Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J.K Rowling. Anything you don't recognize belongs to me, so please do not plagiarize. I am making no profit off of this. It is purely for fun.

Author's Note: A special thanks goes to my lovely beta-reader Kat! She is amazing and helped me very much with this fic. Getting a beta was the best thing I could have done for my story, and I suggest you get someone to beta yours as well!

Rain beat down on the Corner house as dark storm clouds filled the sky. The lightening battled the ominous gray clouds and won, as a spectacularly bright bolt pierced the night. Thunder crashed as heavy droplets beat down on the glass windows, as loud as a soldier's march. The dismal scene was a sign of foreboding, and mirrored what was happening inside of the small cottage. Frank Corner, husband and father of two, lay dead on the floor, no blood in sight. Instead a faint trace of green light could be seen radiating off of his form, the only remnants of the curse that killed him.

Showing no mercy, his attackers, hooded in black, continued to destroy the once quaint house. An antique vase crashed into a wooden china cabinet, shattering the glass, which scattered everywhere. One man set fire to a large armchair in the corner, his white-blond hair that peaked from beneath his hood, gleaming under the light of the flame. He turned to a girl, no older than eleven, who was huddled in the corner beneath a table. "Get out of there you little bitch," he snapped at the girl. She didn't budge. Infuriated, he whipped out his wand. "Do you know who I am? Do you understand what you're doing by disobeying me? Now I suggest you get the hell out of there you filthy little girl or there will be hell to pay". "Rebecca, stay put!" screamed her mother, who was being restrained by a man with his hand around her throat, who had just taken her wand away. The man with the silvery hair whipped around to face her, and slapped her dead across the cheek. "If you don't come out of there this instant I will have your mother killed, and you my dear, will have the fortune of watching it." His thin lips curled into a sneer and the first wrinkles of aging that surrounded his eyes crinkled. It was visible that he was enjoying this immensely. At this, Rebecca crawled out from beneath her hiding place and stood before the deatheater, her hands clenching in her pockets. She held her chin up and stared the nasty man square in the eye. "Now, I see it fit for you to remove you dress," snarled the man. The girl's mother gasped from her spot in the corner. "Do it, you filthy little bitch".

"I won't do it," stated the girl, with only a small waver in her voice. "Perhaps this might change your mind". And with that, the deatheater had his wand out and ready, aiming at the girl and muttering a single word.

"Crucio".

The girl's screams echoed off the walls as she writhed in pain. Her hands were fisted in the rug beneath her as the man continued to send the curse her way. As her mother stood bawling in the corner, she tried to remain strong and endure as much of this pain as she could. Her brother had warned her of this before, when he returned from his fourth year of his school, where he was receiving training as a wizard. That had been a year ago, and as a nine-year-old child she never considered the reality of her brother's words.

She knew that things were not well in the magical world, but as a child she never gave much thought to it. In her mind, magic came with no badness, just spells, broomsticks, and interesting creatures. Being of age ten, for all she knew she could be receiving a letter by owl as an invitation to a magical castle in just a few short months The thought normally excited her, but now it brought tears to her eyes. Tears of sadness that were mixed with the tears being created by the excruciating pain being jolted throughout her entire body.

The magical world that Michael spoke of had always seemed so beautiful, so unreal. As the youngest child of a magical family, she had been forced to watch as her older brother got to practice magic while she sat and watched. Using magic had always been an ongoing fantasy, and her dream of being a powerful witch became more real with each greatly anticipated day to her eleventh birthday in July.

When Michael had told her of the war a year ago, she had shrugged it off, still immersed in her fantasies of turning buttons into gumdrops and flying on broomsticks. Now that she was feeling the pain herself, seeing her father dead on the floor by the hand of some dark wizard, she understood that there was a dark side of the magical world too.

After what seemed like hours, she felt the pain somewhat subside, although her body was still reeling with the aftershocks of whatever horrible spell, or was it a curse? That had hit her.

"Now I think we might be a little bit more eager to cooperate, isn't that right?" said the sneering man in black robes. "Now take off that dress of yours before I have to rip it off myself. We wouldn't want it to tear, it's so very lovely," he remarked in a singsong voice.

As Rebecca opened her mouth to protest, her mother beat her too it. "Becca, don't you listen to a wor—"

"Shut your mouth, you bitch!" With one quick motion of his arm and two strange-sounding words from his lips, Rebecca saw her mother crumple to the ground in a flash of green light. Rebecca's jaw dropped when she realized that her mother was dead, and she was left alone with two strange men who would surely kill her.

"Where's my brother?" she screamed. Tears were pouring down her face. She felt as if her soul had left her when she saw her mother fall to the ground. If she could find Michael maybe he could use what he learned at that school to get her out of there…

"I wouldn't count on seeing him anymore, love," cooed the evil man, staring at her with his ever-present grin. She didn't think he would even be half bad looking if he wiped that stupid sneer off his face. As realization dawned on her at his words, she sank to the floor, overcome by grief. The only conclusion she could come up with was that they had killed Michael, too. Shaking with fear, she curled up in a ball and leaned against the wall, hoping that this was only some terrible nightmare. The man yanked her up, and held her close to him.

"Now it's time for the real fun to begin, my dear," he whispered.

He used his wand to silence the screams that escaped her lips as she felt his cold hands unfastening the back of her dress.

Ron Weasley woke up in a sweat. Still half asleep, he swore under his breath, wishing that it had only been a nightmare this time. He felt a soothing hand on his forehead, as he felt his head hit the pillow. The last thing he remembered before he drifted off was a soft, gentle voice, and a cloud of bushy brown hair.