Our parents died when Harry was little. He couldn't even talk. The day my parents died was the first day I came home. So naturally, I can't remember them at all. I'm dependent on Harry to tell me what my own mother was like.
When we got older, Harry took care of me like, well, like a big brother. Because we didn't get much to eat, he'd always share his food with me. I didn't know this at the time, but when I went to bed hungry, he went to bed starving.
So as you can see, living at the Dursley's was never fun, but with Harry it was almost tolerable.
Until the letters came.
See, because Harry was eleven, he was old enough to go to Hogwarts. I was only ten. Not old enough. So Hagrid and Harry left, and I was now forced to fend for myself.
At first, I was a little optimistic. I knew it would only be a year until I left. Now that the Dursley's knew I was a witch, they treated me pretty well. I got decent food, and didn't sleep in a closet. Things were definitely looking better.
A year came. Harry came home. I wanted to see him, but he was too busy writing letters or reading books. The Dursleys gave him my room, and I was forced to sleep under the stairs. I couldn't come out. I knew Harry would rescue me, but I had doubts. He didn't even ask to see me. Once. I don't think he even remembered me.
So then he went off to school again, and I was stranded. I knew then and there that I was never going to be noticed. So I made it my life's work to be heard.
Starting with Hogwarts.