Nothing Like You and I

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Author’s Note
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Hopefully this explains everything you ever wanted to know! There will still be more discoveries as the story continues, but yup. I have had this entire thing planned from the get go and hope you all truly found it entertaining! Please rate/review!


Song:
Poets Of The Fall – Carnival of Rust
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KfItnL1ndnk


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All This Turmoil Will Come Closing in for a Kill
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She felt ill, completely ill. Her heart felt as if it were pounding into her head and even with her eyes slammed closed she felt as if she were spinning. Hermione moaned, wanting to bring her hand up to wipe her hair from her sweat laden face. However, she couldn’t. She couldn’t feel anything with the exception of her pounding headache. Her eyes shot open with much difficulty where she instantly felt the acid of her stomach travel up to her throat. She needed to vomit, she wanted to vomit. The room was blurred but if she could just focus the spinning would stop.

Taking a breath, Hermione’s eyes focused on a spot located above her. Her brows furrowed as familiar smells wafted into her nose, stimulating her senses. Looking to the side, Hermione noted the cream colored walls with lily wallpaper trim lining the junction between the ceiling and the wall. She was in her room, in her cottage. Things around her were covered in a thin layer of dust – instantly thinking she hadn’t put her cleaning spells up properly.

Why was she here? And what happened? Her mind was so bogged down with the past events that she couldn’t think properly. Slowly, images and memories flickered in her mind and it came back to her with a tremendous wave. Hermione gasped loudly and tried to move, yet no limb would budge. Struggling with invisible restraints, Hermione began to hyperventilate and let hot tears spill over her cheeks.

“Draco?” she instantly called out, whimpering from her inability to control her limbs, “Help! Some one!”

“Ssshhh,” came the sultry voice of a person standing by the door.

Her eyes widened when they landed on the form of a dressed down Draco…or Voldemort in Draco’s skin so to speak. His hair was mussed up, standing on end as if he had just gotten out of the shower. Eyes no longer the earthly cobalt but a venomous crimson with skin that was so pale he almost blended in with her wall. She whimpered again as he approached, wearing black slacks and a black dress shirt that was unbuttoned completely.

“Calm down now, girl,” Voldemort cooed, sitting on the bed beside her, “The more you struggle the worse it’s going to get. You’ve sustained quite a bit of injuries since our last interlude.”

“What…have you done…with…” Hermione breathed, her voice cracking against her tonsils.

“The Malfoy boy?” Voldemort crowed, running his hand over the center of Hermione’s chest, “That…remains to be seen.”

“What?” she bit her lip as his hand disappeared between the apex of her thighs, and for once she was glad she felt nothing, yet the sounds sent chills up her spine. “Don’t you fucking touch me!”

“Mmm?” Voldemort quirked an eyebrow, bringing his fingers wet with her arousal to his lips where he licked them clean. “Ah, you want answers. Typical.”

Hermione tried to lean away when his hand traced over her heart face, pushing away a lock of brown hair. Voldemort rose almost like a ghost and moved across the room to look at the various pictures she had up. He sneered when he looked at a photo of her and Harry at his twenty-first birthday and placed the photo facing down.

“Tell me what you remember those six years ago,” Voldemort said, meeting Hermione’s somewhat terrified brown eyes. “During the height of the war before my unfortunate demise.”

“Your followers fell,” Hermione was quick to say, “Many turned against you, called you for what you were…a coward.”

“Hm,” Voldemort nodded, his hand tracing over the smoothness of her vanity, “What do you remember before and during the war?”

“We were fighting,” Hermione breathed, looking straight at the ceiling, “Fenrir Greyback was about to attack me when…when Draco saved me. Everyone surrounded you and…you….you…”

“I charged toward you like a bull,” Voldemort finished, “Do you remember what I was doing before the Malfoy whelp so bravely saved your life?”

“I…I…” Hermione closed her eyes as images flashed through her mind; she focused and saw that his mouth had been moving when he ran at her. He was saying a spell. “A spell.”

“Ah, so you are the brightest witch in Britain. Shame you’re such low rank,” Voldemort grinned, his smile on Draco’s face was almost demonic, “Yes. A spell. A very dark spell I had picked up as a youth in Romania.”

Voldemort looked at Hermione as he pulled open one of the drawers in her room, his hand snaking through her undergarments like a pervert. He turned and pulled out a pair of frilly black knickers, smirking slightly as he brought them to his nose and inhaled. Hermione caught this gesture out of the corner of her eye and tried to keep her stomach acid at bay.

“Draco was never your target,” Hermione whispered, the cogs in her head churning at full speed, “You wanted to use that spell…against…me.”

“An astute observation,” Voldemort replied, placing her knickers onto the top of the drawer as he perused the other contents, “I never intended on using that spell on any one else. Then young Draco Malfoy had to play hero and save the Mudblood.”

“You fell into Nimue’s Hill…you…I saw your body…I saw his body,” she said with a breath, closing her eyes tightly as a few tears fell from the corners of her eyes.

“Yes, I fell but not before connecting with Draco’s form. We both died in a sense, but I…I am too much of a wizard to truly die,” Voldemort explained, pulling out a purple pair of frilly knickers and sniffed it just as he had the black pair, “That spell would have enabled me to occupy your body, force your soul out and it would be mine. Potter would never think to kill his curly-haired friend. It was perfect…”

“Until Draco,” Hermione continued, “He prevented it…he…”

“Took your place,” Voldemort closed the drawer shut and pulled another open, “After we fell into Nimue’s Hill, I was able to yank the wretched boy from his body and assume total control. There had to be no evidence against it. Seeing as many of my loyal followers had perished, I merely transfigured one of them to look exactly like the boy. My body was far too damaged to be used as another vessel and so, I gladly took this one.”

He ran his hand over Draco’s young flesh, grinning to himself, “It was a difficult fight. Oh yes. The boy was adamant on keeping his body, but, in the end, he was just a child. I had to disappear and so I moved to Muggle London. With a few friendly memory modifications I was soon able to blend in with society.”

Of course, Hermione thought. He was raised as a Muggle in a Muggle orphanage and understood the money, government and culture system. Draco, on the other hand, had never set foot in the Muggle world and so no one would bother look for him there. How could she have been so stupid?

“That was until I saw you in that convenience store,” Voldemort sneered, “It ruined everything I was working for…and so, I had to some how get close to you. Of course, it did help that you have impeccable memory and would try to seek out some kind of relationship with your dearly departed savior.”

Voldemort glided over to the bed, sitting on it closer to her. He brought a hand to the side of her head and leaned over, his breath no longer filled with cinnamon but somewhat like dust and wet dirt. Hermione tried not to look into his ruby eyes but they held her gaze.

“I found it odd at first,” Voldemort continued, “For years I had the most vivid dreams involving you. It took only a short amount of time to realize that they were not dreams at all, rather actual events. And…I must say…”

He leaned forward, brushing his lips against her eyelids before pulling slowly from her, “You are quite a woman…I see that my mark still lingers on your skin…”

His hand traced over her ripped blouse, brushing the fabric out of his way. Hermione tensed as she began regaining feeling over her skin. It was as if he were making her feel what he wanted her to feel and right now, she could feel is touch over her. His finger ran along the center of the scar she had been given during the second to last battle, from Voldemort’s own wand.

Hermione clenched her teeth as a jolt of pain surged through her body as if he were cutting her all over again. Voldemort leaned over and brushed his lips over her abdomen, using his tongue to trace the scar.

“Stop,” Hermione nearly begged, tearing streaking down her cheeks.

Voldemort grinned against her soft skin and brought his face to hers, their noses touching. “I find it quite difficult to resist you. A result of this body’s former acquaintance with your…soft form.”

“Where’s Draco’s soul,” Hermione whispered, staring defiantly at him.

She was terrified, oh yes, but she was angry as well. She wanted to lash out at Voldemort, bite his ruddy nose off and curse him to the deepest part of hell.

“Why don’t you tell me,” Voldemort said in a harsh whisper, “I have searched high and low for that boy, only to rid myself of his nuisance. His body…my body has the tendency to kick up once every blue moon. The most recent was a year ago. Something happened between you and him that caused my body to reject my soul…it took quite a long time to regain full control.”

He was real. She remembered exactly what had happened. After discovering Draco’s body she had been so angry and upset that when they made love…she felt all of him. It was then did she realize that Draco’s own emotions were tied together, not only with his soul, but his body. Their first touch, kiss, and subsequent tackling of his father had elicited some kind of counter reaction to his body. As if his body was trying to dispel a foreign invader. Good.

“He was thinking of you before he died,” Voldemort broke Hermione out of her concentration, “Before I ripped his soul from his body. He wanted to ensure you were safe. Something called love…but where is your hero when you need him now?”

Hermione closed her eyes when Voldemort leaned over her once more, pushing his now chapped lips over hers. He had done so much damage to Draco’s body during those few hours that he seemed alien to her. The dark magic swimming inside his body was like a parasite, killing off every bit of Draco she had ever known. Hermione groaned angrily against Voldemort, trying to pull herself away as he deepened the kiss. His tongue traced over her bottom lip and between her lips only to trace over her clenched teeth.

Pulling from Hermione with a thick pop, Voldemort grinned. “I have often wondered what became of his soul after the last moment his body tried to force me out, but it has been so long hasn’t it? Since you last saw him, felt him, loved him.”

Voldemort brought his thumb to her lips, pushing on them ever so slightly, “I have a theory, if you’re interested in learning of it. Draco is bound to you and only you because his love for you kept his soul eternally bound to this world. He may travel where ever he wants but ultimately, he is to return back to the person who claimed his mind, body and soul….you.”

Hermione stared at Voldemort, watching the insanity in his eyes, “I haven’t seen him in a year…”

“Ah, but just because you haven’t seen him, doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel you,” he replied, skimming his hand over her bare torso, “I imagine he feels everything you do, and I plan on drawing him here one last time…It is rather annoying when I cannot control this body during certain heated moments between you two…but it has made me wonder…”

Her eyes widened as his hand disappeared between her thighs and she instantly felt his long digits prod at her sex. Hermione struggled again, whimpering and frowning, as the pad of his finger pressed against her clit.

“In my former body I have all but given up the sensations of pleasure,” Voldemort whispered, moving over Hermione now, “There was so much to do and so little time, but now…now I have time, lots of time.”

He nudged her knees apart and settled between her legs. Voldemort brought his pale hands to his pants, freeing himself with a simple zip. Hermione closed her eyes and let out a hard cry. She felt his erection push against her folds, probing her labia, vulva and slowly ease into her sex. He filled her slowly, excruciatingly slow at first, before slamming roughly inside her.

Hermione let out a gargled cry as she felt his mouth descend over hers. Her body writhed and jerked under his form, yet she could hardly move. His thrusts were powerful and racked with pain, stretching and ripping at her body with such intensity that she felt as if she were going to pass out. As she let out a scream, Voldemort took this chance to slither his tongue into her mouth, sucking roughly on her own before chewing on her bottom lip.

His body convulsed over her, slamming into her tight heat, filling her to the hilt. Voldemort’s tongue plunged into her mouth as her eyes stood wide and tears leaked over her cheeks. His hands ran over her body, resting on her hips as he changed the angle and dove in swift hard motions. She stared up at him, making no noise outside of screaming, and watched sweat begin to build over his body. Color filled his one pale skin, but only enough to show that he was significantly aroused.

“Yes,” Voldemort whispered, plunging his cock into her tight cunt, “You feel her don’t you, boy. You feel the pain?”

Who was he talking to? Hermione felt a sharp pain across her stomach as the scar on her abdomen ripped open. Her face contorted into that of immense pain and she finally felt the ability to move. Her body thrashed under his, trying to push him from her as he slammed his hips against the apex of her thighs, clenching his teeth like a wild man.

“YES!” Voldemort growled, plowing into her several more times before his exploded, spraying her aching walls with his hot sticky seed.

He leaned over Hermione, kissing and licking the wound across her stomach as it healed instantly. His lips trailed bloody kisses up her body before he pushed his mouth against hers. She could taste her blood in the kiss and convulsed under him, trying to shove him from her. Voldemort rose from between her thighs and brought his hand to her throat, cutting off her circulation.

“He’s coming,” Voldemort breathed, laughing manically, “I can feel it.”

Hermione gasped for a breath but soon felt darkness consume her as she fell unconscious. She woke what seemed several hours later to the darkness of the room. The moonlight cascaded over her bed and she found that she was alone. She felt herself let out a sob as she rolled onto her side, curling into a ball. Her body cracked with each movement, pain splintering through her. Tears never seemed to end, even as the night wore on.

“Hermione?”

Her eyes shot open but she didn’t move. Breathing harshly, Hermione heard the rushed footsteps to her bed and she nearly let out a cry as a pair of hands cupped her face.

“Oh gods,” he whispered, brushing her hair from her face, “What happened? Who did this to you?”

Hermione closed her eyes and sobbed more heavily as he leaned up against her, pressing his form to hers in order to comfort her. Her hand reached out and grasped onto his shirt, clenching her fingers around it.

“Draco,” she whispered, feeling his hands against her, “It’s you…”

Draco’s face, his real face, softened at her tears. He had heard her, felt her in so much pain that he found himself standing outside of her cottage within seconds. Over the past year he had spent his time sitting at the edge of Nimue’s Hill, trying to figure out what he’d do. There had been so many times he just wanted to see her, be with her but he felt that she was happy. He felt her happiness. How could he deny her that in which he had taken away for so long.

“Of course it’s me…who else would it be?” he said quietly, “Stay here, I’ll find some help. I’ll do something.”

He wanted to gather her up in his arms but from the look of her torn and bloodied bed sheets, he knew she needed help. He may not be able to touch anything but her, but he was not about to let her lie there alone.

“No,” she cried softly, “Don’t…Draco don’t…”

Hermione clawed at his shirt as he stood and walked around the bed toward the door. His eyes never left her longing, pleading eyes. She sounded as if she were on death’s door stop.

“Just stay here, Hermione. I’ll figure something out…I’ll…” Draco reassured her before a strong gust of wind slammed the door shut.

He turned and was instantly hit over the head with a fist. Stumbling forward, Draco felt his hair being pulled back and fell against the chest of some one. Some one his height. His eyes stared into the large vanity of Hermione’s and widened at the scene. A wand pushed into his throat, dark magic coursing though his form.

“Surprised to see me, my boy?” came his voice, although it wasn’t his voice. It sounded dark, raspy and evil.

“You,” Draco whispered in a gasp, watching his own reflection chuckle back at him.

“I’ve been looking for you for such a long time,” his reflection said, licking the side of his face all while staring at them in the mirror. “Such a long time.”







“What have you done to Hermione,” Draco demanded, glaring into the eyes of a demon, “Voldemort.”