They always called him a boy. It always felt wrong. Not that there was anything wrong with being a boy, but Harry never felt like he truly fit in. "Boy" was just another abstract concept like "freak". Harry often wondered what it meant for him to a boy and a freak. What was freak? What was boy? Was Harry really freak? Was Harry really boy? Did it even matter? Was he a freakish boy or a boyish freak? What made him a boy? What made him a freak? Was it because his parents were gone?

Underneath the stairs in the darkness of the cupboard, Harry had lots of time to think. He imagined what it would be like to have a family that loved him. He thought about the smiling person in his dreams with beautiful hair. He hoped that one day the person with hair like fire would save him from the Dursleys.

In his dreams Harry could be free.