Harry didn't remember much about his parents, but he remembered plenty about the Dursleys. It wasn't child abuse, per say, so much as child neglect. Dudley was the bright son, worthy of the high chair, two rocking horses, thirty toy cars. His tantrums were delightful and his dimply frowns were handsome. His mother had him in the church choir, until Uncle Vernon found out, because Aunt Petunia thought his screaming voice was lovely.
The worst part was that Dudley didn't have to try, and the only reason why was because Harry did.
Uncle Vernon had these ideas about parentage, that sons were unconditional and nephews only temporary. Nephews were supposed to stay over only during holidays, and they liked to rough around and cause mischief but that was okay because you weren't the one that had to deal with them at bed time. This was not so with Harry, but than nothing was normal about Harry, and so a lot of it also had to do with fear. Vernon feared Harry with such consuming terror that there was no love left to grow between them. Harry was not a son or a nephew; he was a freak from a different world. And what could Vernon know about Magic anyway? Only letters delivered by owls and boys dropped on doorsteps and nervous glances in Petunia's thin face.
So no, there had to be a dividing line. Dudley was his son and Harry was something else. Only tube socks for that boy, because nephews weren't supposed to live with uncles and aunts, because wasn't a roof and food and a bed more than the Dursley's required share? But the boy was a Potter, he could never understand.
And Aunt Petunia? She saw Harry's eyes and shuddered and loved and hated, because she had been right all along hadn't she? Her younger sister, her best friend, little Lil running off to a dangerous place Tuney couldn't follow. She had told her, yes she had, and now Lily was dead. Petunia was right! Petunia was glad she wasn't a freak
But every time she looked into Harry's eyes she found no comfort in that single truth, felt ashamed for not mourning her sister, scorned for not being her sister, and jealous for not being with her sister, for not having that special something that sent Lily away.
So no, she couldn't hold Harry when he lifted his arms up and called her 'mommy,' and yet neither could she leave him alone. So she'd kneel and hug him stiffly and tell him, "auntie, Harry, auntie," and she'd try not to look into those piercing eyes, green like lily leaves, green like envy.
Dudley would never understand his parent's reasons for hating Harry. Blind with a prejudice disguised by love, he would grow up in a childhood distorted of truth. The sad part was that Dudley hated Harry too.
The worst part was that he had no reason to at all.
And Harry would remember that.