They called him Harry Potter, and he didn't argue the point. He suspected they were lying, pretending to be his relatives to keep him docile, and he let them believe it was working. They cared nothing for him, and he gave the same consideration to their existence.
He wasn't here for this.
Nine years ago he'd made a terrible mistake. He couldn't remember what the mistake was, but it ended with him leaving the place he'd vaguely thought of as 'home' and being brought here. To people who called themselves his family, treated him like rubbish, and disliked him nearly as much as he hated them.
He had something else to do, but he couldn't say what. He felt incomplete, as though that forgotten mistake had cost him more than his home.
He liked to be high, climbing trees, fences, the roof. Staring out at the sky, the world spread below, it gave him the faintest sense that he may be in the right place. He wanted to fly away, but that was impossible.
He wasn't here for this.
"Boy, stop staring out the window and put some effort into it!" Petunia snapped.
"Yes Aunt Petunia," he replied, scrubbing a bit harder at the pan. Dudley's midnight bacon snack had left the pan full of congealed grease and Petunia's long morning shower had depleted the hot water, leaving him with an irritatingly difficult task that could have been simplified immensely by merely waiting a half hour.
"And hurry up, Dudders is going to need his breakfast on time for school."
"Yes Aunt Petunia," he replied, the response automatic by now. He rarely said anything else.
He wasn't here for this.
Scowling, he scraped the brush across the pan with increased vigor.