Harry Potter is never Harry with the Dursely's.
Boy, Waste of space, 𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬.
It'd always been like that, Ever since he was left on their doorstep as a baby, He hadn't even known his name until the start of Primary school.
Harry couldn't remember the day he'd learned it very clearly, as with most of his memories from childhood. But he had a vague memory of the first day of primary school, his reception teacher had been doing the register, he thinks, calling out each name on the list, receiving an enthusiastic "Here miss!" or an anxious "here" from the gathering of 4-5 year old's in the class, he thinks he'd been nervous that day. The only other child he'd 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 ever met was his cousin; Dudley, he'd never been to nursery unlike most children. The Dursley's hadn't thought it worth the money sending him, he had always stayed in his cupboard while Dudley was at nursery.
He remembers the teacher calling out the name Harry, staring around with a pinched expression, her narrowed blue eyes finally landing on him, The other children followed her line of sight until everybody was staring at him. Harry had blinked, confused at the stares. The teacher had cleared her throat then, staring more intensely at him, she brought her hand to her face, rubbing it with annoyance. Harry really doesn't know why teachers always seemed to hate him.
Harry met the eyes of Dudley, whose face was wrinkled up with laughter, giggles broke around the room as Harry stayed silent, feeling tears gathering with his humiliation , What was going on? He couldn't be Harry Potter, could he? His aunt and uncle had only ever called him boy.
He doesn't remember what happened next but he 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘭𝘺 remember's the fit aunt Petunia had pulled when his teacher had told her about the incident later that day. He'd been sent to the cupboard without tea that night, fresh bruises on his arms from where his uncle had dragged him, digging his porky fingers into Harry's frail skin.
Memories had always been a fluctuating thing in Harry's life, he could clearly remember little, and often irrelevant details from months ago, but for the the life of him couldn't remember major points of his childhood. Hermione once had told him it was probably the trauma, once Harry had come clean to her about the Dursley's treatment of him, a way for his mind to protect him from the less then happy memories. Harry couldn't disagree with her. The memories he 𝘥𝘪𝘥 have were not exactly a party.
He remembered his aunts harsh words, his cousins laughter at Harry's humiliation, his uncles stronger arms gripping his shoulders forcefully, his rough hands pounding into him as Harry tried to get away, the harsh 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬 of his uncles belt striking onto his small back. The way food had been constantly withheld from him, his hunger never truly quenched, the bang and shake of his cupboard door as it was forced shut, leaving little Harry in the dark, alone with only the spiders for company.
Harry 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 that he'd been mistreated as a child. He 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 that he shouldn't have ever been forced to do all those chores for Aunt Petunia at such a young age, he 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 most children are not responsible for making every meal at the age of 8. He 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 that most children aren't punished for getting a higher score on their test then their cousin, most children aren't nicknamed 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 by there family. he 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴. But most children aren't 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤 like Harry either. And a big part of Harry believes that he had deserved everything that had happened to him, Hermione also thought this was because of the trauma, the Dursley's grooming him to believe that he wasn't deserving of love, or of basic empathy. Harry isn't sure he'd ever be able to believe her on that one.