Hi everyone, Sianatra here! This is my new story, "Ravaged." It's a Rose/Scorpious fic, but don't make assumptions before you read it; this tale far defies any you have previously read about their relationship! Rose is a ninja, for lack of a better word, and Scorpius is an exceptionally talented genius who is somewhat proficient in the art of getting under people's skin. The two absolutely loathe each other from the second their eyes meet, and are determined to do the best they can to wreck complete and utter havoc on each other's lives.

So...let's let the battle begin, shall we?

Rose Weasley, Age 5

It was a bitterly cold day; so cold that the snow lying upon the ground had melded itself into a layer of impenetrable ice. So cold that anyone exhaling would soon find their breath frozen in a puffy cloud of air hanging motionless in front of them. So cold that the distinct feeling of being a Popsicle inside of a freezer was somewhat eminent in everyone's mind.

It was so cold, it hurt.

A small slip of a girl with ludicrously bushy, fiery orange hair sat on the curb of the sidewalk, sucking her thumb with a forlorn air and clutching an old, bedraggled teddy bear to her chest; it was beaten and torn, but she clung to it like a lifeline, burying her heavily freckled face into its patchy fur.

Her parents were too busy for her, too busy to care about her whereabouts, too busy to notice her absence. They were, of course, preoccupied with her younger brother, and as most cases of bad parenting go, they had forgotten all about this poor little girl, their other child.

She had been playing with some friends on the playground across the street, but as the day grew chillier, one by one, they were plucked away; now she was the only one left in sight on the street.

And it was cold.

So cold.

She shivered and snuggled deeper into the folds of her thin grey sweater, longing for warmth, desiring only to be back to her snug, cozy house, where a flickering fire always seemed to be lit and the smell of something good to eat never failed to haunt the cheery kitchen. She had tried opening the front door, but it had been firmly, resolutely locked. Even after knocking furiously and banging her tiny fists on the doorbell, her parents still hadn't answered.

And it was cold.

So cold.

So here she sat, a small, hunched figure, lonely and forgotten. Her huge brown eyes were slowly brimming full with tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. How could her parents just forget about her like this? She used to be their favorite, their golden child. She could do nothing wrong, and according to her mother's constant praise, she was perfect. A perfect little angel with a heart of love.

But then everything went wrong.

A few years went by, and a sniveling, pathetic excuse for a baby took her place. Her mother and father would swoon over her younger brother constantly, and this little girl would slip into the shadows, unnoticed, perhaps to cry, perhaps to escape and lament over how unfairly things had changed, and how badly her life had taken a turn for the worse. Her parents barely cast her a single glance anymore; they were simply too caught up in attending to their infantile son's demanding needs.

It hurt. It hurt so bad.

And it was cold.

So cold.

So cold that it hurt.

The tears that had been gathering in the little girl's eyes finally splashed over, and it was as if a raging faucet had been turned on. The salty drops of water streamed down her cheeks, down the bridge of her nose, down the collar of her shirt, down, down, down. It was cold. It hurt. She was sad. She was angry. She wanted to be loved again. So, so much.

All of a sudden, a lanky figure approached her. He was walking down the sidewalk, shivering, but then he caught sight of her, crying and wrapping her teddy bear in a death grip. His face broke out into a sneer.

"Aw, how pitiful, is the wittle bittle gwirl cwrying?" he asked, imitating a mock baby voice. An arrogant grin resided on his face as he neared her at a brisk stride, hands in his pockets, looking thoroughly entertained by the scene taking place. "Whatcha got there, cutie? Is that a wittle bittle tweddy bear?" Laughing, he scooped the unfortunate animal out of her arms and took a few quick steps back. "Is the wittle girly scared to get tweddy back from the big boy?"

At this point, most girls would have started bawling their eyes out and throwing a hissy fit.

But not this girl.

All of the sadness, the anger, and the cold that had cultivated inside of her tiny body boiled up. Her heart beat with a fierce sort of wrath, and she knew that the only thing that mattered now in the whole world was this: Get Teddy back. She assessed the situation, eyes glinting with fury, head cocked to the side in a somewhat sinister way. The boy was big, nearly three times larger than herself, but she observed that he was not as strong as he looked; his baggy clothing hid weak, thin limbs. He would be easy to bring down.

Letting out a small little war-whoop, she flung herself at the tall boy, an evil blaze in her usually sweet chocolate brown eyes.

"What the – bloody dementors!" the boy screamed, trying to shove his small attacker off. His attempts were feeble, however, and she continued to kick, slap, punch, and bite with unstoppable vengeance.

"I – want – Teddy!" she demanded.

She pummeled her tiny fists into the boy's ribcage, biting whatever flesh was made available to her.

"I – WANT – TEDDY!" she insisted again. "Give – him – back!"

"Aaarrrrrrrrgh!"

The boy attempted to retreat, but the girl followed.

"I – WANT – TEDDY!" she repeated, kicking the boy in the shins until he collapsed to the ground, begging for mercy.

"Fine!" he managed to choke out. "I'll give you your stupid bear back!"

He tossed the dirty, forlorn-looking stuffed animal to the street beside him, wheezing. "Take him," he begged faintly. "Take him and leave."

The little girl smiled brightly, all anger gone, and picked Teddy off the ground. She hugged him tightly and planted a sweet little kiss on the bridge of his nose. "You're all right now," she comforted her bear, patting him on the back. "That big boy won't hurt you anymore."

She whirled back around to the boy. "You won't, will you?"

He nodded his head mutely, to afraid to speak.

"Good," the girl said, apparently satisfied.

And with that, she trotted back to her curb and sat down primly, as if nothing had happened.

As for the unlucky boy, he crawled away as fast as his heavily bruised legs could carry him.

Rose Weasley, Age 11

Beep. Beep. BEEP! BEEP!

My alarm clock was being overly insistent this morning, and with a grumble, I slammed my fist down upon it, instantly cutting off the bothersome noise. With a resigned sigh, I snuggled deeper under my covers, until my whole head was obscured by the wonderfully thick sheets; they blocked the bright morning light that streamed in through my window and enabled me to fall asleep once again…

"Rosie Posie!" a whiny voice yelled, interrupting my idle fantasies of catching a few more minutes of rest. "It's breakfast time; you've got to get up!"

I mumbled something incoherent and delved deeper under my sheets.

"Get up, Rosie, I'm warning you!" my younger brother threatened. The impending risk of his tiny wrath had no effect whatsoever on me, and I rolled my eyes. "Bring it on, little bro," I mumbled.

With a triumphant outcry, he bounced onto my bed and began pounding my back.

"That's all you've got?" I murmured, unimpressed. His small fists felt more like a gentle massage than a heated attack.

"No," he said defiantly. "I can hurt you more if I want to!" With this statement, he began to jump up and down on my back as if it were a trampoline. I had to admit that allowing my brother this carefree abuse of my body was getting rather out of hand.

Grunting, I emerged from beneath my covers and grabbed him by the ankles. As a wide yawn broke over my face, I got out of bed, stood up, and for good measure, swung him around my head a few times. His spinning session being over, I caught him in my arms and lowered him to the ground. He glared at me angrily before stumbling out of my room.

"Mum wants you downstairs in five minutes!" he yelled furiously, and then departed. I could hear him tripping dazedly as he scrambled down the hall, and it brought me a small surge of satisfaction.

At least I was awake now.

Seeing as my fun had ended, I trudged over to my closet. I opened it, and stared at its contents glumly. Black, black, and more black. And old family friend of our parents once said that I looked very pretty in that color, seeing how nicely it contrasted with my fiery hair. My parents, seized by a sudden urge, replaced all the cute, multicolored garments in my wardrobe with tight, form-fitting black clothes. They, as well, believed the color to look nice on me; I, however, thought I looked quite like Halloween personified.

But I let them do it. I always let my parents do things like this for me.

It showed that they cared, even if their care was only slight.

Sighing, I removed a long black shirt from the back of the closet, along with some black leggings, knowing that if I had to wear the wretched color, I might as well do it with style. I pulled my nightshirt off my head and shrugged on the idiotic clothes. Barely sparing a glance in my mirror, I walked out of my room and made my way down the stairs.

As I descended the last step, the tantalizing smell of sizzling bacon hit my nose. Hugo's favorite. And mine too, though my parents probably didn't know it.

Shrugging, I took a seat at the table. Hugo and Dad were already there, looking impatient; Mum was bustling over with the food.

"Sorry it took so long, dears," she said apologetically, scooping delicious-looking bacon and scrambled eggs onto Hugo and Dad's plates. She picked up the bowl of eggs and walked back to the kitchen, but was halted in her tracks when a furious outburst made its way to my lips.

"MUM! Forgetting someone?"

"Sorry, Rosie sweetheart, forgive me…" Looking flustered, she came back to the table and deposited my serving of eggs and bacon onto my plate. "There you go, nice and hot…"

Her apologies didn't quench the anger that had risen up inside of me. She forgot.

She forgot to give me freaking food.

And I was sitting right there.

Was my family blind?

I dug into my eggs, looking mutinous. Mum joined us at the table with her own plate, and for a few minutes, there was an awkward silence as we all ate, not talking.

"So," Dad said, deciding to break the uncomfortable quietness. "What do you three want to do today?"

Mum played along. "I was thinking that maybe we could all go to the Quidditch game; it's the Holyhead Harpies against the Wimbourne Wasps, that'll be a nice match, won't it?"

Hugo squealed with delight. "Yes, yes, yes!" he agreed vehemently, shaking his head with fierce enthusiasm. "Let's watch Quidditch!"

"Rose?" Mum asked tentatively. "Is that okay?"

"Don't. Care." I muttered through clenched teeth, stabbing at my eggs with unnecessary force. Whatever they wanted to do was fine with me. I couldn't be bothered less if they wanted to go bungee jumping off a mountain in the Himalayas, or swimming with piranhas in the Amazon.

All of a sudden, a faint rapping noise resounded from the kitchen window. I looked up in surprise; perched on our sill was a handsome tawny barn owl with yellowed envelope attached to its leg.

Mum slapped her forehead in exasperation and hustled over to the window. "I completely forgot, Rosie, Hogwarts letters come today!" She raised the window and the owl hopped in gratefully, nibbling her finger in appreciation.

I stood up and made my way over to the window. I took the envelope from the owls leg and opened it. The first piece of parchment read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Dear Miss Weasley,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl no later than 31st July.

Yours Sincerely,

Neville Longbottom, Deputy Headmaster

The other piece of parchment read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Uniform:

First year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4. One winter cloak (black with silver fastenings)

Set Books:

All Students should have a copy of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllis Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

Other Equipment:

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter standard size 2)

1 set of glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set of brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS!

Mum sighed. "Well, I suppose Quidditch is out of the question for today; term starts in less than a week and we still have to buy Rose her wand and robes and everything."

"No Quidditch!" Hugo whined indignantly. "But I really, really wanted to go!"

Mum cast a despairing glance at Dad, her eyes wide and begging. "Ron, darling, do you think you could manage Rose's shopping if I took Hugo to the match?"

Dad looked hesitant. "I suppose…I sort of wanted to go to the game with you two…"

I quite nearly growled under my breath.

Noticing my expression, he hastened to add, "But going with Rose sounds like a splendid idea! Why don't we all meet at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes after shopping and the match? We can drop in, say hi to George…?"

Mum looked utterly thrilled with this idea and hustled Hugo off to get dressed for the match; I made my way back to the table and sat moodily, nibbling on my bacon.

"Well…" Dad said uneasily. "I'm going to…err…use the bathroom…be right back…"

He scrambled away, leaving me alone.

Alone.

Like I always was.

I finished breakfast, then put my plate on the counter.

Sighing, I rubbed my head. Today was going to be a long, long day.

"Come on, Rose," Dad said encouragingly. "Take pinch now, don't be afraid!"

Gingerly, I picked up some of the Floo Powder and held it away from my body, as if it were contaminated. It was my first "chimney-travel experience," (what Dad called it anyway), and the thought of eagerly leaping into a green fire was not exactly on the top of my priority list.

Never would be, I expected.

"Good, that's good," Dad praised. "Now all you have to do is throw that into the flames, step in, and say where you want to go…but make sure to speak clearly – don't cough, no matter what…keep very still; we wouldn't want you tumbling out of the wrong fireplace…and that's it, I suppose. Go ahead, I'll be right behind you."

How reassuring. He'd go and tell me all the instructions at once, expect me to remember them, then chuck me into a blazing fire.

What a loving parent. Considerate beyond belief.

Sighing, I tossed the silvery powder into the fire. Instantly, the flames leapt up, bright green and dazzling.

I stepped in. To my amazement, the fire lapped at my legs in a gentle way, so gentle, it was almost ticklish. "Diagon Alley," I said, loud and clear, making sure not to cough. Almost instantly, I felt myself spinning, spinning, spinning, until finally, in a swirl of dust and ash, I fell out of the fireplace…

I picked myself up haughtily and brushed the cinders from my clothes. Stupid fireplaces.

I raised my head to observe my surroundings, and an explosion of bright colors quite nearly assaulted me.

Colors.

Lots of colors.

They were everywhere; flashing on the posters that littered the sides of the streets; splashed across the vibrant objects bouncing about in the display windows; prominent on the vivid store signs.

Wizards and witches of all sizes and shapes rushed passed me, sporting numerous bags of magical merchandise, most accompanied by a child about my age. It suddenly struck me that they too were shopping for Hogwarts things, and judging by the bored looks on the children's faces, I was not alone on my plight to find the required books and equipment.

Moments after this conclusion, Dad tumbled out of the fireplace behind me. He shook the ash from his robes and coughed loudly. Upon seeing me he said, "Ah, Rosie, glad you made it. Where do you want to go first?"

I had no idea whatsoever; I just stared at him patronizingly and he seemed to take the hint.

"Right, right…never been to Diagon Alley before…how about Ollivander's? Start things off well, get a wand…"

At the mention of a wand, my heart did a funny little flutter in my chest. A wand. The object used to control magical power, the thing that enabled you to truly become a witch or wizard…

"Let's do that," I said, imaging choosing my wand, my wand choosing me. It was enough to send shivers down my spine.

"Right then," said Dad, looking pleased that we had managed to come to an agreement. "This way…"

He began shoving a path through the crowd, and I followed.

After a few hectic minutes of being jostled, pushed, and shoved, we made it to the shop, out of breath and panting slightly. And old sign hung above the doorway. Ollivander's it read. Makers of fine wands since 382 B.C.

With an excited look at Dad, I stepped inside.

To all you people out there who are horrified at Ron and Hermione's bad parenting, rest assured, this is simply Rose's perception of them. Sometimes they are a bit harebrained, yes, but in all, they are sweet, loving parents who only want her to be happy. :)

So...you like it so far? Feel free to leave a review, even if it is short - every one counts!