"This will leave a scar. Whatever he used had a poison in or on it. It'll never go away."
Bill Weasley was carefully healing Rainne's wounds, wiping away the black blood. Though, from the few scars on her side when he was healing her broken rib, he realized that she'd been through worse. She was a fighter, and that was enough to make him respect her as one of higher rank than he. In both personality and spirit. She'd been through more pain than he had, and he knew, with the wisdom of fighting in the Order before and being a murderer himself, that she would do whatever it took to do what was expected of her. It was who she was, or who she was brought up to be.
After a moment of her staring intently at the far wall, she let out the smallest of sighs and spoke in a quiet, but strong nonetheless, voice. "It won't matter. I'll get over it. My physical appearance has nothing to do with this war..."
Knowing even as he said it it was false, Bill cringed and sealed the wound in her left cheek. "Your followers will see it as a lack of knowledge."
Her head snapped so fast he immediately was reminded of a viper ready to attack, hiding in stealth for the correct moment to strike. "They won't think that, Weasely. Not if I curse them to show them how much it bloody well --" She broke off and turned her head again, glaring daggers at the far wall.
Another silence insued and after the serious injuries were tended to, she quickly stood and left for the dining room, leaving a perplexed Bill in her wake.
"We're starting training today, Potter, after you get adequate rest." Rainne said neutrally to the teenage boy, who looked at her with those challenging green eyes without a horrid flinch like he had last time. They were sitting at opposite ends of the long dining table. It was still black as death outside, in the early rise of the morning. Neither had slept, though Ginny and a few of the others had called it a night. They were alone at in the dining room. Remus had left, along with Alastor and Arthur.
"Training for what, exactly?" His eyebrows were raised slightly. Sitting at the end of the table like a king on his throne, (and no doubt he felt that way) she could have sworn he was a Slytherin.
With a small, light laugh, she smirked and shook her head disbelievingly. "Are you that thick, Potter?"
"I'm already trained in stealth and caution--"
"You can't survive my uncle's wrath with stealth and caution!" Her eyes momentarily blazed as she interjected. "You need to be better at weaponry. Including the rather vulgar substitutes for weapons Muggles use, as well as in rather advanced Dark Magic."
"And if I don't want to divulge in this O-so-intruiging Dark Magic?" Harry's voice betrayed the smirk on his face. Was he actually countering her?
Emitting a slight growl, Rainne took a drink of her goblet, filled with a red liquid that nobody at the table could make out. "Then you die."
This didn't take the smirk off his face; on the contrary, he lowered his eyebrows, making it a bit more menacing. "I've died before."
"You've been possessed, Potter. Shared a body and mind with Voldemort... But trust me, you've never died. Perhaps wanted to, and I can confer with that. But death is nothing like you'd ever be able to imagine."
"Meaning?" The smirk slid off his face like stinksap.
"That death is much different than pain. Pain is an object of infliction, nerves, and whether or not you can keep your head and block it out. Death is inevitable. You can escape pain, Potter. You cannot escape death."
"I thought you knew something about me. Actually, I've escaped death quite a few times--"
"--And inflicted it, I might add--"
"--and I'm still here, aren't I?--"
"If you can call that absense of a mind 'here', than yes, I suppose so." She was smiling now. Her little Death Eaters couldn't give her a proper snap session, they were too afraid of her. But Potter could, and she rather liked snapping at someone who'd also been a murderer due to their birth, and not who they truly were.
"You make no sense to me."
"Good. The less you know of a person, the more options are available in their possible actions to keep you aware." She took another sip of the red liquid and set it back down on the table. "Sometimes the people you know and trust are the most likely to turn around and stab you in the back. Meaning," He'd opened his mouth to protest, but she pressed on. "That you can't trust anyone. Alastor may seem crazy, and on a level he very well may be, but he had the right things in mind when it comes to caution. But not action, Potter. That's why I'm here, being my Merlin-forbid traitorous self, so you can fight. Be bloody grateful."
"Oy! I didn't make you come here. Merlin's bathrobe, I didn't even know who you were or that you existed until two hours ago!"
"Temper, temper. We'll have to work on that too, I'm afraid." Rainne sipped her Bloodwyne, savoring the flavor of Siren blood and wine, select herbs and the tang of vodka.
His glare was frightening... to a worm. Though his eyes did flash. "How ever-so-thoughtful. I would have thought a Death Eater like you would also have a temper."
He stopped when she lifted her lip in a snarl worthy of a rabid wolf. "I am above such hypocrisy and scum, thank you. Never put my in the same category as a Death Eater, Potter." Her deadly whisper, which she saved for her worse moments, slithered from her tongue in serpentine, otherwise known as Parsletongue.
Vaguely startled, Harry narrowed his eyes and took a drink of his butterbeer. "I see. Think yourself above your worthless minions, then?"
With an immense show of self-control, Rainne brought her hand down from its striking position and blew heavily through her nostrils. Usually she didn't show revulsion or signs of peeves. And still, the thought echoed in her head, Damn incarnates.
"Hit a tick, didn't I?" Such malignity! Worthy of great-great-grandfather, Salazar, himself.
"Get your rest, Potter. Merlin forbid you'll need it." With a neutral air, she lifted her goblet, gave a mock toast and downed its contents before efficiently walking the height of the stairs.
With her gone, Harry was alone, and grateful for it too. How was he supposed to train in physical combat? His squabbles with Voldemort had been mostly magical or mental, nothing concerning his physical muscle or skill. Damn her! And by 'Muggle weaponry', did she mean firearms? Or blades? Merlin forbid it be explosives. They'd be pointless if Voldemort knew their presence.
Speaking of Voldemort sensing things, why couldn't he sense her lies? Maybe she was telling none? Now there's an idea. His own neice in the heart of the Order, training his fated enemy to kill him. But did that mean she was telling two truths? Or telling two lies? Perhaps shared blood gave way to immunity in Legilimency? Impossible. Occlumens? That was thinkable. She had the mental capacity for it. Harry had seriously doubted being able to do it himself, and in time became quite adequate at it, but nowhere near perfect.
But he had his own weapon. Yes. Meditation and a strong mental influence with emotional and physical pain had rendered him ready to fight back mentally against Voldemort. And one thing was clear, Voldemort hadn't been expecting it. Of course, Harry would still get painful episodes, such as the one earlier, but that was only when Voldemort personally induced pain or death. Though as often as it would sound, it only happened about three times a month, maybe more. He'd stopped keeping track after his fifth year at Hogwarts had ended.
Speaking of Hogwarts. Would she be going, too? Harry grinned at the idea of seeing the Slytherin's faces of terror if they recognized her; which they most likely would, considering she would be their leader if Harry succeded in killing him. The image of Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson bowing to their Mistress was enough to make him forget his butterbeer and laugh freely before running a tired hand through his hair and going up to bed.