Nothing Like You and I

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Author’s Note
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We’re getting down to it now! The last few chapters of this wonderful story! There is, of course, going to be an epilogue and I’m still debating on whether I should have a happy ending or not. It’s all up in the air right now. Please continue to rate and review!

As for Harry not feeling the scar, I always assumed it was when Voldemort planned to do something dangerous to Harry and that he had been in hiding for all these years. Who knows. Lol!

Songs used:
Frank Sinatra – I’ve Got the World on a String
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OtKk8rdVWvk

Immediate Music - Blashemy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Su0FTHYxYWM


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Got the String Around My Finger
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Hermione’s head tilted back as she began regaining consciousness. The lights above her twinkled while they swayed back and forth. Her head drooped forward just a little while trying to keep herself awake. She heard the sound of music in the background, causing her to frown. Her eyes adjusted slightly, settling on the setting in front of her. She was sitting at her dining table with what appeared to be a fully cooked meal steaming upward. Her stomach lurched at the smell but she kept the acid from penetrating her throat.

“Draco?” Hermione whispered, almost calling for him.

There was a sound in the other room, her kitchen, causing Hermione to roll her head to the side.

“Good evening, my dear,” came the voice from the kitchen, “I see you’re body had reacted very well to a healing potion. I am dreadfully rusty when it comes to brewing potions but you seem to be well stocked with ingredients lest I make a mistake.”

“Voldemort,” Hermione mumbled, drooping her head forward a little, “What…where’s Draco?”

“Where he was last left,” Voldemort replied, wiping his hands on a dish towel, “There really is no point in having him around for much longer anyway.”

“What…what is this?” Hermione asked, frowning at the food sitting in front of her.

“Chicken marsala. It was a recipe I picked out of your wonderful cookbook,” Voldemort grinned, “I hope you don’t mind me putting on a little music for the festivities. I am quite partial to Frank Sinatra.”

The music in the background finally reached her ears and she was able to decipher what the name of the song was. How ironic. She felt Voldemort’s hand trace over her chin and tilt her neck back.

“You have yet to compliment me on dressing you,” he cooed, running his hand down her neck with the back of his fingers, “You didn’t give me much to work with but…I dare say you look a little attractive for a mudblood.”

Hermione glanced down and noticed that she was no longer naked but dressed in a periwinkle polka-dotted sun dress. She smelled vaguely like maple syrup. But despite her clean appearance, the bruises and welts were still prominent against her pale skin. She inhaled as Voldemort sat beside her and propped his head up against his fist, resting his elbow on the table.

“What are you doing?” Hermione asked him, feeling her strength returning slowly, “Why go through all this trouble…”

“I’ve spent such a long time waiting for my revenge,” he grinned, sighing contently, “I want this to be perfect.”

“Harry isn’t going to care,” Hermione began but was silenced by Voldemort.

“Oh, this isn’t about Potter,” Voldemort replied, “Well, it is but not all of it. You see…now that I have such a youthful body at my disposal…I’ve come to realize that I might need a little something to help me with my future reign of this pathetic world.”

“And so you choose the mudblood,” Hermione half laughed, “You’re really mad aren’t you?”

“Somewhat,” he replied, “Everyone in this world is just a little mad in the long run. I’ve just embraced it.”

“So you’re trying to what…woo me with dinner and Frank Sinatra?” she asked, meeting his gaze with her whiskey colored eyes, baring into his ruby orbs.

“I’m showing you a world in which you won’t have to worry,” he replied, coming to a stand, “If you choose to be mine that is.”

“I would never choose you,” Hermione snapped, “I’d rather die!”

“That can be arranged my dear,” he laughed, pulling her chair back, “I particularly enjoy this part of the song, let’s dance shall we?”

“Eat shit!” Hermione shouted feeling her lips clamp shut instantly.

“Tut tut,” Voldemort cooed, “Let’s not ruin this nice evening with such vulgarity…there will be plenty of time for you to scream all you want. Imperio!”

An overwhelming feeling of relief washed over Hermione, yet her mind was struggling over that soft squishy fog. She felt herself rise slowly from her seat as invisible binds fell around her. Her hand moved automatically to Voldemort’s, touching his ice cold flesh with the top of her palm. Her jaw clenched as she moved to the living room where her antique record player was charmed to play that damn song over and over.

She twirled effortlessly around and settled in Voldemort’s grasp, his hand resting lightly over her waist while his other held her hand up. Second by second, Hermione felt the fog beginning to seep into her brain. Her vision began blurring slightly as if her body was giving up to the spell. Her body may have but her mind was screaming at her to get a grasp of the situation.

They swayed gently to the rhythm of the song, their bodies meshed against one another. Hermione could barely make out the words Voldemort was saying to her, but she did catch the jist of his comments. It was simple really. He wanted to make not only Harry pay but Draco. If it wasn’t for Draco, he wouldn’t have been in this position. What better way to get back at them both by wooing the object of their desires. Well, Draco’s desire and Harry’s best mate.

Hermione felt herself twirl again and settle into his chest as his arms wrapped around her. Whatever warmth feeling she was supposed to get was null and void. She felt cold and out of control, especially when Voldemort tilted her chin up to gaze into her dilated eyes. He still looked like Draco even if his cheeks were sunken in, eyes crimson and skin an odd bluish tint. His hands were just as soft as she remembered but instead of a warm touch it was icy and sent little spindles of unwanted electricity up her spine.

“Kiss me,” he ordered, watching Hermione lean up.

Her lips brushed his own and she felt the internal need to vomit at that point. Her mind fought with every second that kiss lingered. Even as Voldemort deepened the kiss by wrapping a hand firmly against the back of her neck, his tongue probing into her mouth, she fought. The fog around her mind began to bend, shift from her to one side.

Voldemort moaned and moved against her, pushing her gently against the wall. She felt his sick arousal against her abdomen and grimaced when his free hand lifted the hem of her dress upward. His fingers danced over her smooth thighs, dipping lower into the warmth of her heat. Hermione grunted and slammed her head against the wall as she tried to fight off the spell.

She felt her feet lift from the ground, legs wrap around his hips as he ground into her centre. Her body reacted the way it should have, it was natural after all, but she was still fighting to preen that fog over her mind. Her eyes only managed to wide as she heard the familiar sound of a zipper lowering and Voldemort shift his weight to snake a hand between them.

“Oh,” Hermione growled out as he thrusted, pushing all of his length into her hot core.

He brought her hands to his shoulders before dipping his mouth over hers, devouring her sweet taste. Hermione’s eyes remained open and stared blankly at Voldemort. His mouth was ajar as he pumped into her, grunting ever so slightly whenever his hips smacked against the apex of her thighs. She could feel her juices run down her thighs and the pleasure rake through her, but she did nothing.

Her body remained somewhat lax against him as he tilted his hips upward and kept thrusting. Her body jerked up with every crashing of their union, and even small subtle moans escaped from her throat. As the mental fog began to peel back over her mind, Hermione managed to clench her fingers against his shoulders – which urged him to pump into her quicker without hesitation.

She parted her lips as a loud grunt exploded from her throat as her walls clenched over him. Voldemort grasped onto her thighs and growled his release, sheathing his entire length into her as his hot seed seeped into her womb. Her mind was clear of the fog but she remained silent and still. Voldemort brought his lips to hers, pecking them softly before trailing them to her neck.

Her eyes glanced down at a small bowling statue she had gotten as a child. Dropping her arm as if it were asleep and numb, Hermione’s fingers traced over the top of the statue while Voldemort whispered disgusting sweet nothings against her neck. She inhaled as he pulled himself from her; the wetness between her legs caused her stomach to lurch again.

“Now, wasn’t that---“ Voldemort cooed, pulling from Hermione before widening his eyes.

Hermione grasped the top of the trophy and bashed it against the side of his head, knocking him to the ground. She felt a short distance and regained her footing as she darted out of the room. Voldemort howled as he fell to the ground, his hand shaking as it was brought to a large gash at his temple. He looked up through a thin veil of blonde hair, eyes aflame with anger.

She skidded across the ground as she broke through her bedroom door, prepared to jump out the window. She stopped short upon the scene. Draco, her Draco, was hanging from the middle of the room. His joints looked as if they were attached to thin silvery robes, hanging him like a marionette puppet. Blood dripped from the corners of his lips, pooling around the floor.

“Oh gods,” Hermione breathed, rushing to Draco, “Draco. Draco.”

“Hermione?” Draco stammered, wheezing as he tried to lift his head

Hermione brought her hands to his face, gently and sighed with relief when she could touch him. His eyes watered slightly at the touch, but they soon widened.

“Run,” he said quickly, his eyes trained on the door.

Hermione spun around and gasped at the sight of Voldemort standing in the doorway. More like leaning against the door with an abnormal amount of blood dripping down the side of his face.

“You stupid chit,” he growled, stumbling into the room, “I have offered you everything…and still you refuse…”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I’d rather die,” Hermione snapped, grasping onto Draco as she tried to pull him with her but he was unable to move.

“Then die you shall,” Voldemort snarled, lunging for Hermione, “I will gut you, girl, hang your innards for the world to see!

Hermione moved and brought her foot into Voldemort’s crotch, sending him reeling to the ground. She grasped onto her wicker chair and used all her strength to slam it into him. Voldemort howled and slumped against the ground as the wood split around him. She began panting as she moved back to Draco, trying to pull the invisible strings from him.

“Run, Hermione,” he breathed, “Forget about me.”

“NO,” she nearly shouted, “I will not leave you…not again.”

She screamed as a curse pierced her back, sending her to her knees. Her head was jerked back as a wand pushed against her throat. A bloody hand held onto her hair, dripping the red substance onto her shoulder.

“Fool,” Voldemort laughed, dragging Hermione back by her hair.

She kicked and flailed, bringing her hand to his own and clawed at it. Voldemort merely winced and tightened his grasp, swinging her from the room. She was lifted and thrown to the floor of the living room, hitting a coffee table on the way. Hermione groaned as she rolled onto her back. A bright red light shadowed over her, sending her screaming with pain. It lasted for what seemed ages until her voice was lost. Sweat broke out over her body as the writhed across the ground while her hands clawed at the ground.

Voldemort flicked his wand back, breaking the curse from her body. He grinned and moved over her kneeling over her limp body. His hands traced up her thighs, pooling her skirt over her waist. Hermione whimpered and tried to pull her legs together but her strength had been zapped. Voldemort leaned over her, settling between her thighs as he brought a hand to her throat.

“You really are such an annoying chit,” he half laughed, the blood from his face continuing to drip down his cheek and onto her dress.

He tightened his grasp around her throat, successfully blocking any passage of oxygen to her lungs. Hermione writhed under him as he began grinding into her centre. Her hands flew to his wrists, trying to pry them from her as she gasped for air. Her eyes began to roll into the back of her head when the door to her cottage blew from the hinges.

Voldemort looked up from Hermione, his blond hair falling over his face as bright lights covered them. He grinned and rose quickly, pulling Hermione to him where he brought a hand to the top of her head, petting her like a cat.

“Ah, Harry…” he breathed, pulling Hermione along with him as he backed away from the door.

Harry, Ron, Remus, Ginny, Luna, and several other members of the Order appeared in the doorway. Harry’s eyes widened as he saw the scene unfold. Voldemort sneered at him and brought his hand to Hermione’s lower stomach, resting his bloody fingers over her.

“No…bloody way…” Ron whispered, looking with wide eyes at Voldemort, “But he’s…”

A searing pain ripped through Harry’s scar, causing him to stiffen slightly. He had gotten used to the pain but it was shocking, none the less.

“He’s not Draco,” Harry said quickly, holding his wand up, “He is not Draco.”

“Smart observation, boy,” Voldemort laughed, quirking a brow as he traced his hand up Hermione’s body, taunting them. “I think the question remains…who am I?”

“Voldemort,” came a voice from behind Harry.

The group turned around and parted slightly as a figure walked in, his cane tapping against the ground. Lucius Malfoy stood beside Harry with a sneer across his face. His icy pale eyes glancing over Voldemort’s form.

“Where’s my son you sick bastard?” he nearly snarled, pulling his wand from his cane and pointing it at Voldemort.

Voldemort pushed himself against Hermione, lowering his lips to her ear lobe, “My…my this has gotten interesting…hasn’t it?”