I just couldn't let myself get any more graphic than that. Apologies? Not sure what to say there.
Still no Potter for me.
Kneeling wasn't a big deal. Really, all of his life he had spent kneeling. And the rest. The rest wasn't really a big deal either.
So what if he was hurt, so what if he couldn't even stand the thought of himself- of his vile skin defiling the world around him. So what. He deserved what he got. Really, the only reason that he didn't get even more punishment was because 'the family' could not be bothered, should not have to be bothered, with dealing with the likes of him. He was just a waste, a waste of air, a waste of time, and he knew it. It is why he couldn't help but be the slightest bit grateful whenever his master acknowledged him. Even, no, especially, during the special punishments. He hated them, but at the same time... he appreciated that his uncle took the time out of his busy life to spend with someone so sickening. It was a comfort in a way, and it made him hate it even more.
The punishment progressed. He apologized at the end of it. And he prepared to spend the night, or the next several nights, nursing his wounds alone. He had his own place for this, but specifically for times like this- for times when he had been bad. His uncle didn't even have to tell him. As soon as his uncle had started retreating back up the steps, Harry went into his box. It was another corner of the room, just a little cabinet, big enough even for him to sit if he so chose, and really not that much different from his cupboard. Except, it was so cold. Except, that the basement he was in was full of bugs. Except, that he knew that when he went in there he would have to shut the door all the way- and no light would be there to help him. Nothing would be there to help him. He would be all alone, in that box, for days. With no food, no water, naked, with no way to fight off any threat that might come.
But he went anyways. He had to, there was no other choice really. If he wanted to be good he had to do what he was told. And he wanted to be good, it was bad how much he wanted to finally just be good. He didn't really know what being 'good' would get him, but he knew that it was a good thing to want. His master wanted it for him, and so he tried. His master had been so pleased the first time the boy had put himself away in his box. Whenever the boy tried to be good by punishing away the badness, well sometimes anyways, sometimes he would be graced with a warm smile, or even a pat on the head! The more he hurt himself, the more he tried to show his master that he knew what he needed to do, the better the boy felt.
So he went as quickly as he could to the box. His bleach soaked skin and beaten body protested, but he just ignored it, it was best that way.
He crawled into his box, and took out the nail file that he had been given as a present for his good behavior, and he scratched. It wasn't as good as a knife. It didn't cut, it didn't make him disappear. It just helped him fade a bit.
He was good.