her. This was affecting him. It was affecting her too. She'd wondered once or twice over the years, particularly on moon days when he would give her a startlingly hot look, what it might be like to kiss Remus Lupin, but until now it'd always been a silly, passing fancy. Now, however, heat roared to life within her, making her dizzy, making her gasp. Her heart hammered against her ribcage, and she had no doubt his sensitive lycan hearing could pick it up with ease.

Merlin, how long had it been since she'd slept with anyone? How long had she been starved for sensation? She whimpered against his lips when Remus's hands slid down her body to rest on her rear, his strong fingers kneading the flesh through the fabric of her jeans and encouraging her to roll her hips until a maddening rhythm twanged between them. Remus kissed her forcefully, holding nothing back, and Hermione sensed that he was more eager to do this – to participate in this ritual than she might've otherwise imagined.

Could she do it?

Could she shag him and the others and steal away their power for herself? Could she bring herself to be naked in front of these men, all of whom she had complex relationships with based on experience or enmity.

"Remus," Hermione gasped, breaking their kiss when he moved to trail a burning line of desire down the side of her neck, lingering over the sweet spot under her ear until her hips bucked of their own accord, her body desperate for friction.

Remus's only response was a low growl in the back of his throat that made her tingle all over as he nipped her neck just hard enough to smart before kissing away the sting.

"Oh god," Hermine moaned, letting her head fall back as she surrendered to him.

Remus's hands worked their way up her body and Hermione found herself lifting her arms up when he peeled up her shirt, pulling it off over her head quickly and leaving her in her bra. He growled again, pausing his kissing to admire her body and Hermione squirmed, trying to cover herself with her hands even though he couldn't see anything important yet.

"You're beautiful, Hermione," Remus told her quietly when he lifted his gaze to meet her eyes and Hermione's cheeks turned pink with embarrassment.

"Thank you," she murmured, her eyes darting down to his lips again.

"Are you alright?" Remus asked.

"I… yes," Hermione said. "I shouldn't have just… jumped on you like that. You were saying something, and I was rude."

"I'm certainly not complaining, gaelai," he chuckled before an impish grin overtook his features. "I'm certainly not opposed to a test run to help you make up your mind about participating in the ritual if you're so inclined, love."

Hermione's blush brightened.

"You… Are you sure?" she asked.

"If you are," he nodded, his hands smoothing over her shoulders and down her back.

His touch was warm, and unbidden Hermione arched into him, sighing at the sweet sensation.

"It's been a while," she confessed, biting her lip and lifting her eyes to his once more, supposing that if she was really going to participate in the ritual, she would need to get a lot more comfortable with her own nudity, her own desires, and her own sexuality.

"For me as well," Remus offered, nodding slowly and looking at her, waiting for her decision, putting no pressure on her to continue if she didn't want to, even though she could feel the evidence of his rampant desire trapped in his jeans beneath her bottom.

Hermione bit her lip again, her eyes darting between both of his as she tried to figure out what she wanted, and whether this was a bad idea, and whether she was just stressed and overwrought and horny or if she wanted to ravish him right there.

"Should we go upstairs?" Hermione asked.

Remus's mouth twitched and it occurred to her when a roguish grin spread across his face that he might be responsible and grown-up now, but there was still a marauder alive inside his soul.

"If you'd prefer," he said. "I'm fine with the couch if it's too far."

"I… no, we should go to the bedroom," Hermione said, leaning back out of his hold and climbing to her feet.

"You don't have to do this, Hermione," Remus reminded her when she ran her hands through her hair, butterflies rioting in her stomach.

"No, I want to," she admitted. "I… it might be a terrible idea, and I still have questions before I agree to the ritual. But… it might provide some perspective if we…"

"Shag?" he offered, grinning at her obvious nervousness.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Hermione asked.

"Forgive me, gaelai," he smiled as Hermione headed for the stairs and he trailed after her. "You are still so very young and innocent. It's refreshing."

"Because I'm a nervous wreck?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," he admitted with a chuckle and Hermione shot him a narrow-eyed glare over her shoulder. "Sorry, love. It's just been a very long time since a woman got flustered at the thought of shagging me. The women I've bedded in the last decade have all been extremely comfortable in their sexuality and all but hurled themselves at me, demanding I meet their needs."

"Merlin, Remus, what sort of women do you typically proposition?"

"Tarts," he admitted with a shrug. "I never want more than a night or two, and wizarding society isn't as up on the times as muggle society. Usually the women I've slept with have all been muggles, generally my age or older than me, often on the sour end of a divorce or some other tragedy they want to drink and shag out of their heads."

"None of them blush and stammer and quake, then?" Hermione surmised.

"No, their usually quite drunk by the time they turn their attentions to me, and tend to be of the opinion that any warm body will do."

"How delightful," Hermione said, rolling her eyes and leading Remus into the master bedroom.

She had been sleeping in the bedroom she'd always used when she'd come here as a girl, but it was full of children's toys and stuffed animals and she didn't imagine either of them would be comfortable if she took him there for sex.

"We play the cards we're dealt, Hermione," Remus offered. "This isn't your room, is it?"

"What gave it away?" Hermione asked.

"It doesn't smell like you," he shrugged his shoulders. "And the sheets are fresh, but the room smells of dust. It hasn't been used in a long time."

"It was my grandmother's," Hermione nodded. "She left me the property when she passed."

"It's very secluded," Remus nodded.

"A perfect witch's cottage out in the woods where nefarious plot can be hatched and wicked deeds go unnoticed," Hermione replied. "Maybe if I agree to the ritual, I'll convert it into my sex dungeon."

"Which I'm sure you've always wanted," Remus said, laughing at her sardony.

"Naturally," Hermione agreed, turning to look at him and waiting for him to come closer.

"Still nervous?" he asked.

"More so than before," she nodded, her throat tight but her hands itching. "May I?"

She indicated to his shirt, snagging hold of the hem and beginning to lift it slowly.

"Please," Remus invited, nodding and smiling.

Hermione pulled the hem up, dragging his cardigan with it. Before she could get it up over his chest, Remus reached out and knotted his hands in her riotous curls, leaning down and guiding her face to his. He claimed her lips for another hot kiss and some of her butterflies dispersed in favour of a wave of lust.

Hermione kissed him until she was dizzy, breathing with him, moving with him, smoothing her hands over his torso where she'd lifted his shirt and tracing the sinewy muscle of his abdomen appreciatively.

"Told you," Remus murmured huskily with they broke apart, both breathing heavily. "These curls are all the better for fisting."

Hermione laughed in spite of herself as she peeled his shirt and cardigan off over his head, leaving him topless. She lowered her eyes to his wiry masculine frame and Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She'd known that as a werewolf, he would have scars, but he was covered in them. Long gouges torn into golden flesh, bite marks littering his limbs, claw marks covering his skin.

"Oh, Remus, did you do all of this to yourself?" she asked softly, frowning as she reached for him again, smoothing her hands over the scarred flesh and noting that a few of the marks were still scabbed as though they'd happened at the last full moon.

"Most of them," he nodded. "A few are from Sirius when I attack him or try to attack others, from back when we Marauders roamed under the full moon. This one is from James. He gored me with his antlers one night shortly before his wedding when I tried chasing after a muggle girl wandering after dark when the moon was full."

He indicated to a scattering of puncture wounds and some tearing.

"Gored me and flung me twenty feet in the air to hear him tell it," Remus said, chuckling a little as he smoothed a hand over the marks on his ribs. "And this one was Sirius, the night you and Harry used the Time Turner to rescue him."

He indicated to a mark on his left forearm and another on his left shoulder.

"Do any of them still hurt?" Hermione asked, tracing her fingers over the marks he spoke of and noting that though they were grievous wounds inflicted by friends he loved like brothers, he spoke with fondness in his tone.

"This one still hurts," he nodded, pointing out an angry red scar on his hip, tugging his jeans down a little to show it to her where claw marks bit into the V of muscle heading south.

"Did you do this one to yourself?" Hermione asked, frowning as she very gently traced the marks, noting that the spacing of the claws was too wide for her slender fingers to match.

"That was Greyback the last time I caught up with him. Happened while you and the boys were still hunting the horcruxes," Remus told her.

"I didn't know you'd run into him," Hermione frowned.

"You've had other things on your mind, love," Remus reminded her gently. "With the funeral, and the boys, and now this idea that Dumbledore's cooked up, you've hardly had a chance to be filled in on an unfortunate run in with Greyback during one of my missions for the Order."

"Recruiting for our side?" Hermione guessed.

Remus nodded, his eyes on her as she continued to trace the shapes of the scars littering his bare torso. He didn't ask her about her own scars in return. The world hadn't been kind to her, either, but compared to the scars Remus bore, they were nothing. When he leaned over and kissed her again, Hermione let him and reached up to kiss him back and she let him walk her backward across the room until she hit the bed.

Remus broke their kiss to raise one eyebrow at her before laughing wickedly and toppling her backward onto the mattress. Hermione landed with a huff and she looked up at Remus in surprise to find him grinning wolfishly before he followed her down, intent on having his way with her.