Mate on Soft Paws

1. Two Paws Too Many

Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter or Twilight nor will I ever

This is SLASH don't read if you don't like, if you do then please ENJOY!!!

'Thoughts'

~*~

Good boys don't cry.....

Harry forces himself to remember as the blows keep coming. They keep coming, aimed perfectly to inflict pain to draw out a cry. He bites his lip to keep a cry from escaping and squeezes his eyes closes tighter to trap the tears.

Bones braking into pieces as his already broken body receives its punishment.

Good boys don't scream

"You freaks need to learn discipline and manners. Right, boy?" Vernon wraps two fingers around his chin and drags his face closer.

"Yes sir." He answers

"Good little freak." His hand moves to Harry's hair yanking his head back to the floor, his head meets the floor with a loud SMACK. There is a sharp metallic tasting liquid in his mouth. Blood. Such a familiar taste that it's almost comforting, reminding him if he can still taste he is still alive.

Good boys always listen

Just need to live one day at a time. He can't think about tomorrow because there is no guarantee that he will be there to see it. He wants to able to know that there is a tomorrow for him but there is only so much his hurt can take and it is already just barely beating. So weak. Wanting to just give in to that blissful peace that's waiting for him to give up.

He hears laughter coming from somewhere in the room, Vernon's lips are tightly shut in concentration so it didn't come from him. Maybe he was finally going crazy, a real genuine freak, his uncle will be happy to know he was right. He laughs instead it comes out as a pained gasp since at the same time a fist cuts off all air as it collides with his throat.

Choking and sputtering he tries to take a breath, his lungs refuse any attempt and he lies wheezing on the floor.

His body aches, he doesn't even need to look to know that every inch of skin is battered and bruised. It takes a lot of effort to not curl up, and protect his frail body, each time he knew another blow was coming.

Wincing when he feels something cold gently caressing along the length of his spine.

'No please not this.' Shuttering at the feeling, he knows what is coming and there is no way of stopping him now. Tears silently escape as waits for the familiar pain to consume him.

He cries out when more pressure is put on the blade and it breaks through skin and just as quickly the cutting stops. The action is repeated somewhere else on his back causing him to cry out again. Again and again small shallow cuts are made. Not deep enough to kill him from blood loss but just deep enough to leave a scar. A reminder that this is what he deserves because it is what he asked for by being a freak and a whore and nobody cares about me. He knows this because his uncle told him, and his family wouldn't lie to him, they couldn't.

Another slice of that heartless blade leaves him feeling weaker, not too weak that he doesn't cry out each time it breaks new skin, but just too weak to care that it hurts. It hurts so much each new cut drawing more blood away. Each cut leaving him gasping for the air his scream took away. Each cut hurting less because his body is feeling lighter. Each cut reminds him that no one will come and save him.

"Look at this mess you made." He grabs Harry by the hair again and pushes his face into a puddle of his own blood. "You better clean it up."

"Yes sir." He says weakly.