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The first name he ever received was boy, though he supposes it could be you, not that he can remember which came first. By age three he’s gained brat, layabout and waste of space. Half way through age four Dudley’s growing vocabulary has added shrimp and sissy. Entering primary school gives him five new names, a record; he becomes weirdo and nutter to the students, delinquent to Petunia, Mr Potter to the scowling staff, and his favourite for a time, Harry, to the one nice teacher who asks to see his bruises. He loses the last one when she forgets him a few months later, her eyes glazing over when looking at him. The shortest lived comes at seven.
“Hey, you!” he looks up from scrubbing the kitchen floors to see Dudley, clutching a bowl of Christmas chocolate like it was about to sprout legs and run for its life.
“Look” his cousin jabs at the telly in front of them, showing a cartoon girl, also scrubbing the floor.
"This Cinderella girl is just like you!" Dudley says excitedly, overjoyed at what he clearly considers to be a genius discovery. "Dressed in rags, does all the chores, always dirty, and no one wants her. Even her parents are dead!"
His eyes shoot down, trying to hide the pain in his chest, and suppressing a retort that would get him hurt more than any words might. Smiling at the reaction Dudley turns away, eventually getting bored and leaving to play in his room, not for the first time forgetting the telly on.
In the following week he finds that he doesn’t mind Dudley’s new favourite taunt, If I'm Cinderella, does that mean one day someone will come to save me too?
Three weeks later he turns his teacher’s hair blue and gains freak.