He was four-years-old when he learnt his name.

His first day of primary school was a week later and he had heard it was common practice to ask for his name. But he was scared, more than he'd like to admit. It was always a scary experience to ask the Dursleys questions. He had thought of asking at breakfast, while he stood next to the bacon Aunt Petunia had left frying on the stove as Dudley hoveled another bite of scrambled eggs in his mouth, but something told him that was a bad idea.

Something being Uncle Vernon.

Because Uncle Vernon was in a very bad mood.

So instead, he decided to ask Aunt Petunia when she gave him his chores.

"Boy!" His Aunt had yelled, getting up from her seat on the table and making her way towards the kitchen. She pulled out a small plate from the drying rack and placed a piece of bread on it, along with the half apple Dudley had refused to eat. She shoved it in his hand, standing as far from him as she could — as though standing next to him would've infected her with his freakishness — and barked, "Eat."

He accepted the plate as graciously as he could, ignoring the gnawing dread of work he'd have to do until lunch came along. "Thank you, Aunt Petunia," he murmured, because he didn't want to be seen as being ungrateful again, not like how Aunt Marge had said last month and gotten him beltings from his Uncle.

(His back still hurts thinking about it.)

He was only allowed on the kitchen table when no one was there next to him. But he pretended that he didn't mind, letting himself be fooled that crumpled napkins and used up sauce dishes in front of him wanted to be there. He wolfed everything down, not bothering to savour the meagre food he'd have to sustain on for the next few hours — partly because he didn't enjoy the taste and partly because his Aunt wouldn't like it if she found him dilly-dallying at the table instead of working on his chores.

After he was done, he wiped the bread crumbs on his hands on one of the cleaner-looking used napkins, mindful to pick up every one of them and the dirty dishes, even double-checking twice before he went back into the kitchen.

(There had been a time when Dudley stood by the doorway, dirtying and crumpling more and more napkins for him to pick up and clean. His Aunt and Uncle had made it very clear that he was supposed to clean up after every meal if he wanted any at all, so he had thought it was rather justified when he started panicking at the sight of the never-ending rubbish. Somehow, in his hysteria, he didn't notice until it was too late that the dirty napkins were no longer dirty, but instead straightened and stacked and looking brand-new. His relief was palpable, but had only lasted for a few seconds when a pale and shaking Dudley brought in a furious looking Aunt Petunia with him, who twisted his ears and shoved him back into his closet with no food for the rest of the day.)

His Aunt walked back towards him when she realised he was done. Looking down at him, her horse-y face twisted in disgust, she said, "trim the rose bushes and then the grass. You best be done by twelve if you want any lunch. Understood?"

He nodded, biting down a smile, excited to do yard work instead of housework today. "Yes, Aunt Petunia," he said, hesitating a little before adding, "er… what's my name?"

Aunt Petunia blinked. "What?"

"My name. I wan– I need to know my name for, um, for school. On Monday."

Her face soured, as though having to think of him was somehow as painful as biting into whole lemons. She seemed to be debating on whether or not she should bother answering, before finally gritting out, "Harry."

Harry's eyes blew wide. Wow. Harry was such a pretty name — certainly prettier than Dudley. "Harry Dursley?" Harry repeated, just to make sure. Harry, Harry, Harry.

"No!" Aunt Petunia snapped, a little too fast and a little too loud, and Harry almost flinched at it. "Harry Potter."

That must be his dad's last name, Harry thought excitedly. Harry Potter was so much better than Harry Dursley. "Wow," he sighed, out loud this time. And for a few seconds, Aunt Petunia didn't do anything except watch, a complicated look on her face.

"Well?" She interrupted sharply, her patience already diffused, "what are you waiting for? Get to work. Now!"

And Harry did as she asked, shuffling out to get the gardening tools he needed. The sun shined down cruelly, its rays burning into Harry's skin, but Harry did not mind — not in the slightest. All Harry could think about was his name. In fact, he had even finished the work quicker than usual, which gave Harry almost an entire hour to relax under the shade of the trees. But his bliss was not left unnoticed.

"Hey, Freak!"

Hearing Dudley's hollering voice made him tense, just a little. He was alone today, thankfully. His friends must've left him behind in favour of "new meat."

"My name's Harry," he said, softly, unsurely. If Harry hadn't known better, he would've been scared that the wind would blow it away, unheard. "Not Freak."

But Dudley only laughed. "Yeah, right."

"It is!" Harry insisted. "Aunt Petunia told me so."

Dudley shut up at that. He stared at him, pensive — or at least, as pensive as Dudley's piggy face could twist into — before grinning something shark-like. "Do you wanna play a game with me, F– Harry?"

And he beamed at that. Maybe, for whatever reason, a name was all he'd needed for Dudley to love him. Maybe that proved that Harry wasn't really a freak. Harry had always wanted to play the games Dudley would play. Hopscotch, tag, hide and seek… He'd always had to sit out, but maybe that would no longer be the case. Happy, he chirped, "Sure!"

Only for Dudley to punch him in the face. Hard. Harry had to scramble back from the force of the hit, falling onto his behind. Dudley laughed. It wasn't a very nice laugh. The older boy took a step forward, and he scrambled back some more, until he was at a safe distance, face stinging with pain and shame and betrayal.

Harry stood up, dusting his worn out hand-me-downs. "That wasn't very nice," he told him weakly.

"Oh yeah?" Dudley challenged, sneering, "but you had said you'd play with me. I've been thinking about a name for it and I think I've finally decided — Harry Hunting!"

Harry turned around and ran.