Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the goddesses, JKR or Charlotte Bronte.
Chapter 10: Thwarted Desires
She could still taste the potion in her mouth. As Hermione slowly regained consciousness, she noticed that she tasted a variety of odd things. Licking her lips, she tasted the remnants of honey, lavender flowers…powdered root of midnight roses.
"Severus," she thought to herself with a small sigh.
She was still too tired and far too comfortable to open her eyes. Her memory was hazy, rather piece-meal…she vaguely remembered Mrs. Fairfax and Leah and Grace. Yes, she certainly remembered being bled…that had hurt. She had felt the pain but was too sick to cry out. It was a horrible sensation…like a form of torture.
"And, all the while, they felt they were doing the right thing," she thought quietly, a slight frown appearing on her brow.
Hermione licked her lips again, moving her head to one side. She was very thirsty…her mouth felt rather sandy. She assumed that it was the after-effect of the potion that Severus had given her. A small price to pay for feeling so much better.
"Would you like a glass of water?" The voice came from very close by…her hearing was obviously still rather muffled from sleep…she had almost thought…
"Yes…that would be lovely," she sighed contentedly. Still heavy with sleep, she felt someone touch a glass to her lips and she drank greedily.
"Not too much at once…slowly, now," the voice spoke again.
She drank again, taking slow deliberate sips of the cool water. It relieved the tightness in her throat and dryness in her mouth. When there was no more, the glass was taken away and she sank into the soft comfort of her pillow. She could hear footsteps…and an unfamiliar scent.
"Thank you, Severus," she whispered, quite willing to go back to sleep.
There was a short laugh…it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up…reminding her suddenly of Wormtail.
"I am not Severus, my dear. Nor am I Edward." She felt the bed move and a sudden warmth…of someone next to her.
Struggling, Hermione opened her eyes. In the bright midmorning light, it took several seconds before her eyes could focus on the man who was sitting on her bed with a cruel smile on his face. Fully awake now, she gasped and backed away from him in fear…her hand automatically reaching for her wand…and not finding it.
"Looking for this?" He held out her wand teasingly, dangling it between his thumb and forefinger.
"Who are you?"
"I think you already know the answer to that question," he leaned closer to her…causing Hermione to shrink away from him even further.
"How should I know who you are? Where am I? Where have you taken me?"
The man stood up and smirked. "You are no longer at Thornfield."
"That," she replied tightly, pulling the bed sheets tightly around her, "is plainly obvious."
He suddenly leaned down and looked at her appraisingly. "Don't you know who I am?"
Hermione took a closer look at the stranger. Fair hair and blue eyes which sparkled like ice…she was suddenly reminded of Lucius Malfoy…that same coldness…that same capacity for cruelty. Hermione shrank as far away as possible from the man.
And then she realized who it must be.
"St. John Rivers!" She exclaimed.
"Very good, Jane…yes," St. John nodded and straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yes, I am your suffering cousin."
Hermione was not certain whether or not the man knew who she really was.
"I thought you went on missionary work in the Far East," she commented, meeting his eyes and not flinching in revulsion. Her thoughts went back to Severus. Was he all right? How had she gotten here? And where exactly was she?
"I have only recently returned…the Lord's work is tedious and the weather far too hot for one such as myself. Being a sacrifice to some outdated set of rules of conduct lost its panache."
"You gave up…did you find you could not save any heathen souls…or were they put off by your pleasing personality," Hermione was getting angry.
"Temper. Temper, my dear Jane," he drawled.
"Where am I?"
"Oh, well as to that, you are at the country home of my dear friend, Blanche Ingram," St. John walked over to the window and looked outside for a moment.
"Blanche Ingram is your friend?" Hermione asked incredulously.
"Oh, yes…she is indeed my friend. A powerful friend. Always a good idea to have powerful friends. She was the one to bring you here. A bit of a trade, you could say."
Hermione's mouth opened in shock. "What have you done with…Edward? Where is he?"
"He probably does not even know you are missing yet, dear Jane," St. John smirked, brushing some hair away from his eyes.
"You hate him," Hermione whispered, eyeing the fair-haired man warily.
"Of course I hate him! I would have thought that to be blatantly obvious. The great Edward Rochester. The proud, puissant brute of a man. Wealthy. Fearsome temper. Handsome. Could have had any woman he wanted…"
"Except…" Hermione ventured, a small spark of hope igniting in her heart.
"Except, for some reason which defies any logical explanation, he decided on you. A woman of no family and no connections and no money."
"You make it sound as if these are the only things that matter," Hermione replied quietly.
"Oh, I apologize but I am not one of those who believes in love eternal. I do not quote Shakespearian sonnets in my spare moments or go traipsing around sighing and swooning over a woman who is seemingly unattainable. I am a practical man, dear Jane. If I want someone, I have them."
"And you call Severus…or Edward, rather, a brute of a man," she thought to herself, wishing that she had her wand.
"Affairs of the heart are fickle and tiresome. After all…it is all about those brief moments of physical pleasure…and the ability to pay for more."
"What about Blanche?" Hermione asked, struggling to keep her voice from shaking.
"She has been after Edward Rochester for a very long time. And Blanche Ingram is not the sort of witch to sit idly by while a governess of no good account steals him away," St. John replied, still looking out the window.
"Blanche is a witch?"
"Yes, dear Jane," he turned back to her. "She is a very powerful witch…very powerful. It would not do to upset her. Bad things happen to people who upset her."
"She is a Dark Witch," Hermione spat out, disgusted.
"Well, I suppose you could look at it that way. I do not see Light and Dark or Good and Evil. Once, long ago, I did see these things…as I worked in the Lord's name, trying to make some impression on the world with my limited resources. But these are illusory ideas that have no bearing in reality. Now, I see the truth. I see power…those who have it…as well as those who don't. I prefer to stick with those who have it," St. John explained, his eyes glittering madly.
"What about you? Are you a Dark Wizard as well?" Hermione asked, shuddering with revulsion.
A curious mélange of expressions crossed St. John's face. Rage. Disgust. Fear. In a moment, he managed to control himself, although Hermione noticed that his fists were clenched tightly.
"I have no magical ability…that particular gift went to my sisters but not to me," he replied in a voice that harboured deep resentment…he was practically snarling.
"He's a squib?" Hermione thought to herself in surprise. She relaxed somewhat…at least he would not be able to curse her.
"My wonderful, perfect sisters. Oh yes. I have heard all the lovely things that have been said about them. They are healers, Jane. They offer their services to the community, particularly the poor and the destitute. Trying to make a difference in their pathetic, useless lives. They are touted as good Samaritans…never taking a fee for the comfort that they bring. Always a smile for each dirty brat of a child. No one is beneath them…not even the filth-encrusted beggar in the streets."
He banged one fist against the wall repeatedly…causing the room to shake somewhat. A vase on a nearby table toppled over and fell to the ground…shattering into many pieces. Hermione put her hands over her ears and closed her eyes.
When the shaking stopped, she opened her eyes slowly and put her hands down. He looked spent…weary for a moment…as if all the energy that had sustained the outburst was all the energy he had to give. He turned to her and she was surprised to see that the rage and the anger were still there.
"All my life…no one has ever had anything to say to me. It was always my sisters this and my sisters that. I was nothing. I was less than nothing," he said quietly.
"But your sisters…they…they never mistreated you," Hermione ventured…uncertain as to what she should say and hoping she was not inadvertently dragging the conversation into more dangerous waters.
"Oh, they were very nice to me," St. John replied derisively. "I could see the pity in their eyes. I could see that they thought themselves so much better than me…just because they could do a bit of silly wand waving and I could not. And I tried…I tried everything. Nothing. Not one bloody spark of ability."
He held out her wand that he had been holding in his other hand and waved it. Nothing happened. It was like an ordinary stick of wood in his hands. For just a brief moment, Hermione felt sorry for him.
"You see? Nothing. Useless. Always useless. But not any longer. Now, people will have to pay attention to me," he eyed her like a predator about to pounce. "Now I have Blanche. She understands me. She listens to me. She makes me feel as if I am useful. It is not within her power to give me magical abilities but there are other compensations. I give her what she wants…and I get what I want."
"What does she want?"
St. John raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Why, you stupid woman, she wants Edward Rochester…at least, she wants his money…his entire estate."
Hermione's heart leapt into her mouth and she had to take a moment before she trusted herself to speak. "And you, St. John. What do you want?"
"I want the one thing that has been denied me before. I want you, Jane…and I am willing to do anything to get you," he pocketed her wand and grinned at her insolently.
"Including taking me by force?" She asked, her chin high and her eyes blazing.
"I prefer to look at it as exercising my duties as a future husband. After all, the vows of marriage include obedience. And you will learn obedience, Jane," he walked towards the bed and sat down upon it.
"Bastard," she practically hissed at him.
St. John smiled again. "Yes, that is exactly what my dear father thought when I was born. Unfortunately, I am just as much his child as I am my mother's. He thought he treated me just as he did my sisters but I could see through his artifice. I am not a fool…I could practically smell his insincerity. I was a disappointment to him…the only son and heir…with no magical ability. Well, I will show him…I will show them all!"
Suddenly, St. John pounced on her, pushing her down to the bed and pinioning her wrists with his hands. Hermione struggled and screamed…his laughter provoking a terrible reaction inside her. She had heard similar laughter before and she desperately tried to free herself from his vice-like grip.
"Poor little Jane…all alone and without a wand to play with," he whispered as he leaned down to kiss her throat.
"You can't keep me here! I don't belong here! My home is elsewhere!" Hermione began to scream, tears in her eyes as she tried to kick at him in an effort to get him off of her. She bit his hair and pulled hard, making him shout with anger.
"Slattern!" He yelled at her as he slapped her soundly across the face, making her see stars…more tears springing to her eyes.
With a grunt, St. John let go of her suddenly and stood up, rearranging his clothing as if nothing had happened. Hermione massaged her cheek gingerly. She tried to hold back the tears…trying to dredge up some of that celebrated Gryffindor strength and courage.
"Tears, Jane? Really, you should not be crying. After all, weddings are said to be a happy occasion."
"Whose wedding?" Hermione asked, wiping at her eyes and imagining the many ways she would kill him if she had her wand.
"Why ours, dear Jane," St. John replied happily.
Hermione glared at him. "I will never marry a man such as yourself."
"Damned hypocrite of a woman. You're no better than my sisters for all their supposed saintliness. You think I am somehow less of a man simply because I can't perform magic?" His expression was one of growing fury.
"You are not a man…magical or not. And besides, my heart belongs to another," Hermione declared.
St. John laughed…a cruel sound that hurt Hermione's ears. "How quaint. Your heart belongs to that fool, Rochester. I don't want your heart, Jane. He can have that. I want the rest of you."
Hermione's eyes opened in shock.
"You wouldn't dare!"
"Dare what, dear Jane," St. John mocked as he looked at her. "Dare take what Rochester has obviously taken again and again. I saw him down at the apothecary's shop…searching frantically for the ingredients for a fever-reducing medicine. Strange to see an employer taking such trouble for nothing more than a paid servant. Or are your wages paid by other means?"
"I will not dignify such accusations with a reply," Hermione was mortified although a secret part of her was deliriously happy. Severus had been worried about her…had ventured out of Thornfield in an effort to save her. Did that mean that he cared about her…perhaps as more than just a friend?
"It does not matter…you are no longer bound to him…you will enter into a new contract with me. You will be my bride, Jane. You will be mine and, in time, you will learn to appreciate my…many redeeming qualities."
And that was when Hermione felt something strange…St. John was blurring slightly around the edges. And her mouth felt dry again. She swayed slightly as she sat and looked around herself in alarm.
"What is happening to me?" She shouted in a sudden panic, feeling dizzy…her vision slowly blurring even further. Had he poisoned her? Was she dying?
"There are many non-magical ways to induce cooperation, Jane. The water that you so hastily drank was laced with a powerful variant of the drug opium. It is highly addictive…take it three or four times and your body begins to crave it so desperately that your mind will think of nothing else. Not food…not water…not your own scruples about the man who is making love to you…as long as you have it."
Hermione fell back onto the bed…her mind flying…her heart racing…vision almost completely foggy.
"I will have you, dear Jane…and I will make you so dependent on me that you will not be able to imagine life without me in it," St. John laughed in triumph as the blackness consumed Hermione's vision.
"Severus…" she thought dazedly, feeling the rush of chemicals in her blood…like being on Harry's Firebolt during a Quidditch match…helpless to stop the traitorous thought…that she wanted this again.
The last thing she heard before succumbing to the whirling darkness was the sound of icy cold laughter…and, in her drug-hazed mind, it sounded exactly like Lucius Malfoy.