When Harry was two, he lived in the dark. Not the innocence of youth, where knowledge was hidden for the sake of a child, but in the cold, confining space of the cupboard under the stairs. He tried crying, like his cousin, but he was ignored. He tried smiling, which ended with his aunt scowling and telling him to go to his cupboard. "Get out of my sight, Boy."
Once, he patted his uncle, hoping for some small acknowledgement. That ended with a bruised arm and a bump on his head from being thrown into his 'room'.
"Never touch me, Boy." Uncle Vernon snarled in his face. "I won't put up with your constant demands for attention. We give you food, Dudley's extra clothes, and a roof over your head. You should appreciate all that we do for a freak like you instead of asking for more."
Boy; that was his name as far as Harry knew. They never called him anything else.
Harry spent most of his time in his cupboard curled up on his mattress, sucking his thumb, and rocking back and forth wrapped in his blanket. The fresh scent of sunshine was long gone from the battered cloth, but he didn't care. It was better than the creepy, crawly touch of a spider over his arm, the stings on his skin as they bit when he moved. He whimpered as he watched Dudley through the slats of his door being swept into his mother's arms, his face covered with kisses for finally walking across the room.
He was so lonely.
He tried playing with Dudley, but it often ended with a toy being bashed over his head and Dudley screaming. Harry tried just sitting still one day. He waited and waited. Dudley hadn't played with the ball that had sat in front of Harry for what seemed like ages. He picked it up and rolled it back and forth on the floor in front of him.
Then Dudley noticed and began screaming. "Mine! Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine!" He stomped his foot as his mother came running.
"You horrid child. Give Dudders his toy back right now!"
Harry cringed and dropped the little ball. His hand burned where his aunt had smacked him. His eyes teared, but by now, he'd learned that it wouldn't matter. His aunt ignored him in favour of Dudley again, shushing him.
"There, there Duddikins. That 'boy' won't touch your things again." His aunt turned her head towards Harry. "Will you? Get into your cupboard. And stay there until Vernon comes home!"
Harry shook his head and toddled off to his cupboard to await his uncle's return. That's the way things always were. Harry did something wrong, most times not understanding what, and then his uncle would yell.
Harry pressed his ear to the door, listening to the latest list of everything he done from breathing to looking at Dudley 'wrong'. Then she told his uncle about the toy.
"I will not have that 'boy' touching Dudders' things. He'll contaminate them!"
"Don't worry, Petunia dear. I'll take care of everything."
That night after a large dinner of ham and fresh greens, of which Harry was given little, Uncle Vernon tossed a bone into Harry's cupboard. "There, Boy. If I catch you playing with Dudley's things again, you be very sorry. Keep your hands to yourself." The latch clicked as his Uncle walked away with a hissed 'You don't exist.'
Harry didn't understand what the words meant, but he understood the emotion behind them. Young Harry wasn't so sure anymore that he was loved.