Harry Potter never had the chance to meet his parents, owing to an unfortunate prophecy that bound his existence with that of Lord Voldemort, destining them both to be forever enemies. Standing up against the Dark Lord to protect their son, James and Lily Potter lost their lives to a premature death.
I, Medea Black, though, didn't even have the chance to be recognised as their daughter.
The very same prophecy that destined Harry to grow into the Boy Who Lived, declared an equally, if not more, unjust fate for his sister. I was also destined to intertwine my existence with that of Dark Lord – I was destined to be his most powerful, unwilling weapon.
For the same reason why the Potters protected Harry with their life – all, only for that single, stupid prophecy – they tried to prevent me from my own destiny, keeping my existence secret to the world.
A secret that, for many years, was only known to them, to me and to Sirius Black, who raised me as his own daughter.
Sirius managed to keep us both in the shadows until I was 7 years old. He was my only family, the only one I could have ever wished for. But even then, Fate tore him away from me as he was eventually captured and unjustly convicted for the murder of that pitiful excuse of a man, Pettigrew.
Not before, though, he had revealed my real identity to me.
Walking into Hogwarts, I never told Harry what we really shared with each other. Even so, we soon grew a reciprocal affection – strangely enough, as I was, of course, a Slytherin, while he a Gryffindor.
It was Lord Voldemort who kindly informed Harry of my identity upon his return, after recognizing me for who I really was – a twisted trick of Fate – in my brother's unaware memories. And I need not mention, that both of us, for oppositely different reasons, became the Dark Lord's target.