They fed him; even if the food he was given consisted of substandard fare that fell well short of a healthy diet (that was not all that surprising though, since the Dursleys' own diet was hardly what one would call healthy). They clothed him; even if the clothes he was given were nothing but the worn out cast offs their son no longer wore. They sheltered him; if one could consider a small storage cupboard beneath the stairs adequate shelter. And they saw to it that he was properly educated; if only because sending him to school allowed them to kick the unnatural child out of the house for long hours at a time.
As far as the Dursleys were concerned, those bare necessities were more than adequate enough to cover their nephew's basic needs. In return for those bare necessities, Harry was required to do a rather unrealistic number of chores in order to 'repay' his relatives for their so called kindnesses and generosity.
He also had a very strict set of rules that he was to follow.
Never speak unless spoken to. Never answer the phone. Never answer the door. Never ask questions. Never show any emotions. Never touch any of Dudley's precious things. Never take anything that belonged to the Dursleys. Never let anyone see his face outside of the house (school days were the only exception and even then he had to sneak out lest one of the neighbors caught sight of him leaving the house). And above all else, never, ever speak of anything unnatural (like magic).
So long as the rules were obeyed and his chores were completed on time, the Dursleys ignored Harry (provided there was no funny business going on that could be blamed on him).
All in all, it made for a sad and lonely existence for one Harry Potter. He didn't complain, even though he had no idea what it was he'd done to make his relatives hate him so much (completely unaware of his magical heritage), because any complaints he might have voiced would have gotten him in trouble. He couldn't remember a time when his life hadn't been the way it was now.
That didn't mean he was happy with his lot in life.
In fact, he hated living with the Dursleys (even if he didn't actively hate his relatives – he just didn't like them all that much). He couldn't bring himself to consider the Dursley's house home; not since he was old enough to realize just how unfair and unnatural it was for his relatives to treat him the way they did. And each night as he curled up beneath the stairs, he dreamed of a place he could call home.
His wish would be granted just a few weeks after his ninth birthday, on the night his entire world was shaken at the very foundations, when he watched the door slam shut behind Uncle Vernon as the man carried the last of Dudley's beloved gaming equipment out to the rubbish bins lined up beside the garage. You see, Dudley had made the mistake of bragging about the magical sword skills he'd learned in one of his games during the evening meal. The moment the word 'magic' had passed through Dudley's lips; Aunt Petunia had gone white as a sheet and nearly fainted in fear while Uncle Vernon had gone purple in rage.
The next thing Harry knew, Uncle Vernon had lugged the gaming equipment out to the rubbish bins as he muttered darkly under his breath while Dudley wailed like a siren in the background. Ducking back into his tiny bedroom (lest his uncle find reason to blame the entire incident on him), Harry bit his lip as he listened to Dudley's ongoing tantrum; his mind going a mile a minute as he considered doing something that could easily see him kicked out of the house (or killed if he angered his uncle enough and the man actually followed through on his threats for once).
Harry was going to break a rule.
He was going to steal from the Dursleys; he was going to smuggle the binned gaming equipment back into the house and he was going to keep it for himself.
Worse, his theft was going to involve the ultimate taboo in the Dursley's world; his planned theft was something that contained mentions of magic.
Some people would question Harry's sanity for risking his entire existence for something that had clearly angered his uncle but Harry was curious. He wanted, no, needed to know what was so terrible about a single game (and the one word that apparently not even his cousin was allowed to utter) that would drive his overbearing and overindulgent uncle into throwing away such costly equipment while at the same time depriving his son of a favorite possession and, as the saying went; in for a penny, in for a pound.
With that one decision, Harry changed the path his life had been set upon and the consequences would have far reaching effects.
Later that evening, after his relatives had gone to bed, Harry snuck out to the rubbish bins to carefully retrieve each and every last piece of gaming equipment that had been tossed out while his relatives slept on; all three of them blissfully unaware of his current misbehavior. It took him over an hour and close to eight trips back and forth between his closet and the rubbish bins to transport everything to his bedroom. He spent another two hours carefully setting everything up in the smallest corner of his cupboard (using the instructions, which had been thrown out as well), where the ceiling dropped down close to the floor due to the stairs.
He would run the cords against the wall behind his mattress to hide them from view before he plugged them into the unprotected socket on the opposite end of his cupboard. Two more trips outside would then net him a pair of cardboard boxes that one of the neighbors had thrown out, an old blanket his aunt was going to cut into dust rags, a pair of scissors, and a dusty roll of duct tape from the utility shed in the Dursley's back yard. Making as little noise as he possibly could, Harry cut up the cardboard boxes to make an accordion style door to hide everything behind; using the duct tape for hinges and to secure the door to the underside of the stairs.