Rodney sat on the edge of his bed, clutching his left arm and trembling slightly. Oh, he knew he was being silly, that there was nothing to be afraid of. Nothing but muggles on Atlantis, they wouldn't know what it meant. Stupid muggles. He couldn't stand them, and yet he had been living among them since he was sixteen, had been playing around with their 'physics' and 'chemistry' after noticing how it resembled the magic he had been taught at birth was the only thing worth knowing. That muggles were lesser beings, not worthy even of notice.
He had stuck to that code, even when he'd faked his death after realizing that the Dark Lord wasn't going to let him go, except in death. He had to remain faithful to his parents, unlike his mongrel of a brother, and he had; to an extent. Could he help it if he enjoyed the challenge of working with muggle science?
And he had treated every muggle he had encountered with the condesencion they deserved as lesser beings than he. Until now. For some reason, he couldn't help but admire Elizabeth Weir, couldn't bring himself to speak down to her. And he couldn't understand why.
Rodney sighed and lay back on the bed, hoping she hadn't seen it, the mark that showed what he was: A true blood traitor. Voldemort (he shuddered at even thinking the name) wasn't trying to rid the world of muggles and muggle-borns. He was trying to rid the world of everyone who opposed him. He was, what amounted to, a despotic megalomaniac.
Elizabeth would be horrified at hearing what he'd done in the service of the Dark Lord and in the name of 'pure blood', Rodney knew. That strange feeling he'd got the moment he met her caused him to cringe at the thought. For the first time in his life, he craved the acceptance of someone other than his parents. How his mother would turn in his grave to discover that it was a muggle.
He reached over the top of his bed and brought out his one personal item. It was a long, rectangular ebony box with a name engraved into it, and it was the only thing he'd dared to get after his own funeral. He ran his fingers along the letters, savoring the feel of them before opening the box and staring at the instrument inside. His wand. Mahogany and unicorn hair, thirteen inches.
A chime at the door interrupted his thoughts and he thrust the box back in its hiding place. He didn't want any curious eyes to ask why he had something belonging to a Regulus Black.
He opened the door and couldn't stop the brief smile that came to his lips at the concern on Elizabeth's face. Even his mother hadn't been so concerned about him. She had known he was all right, because he was the perfect son and could do no wrong. Not like his stupid brother who had run away to play with the muggle loving Potter brat.
"Rodney?" Elizabeth's voice jerked him once more from the past and he gave an annoyed sigh.
"Yes? We were nearly roasted alive and I'd really like some time alone, if you don't mind, to recover."
The woman didn't buy it, her blue eyes twinkling with sardonic amusement. Damn, when had his act become so transparent? It was probably because he could only muster half the annoyance when he was around her, and that was more directed at himself than her.
"Roasted alive is hardly what would have happened. Steam baked maybe," she said softly, with a smile.
Rodney couldn't help but return the smile. "Oh that's much better," he said sarcastically, but without much heat.
Then he saw her face grow serious, and she opened her mouth to ask a question. Damn! She must have seen it! However, the question wasn't about the Dark Mark, and it threw him.
"Where did you get all those muscles?"