This work is in no way related to J.K. Rowling and entirely my own plot line. This is a reposted work from a few years ago when I wrote on this site as EmiriiVamon. Unfortunately I can't access that account anymore so I'm reposting my work here. I will be updating it regularly, if you read it back in 2008 with new chapters.

Thanks for reading! Please review!

Chapter 1

The most intense pain the child had ever experienced ripped through his body—for the second time that month. He shook with the urge to scream, but lacked the capability. Six year olds lungs only lasted so long before giving out. His torturer stood to the side, uninterested. He had grown bored with this charade weeks before; only the need to finish the project kept him moving. The pain he inflicted was done mechanically, without any real emotion to relate why he committed such an act.

After another minute of the small boy convulsing on the wooden table the tall man flicked his wrist and the pain stopped ripping through nerve endings. The boy went slack with relief and shock. After so long under the inflictions you began to forget what it felt like to feel such pain, and who gave it to you.

"Will you misbehave again, pet?" the mans voice was a soft menace lancing fear through the child's crouched form.

Tears ran silent down his filthy face; his mouth moved but no sound emerged. The emphatic shaking of his head made his answer quite clear in its absence. The straps holding him down disappeared and he rolled to collapse on the stone flooring.

"You are going to be good?" the question was kinder, more understanding. This is what the boy craved. The moments when he was shown kindness. He nodded his consent, daring to look up with imploring eyes at his savior. He'd learned his lesson; he'd behave. The man gave a small smile; he felt a sort of affection for the boy—sort of.

"You may return to your room, pet."

The boy needed no further encouragement. He fled the room at the fastest speed a limp would allow. There would be plenty of time for him to give into the pain once he was in the safety of his own room. Alone.

The man could see the splinters from the table lining his soft fleshy back as he retreated. The house elves would have a hell of a time getting those out of him tonight. He smiled again. But it quickly became a grimace as he looked back at his work table.

"That was boring." He muttered, cleaning the blood of his station with a flick of his empty hand.

Behind him the wall slid aside to reveal a shorter man with pale blonde hair; his slender, nearly nude body was sporting only a pair of boxer briefs.

"Torturing the chitlins doesn't do it for you anymore, doll." The aristocratic voice hissed in his ear, pale arms wrapped possessively around his waist. His pale glowing physique contrasted sharply with the dark underground room. The taller redhead turned around in his lovers arms, a true smile curving his face into a more pleasant mask.

"Not really, love. Their begging gets old and they never know anything interesting. Remind me why we don't take their parents." He nuzzled the blonde's neck.

"Because, Ron, taking their children weakens their morality. Break the spine, destroy the body. Their children are their biggest weakness, What better way to control that blasted Order than to turn their own children against them. I don't agree with a lot that the Dark Lord does, but this plan was definitely ingenious."

"Right, of course." Ron nipped the smaller mans neck, "I'm still bored, Dray."

Draco Malfoy sighed. It always came down to this. Once the child was broken and made to forget Ron got bored. He wanted someone new, something fresh. Once they were trained they didn't need the torture as much. Making Ron do it anyway was always a chore. A pleasant chore, but still a chore.

"Really Ron I thought you'd love torturing Potter's boy. It's not every day the Dark Lord hands over such a treat and gives us free rein. I thought Granger's girl was as good as we'd get."

Ron sat down on the recently vacated table.

"Draco… he's finished. No longer does he remember his old name, or life, or parents. All he knows is that table and us. The boy can barely speak unless we tell him its okay. For merlin's sake! I don't want to hurt him anymore, he doesn't need it. Have Him send me another. It's time to send the boy back."

Ron's voice dripped with bitterness. This part was always the hardest for them. Sending the children back to their forgotten parents. Despite being his primary source of pain Ron became attached to the brats during their stays at their Manor. He knew eventually they'd be back, but it still hurt to send children he considered his own now back to the people they had grown to despise. He'd molded those children into what they were now. In his mind that made them more his than any biological parent's.

Draco understood and pressed a hard kiss to his forehead. The two had been together since their fifth year at Hogwarts, right after Dumbledore bit the bullet. But it wasn't until after they'd graduated seven years before that Ron had thrown off his façade of goodness and turned his back on his family, friends, and ally's. They'd taken the Dark Mark together that summer without a doubt in their minds that this is where they belonged. In the years following that Ron had become the most sadistic man Draco knew. Which suited him fine with his secret submissive personality. Draco was as devoted to Ron as Ron was to him. Where one went the other went, it was their only condition when they'd taken the Mark. Don't get between us.

"I'll send him home ShadowMail, kay." Draco grinned, climbing into Ron's open lap, "What was his real name again?"

"James." Ron spat," disgusting isn't it?"

"Revolting."

Draco leaned down and licked Ron's neck, sucking the soft flesh into his mouth.

"This table has other uses you know."

Ron grinned at Draco, turning him around to lay under him on the table. "Box the kid up later."

Clothes disappeared and hands groped, finding their favorite places to tease and taunt. Grinding hips drowned out the sound of faint crying upstairs.

Harry Potter held the magical disk in his hand as it replayed his sons latest session on the wooden table. It had been delivered that morning by an untraceable, silver owl who'd disappeared the moment aurors had tried to tail it. Hermione Granger looked away from her distraught friend, there was nothing she could say. There'd been nothing anyone could say to her either when it had happened to Tanya.

"Bloody Fuck!" Harry screamed, throwing the disc across the room at the shamed Aurors at the door. They'd been on the case since the day his son had disappeared three and a half months ago. Hermione put a hand on his heaving shoulders to comfort him. Her daughter had been returned to her six months ago after a four month disappearance. Tanya still hadn't spoken to anyone or let them touch her without her throwing a fit. The only phrase she kept repeating with any clarity was:

"They'll come back for me. They promised."

Hermione hadn't slept in almost a year; she understood the state Harry was in and knew it was never going to get better at this rate. Even if his son returned.

The hardest part of the whole situation to swallow was that it was Ron. He'd never bothered to try and cloak or disguise his presence in the room. Harry had run to the bathroom to puke when they'd been told the identity of the assailant had been confirmed as one Ronald Bilius Weasley. Hermione had passes out in shock. Their best friend was destroying their children.

After seventh year had ended and he'd moved in with Draco Malfoy they'd stopped hearing from him. All their owls were returned with snide remarks from Malfoy scribbled across the top that said to leave them alone. After awhile they'd given up. Now this. Now he was back and torturing their children. Sometime Draco was in the images, smiling at them, stroking the children's hair, or hanging on Ron while he operated what appeared to be wandless magic.

"Why can't we find them? Their sending us these every fucking couple of weeks?!" Harry was beside himself, ripping hair, tossing furniture over. Hermione stood to the side and let him wreck the living room. Wild eyes implored the Aurors to give him a positive answer, something, anything that would put a little hope back in this situation.

Moody stepped forward, head bowed. "He's using a new type of magic that so far has proved untraceable. He's not using a wand so there's no way to track a maker. Harry knocked an ornate vase off the end table by the door; his fist collided with the wall in front of him. Tears ran like painful spikes down his face. Hermione put her head on her lap. She knew it was hopeless; her Tanya was proof of that.

A/N

This story has been edited slightly from its original posting and I'd love some fresh feedback on what you think. I'm working on new chapters now and can't wait to show what I've done.