Hello! This fic is an edited repost of a story I posted a long time ago. My writing style has drastically matured and improved from the teenager who initially wrote this lol, so it needed a serious update. This story is mostly for me and my own sanity, considering I've had this character in my head since I was literally 10 years old. But if you happen to enjoy this story and my Lydia, thank you! If you don't, that's okay, just move on lmao. I plan on someday finishing Lydia's whole story, no matter how long it takes.

~o~

Chapter 1

The Girl in the Cupboard

"Get up!"

I was startled awake as Petunia Dursley's voice screeched through my ears. She banged on the outside of the cupboard door where my best friend and I slept. The rude awakening definitely worked, just like it did every morning. My best friend, Harry Potter, now sat up in our tiny bed, wide awake. Sleepily, I mumbled something that even I didn't understand and brushed my black hair out of my face, while Harry put on his round glasses.

Harry glanced back over at me and said quietly, "Time to get up, Lydia."

I nodded and used all my strength to sit up. I yawned hugely just as we heard loud footsteps stomping down the stairs above us. Harry and I had managed to memorize who was stepping up and down the stairs just by their footsteps. These, in particular, were the footsteps of Harry's obnoxious cousin Dudley Dursley. Harry opened the door of the cupboard only to be pushed back inside by Dudley, causing him to almost fall on top of me.

"You all right?" I asked calmly although I was fuming. It was a bit of an understatement to say we didn't get along with the other boy.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Lyd," Harry reassured me with a small smile. Still, I fumed.

"I really hate that boy," I stated furiously.

"Me too," Harry agreed.

Petunia Dursley came back to our door once again and shouted, "Are you two up yet?! You need to come and cook the bacon!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied to her.

"Good!"

Once we entered the outrageously clean kitchen, we immediately heard Vernon Dursley's demanding voice snap at us, "Watch the bacon and make sure it doesn't burn you two!" Harry and I just nodded, used to being yelled at by the Dursley family.

"Everything must be perfect for my little Dudley's special day!" Mrs. Dursley almost sung. Harry and I glanced at each other and sighed in contempt. Every time Dudley's birthday came along, we were always put to work. More work than usual.

"Girl, pour me my coffee!" Mr. Dursley demanded, beckoning to me with one of his fat fingers.

"I have a name, you know," I quipped. Mr. Dursley's face screwed up in anger. He was very quick to anger.

"Don't talk back to me, you little brat. You're lucky we took you in, out of the goodness in our hearts—"

"Yes, you're all bloody saints, relax."

I started pouring the man's coffee before he could get in another word. As much as I loved Harry, I absolutely despised his horrible family. And more than anything, I hated Vernon Dursley. He was probably my least favorite of the family.

Pretty much every minute of everyday, I wish I had a family of my own. A decent one. If I ever knew my family, maybe I'd be able to run away from this place and drag Harry with me, and we'd never have to see the ugly Dursley family ever again. But, alas, I never knew my family. Harry is the closest I think I'll ever get to having a family.

Harry's parents had died when he was younger just as mine disappeared. Where? I don't know. No one ever told me. All the Dursleys ever told me is that they were troublemakers and criminals. I guess maybe it's better if I didn't know them if they really were a bunch of criminals. I never questioned the Dursley's too much about them, but I still wonder each day who they were and what happened to them. And why, out of all places in the world, I was placed with the Dursley family despite having no relation to them?

I don't know what I would do without Harry. He was the only good thing about this awful place. Harry and I were both very small and skinny. We were also Dudley's personal and favorite punching bags. Although, he doesn't like to pick on me as much as he does Harry because even though Dudley hates to admit it, he's a bit scared of me.

Harry and I have a lot in common too. We both never knew our parents. That was a major one.

And we each had one very unusual feature about us.

Harry's unusual feature was that he had a thin, lightning-shaped scar on his forehead that he had gotten when he was a baby. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley had told him that when he was little, his parents got in a car crash and he'd survived with just that scar. I, for one, never believed that story. I would say, "It's not true Harry! I just know it!" But it's not like I had any evidence. There's just something about that scar that's different. It doesn't seem like it would be caused by just an ordinary car crash.

My unusual feature is my hair. When Harry and I were both eight, Dudley had decided to chase us around the yard, and being that we were faster than him, we easily outran him. But as we hid, he said some pretty nasty stuff while looking for us. And I lost it. I emerged from my hiding place, and Dudley became so scared that he instantly bolted away, crying. Harry had told me that my hair had somehow turned bright red, and then back to black. That's how I discovered that whenever I get angry, all of my hair turns a bright, unnatural red. No one, including myself, knew why.

"Hey, watch it!"

Vernon's angry voice snapped me back to reality. The coffee I'd been pouring had just begun to overflow and burned the tip of my finger. Cursing silently, I quickly tidied the mess before the pig of a man could yell at me even more. Luckily, I was saved from any more of Mr. Dursley's wrath when Dudley entered the room just moments later.

"Ah! There's my birthday man!" Mr. Dursley cheered, the spilled coffee completely forgotten. I took the opportunity to hurry back by the stove where Harry was attending the bacon. Dudley paused in the kitchen, scanning his pile of presents with his small, beady eyes.

"How many are there?" the giant boy demanded.

"36, counted them myself," Mr. Dursley said, smiling at his spoiled son.

Suddenly, Dudley grew red in the face and he exploded into a fit, "36?! But last year I had 37!" I rolled my eyes. Typical Dudley.

"Wait til he finds out there's only 34," I muttered to Harry under my breath. "I tossed two of the small ones in the dumpster earlier."

Harry snorted, causing the Dursley's to look over at us with evil eyes.

"What are you ingrates laughing at?" Mr. Dursley growled. Harry and I both quickly shook our heads.

"Nothing."

The fight with an inconsolable Dudley went on until finally Mrs. Dursley said, "Listen to me, when we go to the zoo, we're going to buy you two more presents."

Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and his little minions he called friends to some extravagant fun place while Harry and I got stuck with their neighbor Mrs. Figg, an older woman with an obsession with cats. I was used to it, but just once I wondered what it'd be like to be able to go to a place like the zoo, or an amusement park. It seems like every kid out there got to experience these things. But never us.

Today, however, a miracle happened.

"Bad news, Vernon," Mrs. Dursley said during breakfast, after she'd left briefly to take a phone call. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take them."

Dudley immediately started to throw another fit as his parents debated what to do with us. Give us to Aunt Marge? No. A friend? No. Another neighbor? Definitely not.

"Why can't we just stay here?" I spoke up, irritated. Mrs. Dudley looked as if the very idea repulsed her.

"And come back to the house in ruins?" she snarled.

"What do you think we're going to do? We won't blow up the house…" Harry said, but they had stopped listening. He turned to me instead. "Not like I'm not tempted to."

"Would if we could mate," I agreed quietly as the Dursley's continued to argue.

Eventually, it was decided that we could actually go to the zoo with the family and Dudley's friend. It felt like a dream. Before we could get inside, Mr. Dursley closed the door of the car.

"I'm warning you two, any funny business and you won't get any meals for a week, now get in," Mr. Dursley said as he pushed past us and around the car. No meals for a week, how original, I thought. But I knew from experience that it wasn't an empty threat.

We finally arrived at the zoo and as weird as it sounds, it was the most amazing thing I had ever seen in person. Harry and I smiled at each other, in disbelief that this was actually happening to us. When we got into the zoo, we stared at everything in wonder and awe as if we were tourists. In a way, that's exactly what we were considering the fact that neither Harry nor I ever left that stupid house, except for school in which we were laughed at and picked on. Some people I noticed stared at us questionably but neither of us really cared. We were just grateful that we got to go.

We spent the afternoon strolling through the zoo, making sure to keep a few steps back from the Dursleys. I was particularly interested in the petting zoo. It was set up like a farm, and like farms, they had dogs that were able to herd some of the animals. I'd never even been able to pet a dog before, despite them being my favorite animal. A while after, I rested on the bench while I chuckled at the goat trying to eat a piece of candy out of Dudley's back pocket.

Absent-mindedly, I clutched the necklace around my neck in my hand. I'd had this necklace for as long as I could remember and I rarely took it off. One of my earliest memories is of Mrs. Dursley trying to yank it off, even resulting in using heavy tools to cut it. But it refused, so eventually they gave up. It was rather odd, but I assumed it was just made of some strong material.

The necklace was a small, black dog with diamond eyes that shone brightly under the sun. It still looked like it was brand new despite it being as old as I was. Inscribed on the back was my full name (Lydia Andromeda Black), my birth date (August 5, 1980), and lastly "S. Black & S. Black". I'm almost sure that it's the initials of my parents' names. If only I knew their whole first names…

We ventured to the reptile house last. The cool, dark room was a drastic change to the hot summer weather outside. Most of the reptiles were sleepy and still, including the largest snake in the exhibit. Dudley pressed his nose to the glass and started to pound on the glass when the snake didn't budge. I felt sorry for the animals, they probably got that a lot from all the other snotty children that came through here.

"Make it move," Dudley whined. Mr. Dursley tapped loudly on the glass.

"Hey, come on, move!"

"He's asleep," Harry said, clearly feeling sorry for the snake as well. The Dursleys looked at him for a moment and decided to move on.

Alone, Harry and I stared at the snake for a moment longer. Then, I said, "This snake is a bit boring though, I'll give them that. I'm going to go see the lizards."

I left, ignoring how Harry rolled his eyes at me. The lizards were only slightly more interesting than the snake. They were cool, I guess, but they weren't lions. I glanced back to where I'd left Harry, and furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. He looked like he was… talking to somebody?

"Dudley! Mr. Dursley! You won't believe what the snake's doing!" Dudley's friend yelled, eyeing the snake from behind Harry.

Dudley came hurrying forward on command. He pushed past Harry causing him to fall on the floor and scrape his hand on the concrete. I saw Harry's blood drip on the floor. I growled, getting ready to punch Dudley in the arm. Then:

Splash!

Dudley and his friend fell forward into the snake's exhibit, the glass suddenly gone. Dudley's parents looked over at the commotion and screamed in horror. I would have very much been tempted to laugh if it wasn't for the snake slowly slithered its way toward Harry. Once on the ground, it turned and I could have sworn that it looked straight at Harry. It hissed. Harry looked surprised.

He managed to say, "Any time."

What the hell.

Once we got home, the largest Dursley pushed us inside roughly, practically steaming from his ears. "What happened back there!?" he shouted, a few flecks of spit landing on our faces. I tried my best not to flinch.

"I swear, we don't know," Harry started, but Mr. Dursley shoved him into the closet and turned on me. Great. I forced myself to keep a level face. It was my ultimate defense. Look brave, don't let others see you weak.

"What happened?" he asked sharply. "You better tell me, girl."

I sighed, ridding myself of the anxiety and quietly answered, "I don't know. The glass was there one minute then in the next blink… it was gone! It was just like… like magic!"

Suddenly, there was a deep pain in my cheek as Mr. Dursley slapped me across the cheek. Yeah, that hurt. I clenched my teeth together tightly, trying to hide any trace of tears and pain. I looked up, looking him in the eyes with a deep glare.

"There's no such thing as magic, girl," he sneered, and shoved me in the cupboard before I had the chance to get in another word. The door locked behind me.

Alone with only Harry, I allowed the tears I'd been holding back to slip out. Harry rushed to my side and embraced me comfortingly. I sobbed onto his shoulder.

"Don't worry, Lyd," he began, "we're going to get out of here as soon as we can. I promise you."

I looked up, and forced myself to smile at him. He smiled back, wiped away my tears and hugged me again. It had been like this for a while. We supported each other as much as we could. We thought of each other as brother and sister, even though we weren't actually siblings. We were really all each other had in the world.

In the next few weeks, Harry and I were only allowed to come out of our small cupboard if we needed to use the bathroom. We were given just enough food to survive— usually a small serving of soup that Mrs. Dursley shoved through the door. It was better than nothing. Though, I would be lying if I said I didn't consider flinging it at her from time to time…

Eventually the two of us were released from our room but we were still under deep punishment. It was only a short while until September, in which Harry and I would be attending public school and Dudley would thankfully be going to an expensive private school far away from us.

One morning in July, Harry was forced to fetch the mail while I sat at the kitchen table listening to the Dursley's rant about something on the news. I saw Harry slowly walk into the kitchen with his eyes glued to the mail. He handed Uncle Vernon a small stack of letters, leaving two thick letters still in his hand, and sat down next to me. He gave one of the yellow-tinted letters to me. I gave him a shocked look to which he just shrugged. We never got mail, ever. But sure enough, scrawled on the back with an emerald green ink, was my name and the address, complete with the 'Cupboard under the stairs'.

Before either of us could get our letters open, they were snatched from our hands by Dudley. He ran around the kitchen screaming, "Dad, look! Harry and Lydia got letters!"

"Give them back!" we shouted in unison, leaping from our seats and trying to get a grasp on the letters. I fumed, and felt a familiar prickling sensation all over my scalp. I watched all of the Dursley's jump away from me, just as they usually did whenever my hair changed colors.

"Give them back, they're ours," I snarled.

Standing firm despite the fear that came from my ability, Mr. Dursley chuckled and asked, "Yours? Who would possibly want to write to either of you?"

He flipped the letter over in his hand and then both of the adults fell deathly silent. Their eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

"Out of here… all of you," Mrs. Dursley ordered in a shaky voice indicating to Harry, Dudley and me. We didn't move.

"No. It's my letter and I want to read it," Harry demanded furiously. It took me by surprise.

As badly as they treated him, he rarely stood up to his family. Not because he was afraid of them, but because he usually saw no point to. He realized very early on that he had little power over the Dursleys. I realized this too, but I tried to fight back a little more. They just made me so angry, I could hardly stand it.

"I want to read it," Dudley whined.

"As if it's any of your bloody business," I snapped at him. "Give us the letters, now."

"GET OUT!" Mr. Dursley yelled, bolting from his seat at the kitchen table and shoving all three of us through the door. The door slammed harshly behind us.

Harry and I fought with Dudley to try to listen at the door, but even without Dudley's massive frame blocking almost every crevice, it was impossible to hear anything.

"What do you think was in those letters? They looked… weird," I asked after we had given up and wandered outside into the backyard.

"I dunno. But whoever wrote it, how'd they know exactly where we live? I doubt the Dursley's go about talking about their nephew and foster child that live in the cupboard."

"Well maybe someone figured it out and the letters are actually someone coming to whisk us away. That's why they were so freaked out," I brainstormed. Harry, however, shook his head.

"No, the Dursley's would be thrilled to get rid of us," he said, defeated.

I sighed. "Yeah you're right."

By the time the day was over, Mr. Dursley had announced the letters were a mistake and joyfully burned them.

"Well, about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking... you're both getting a bit big for it... especially since there's two of you… we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom," Mr. Dursley stammered shortly after he'd announced that our letters were gone.

"Why?" said Harry.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. I raised an eyebrow.

"Is this 'cause the letters were addressed to the cupboard?" I asked. Mr. Dursley's face turned purple.

"I SAID DON'T ASK QUESTIONS!" he yelled. Bingo. "GO!"

And so, Harry and I promptly moved upstairs.

The second bedroom housed most of Dudley's old, broken toys. There was only one bed, which was fine since Harry and I had been sharing a bed for as long as I can remember. It's not that I wasn't glad to finally be out of that cramped cupboard, but I couldn't stop thinking about that letter. Who in the world would have written to Harry and me? As far as the world knew, we were nobodies.

But the first letters weren't the end of it.

By the next day, two more letters had arrived for my best friend and me, this time addressed to the second bedroom. It made me feel very uneasy. Someone had to be watching us.

The Dursley's seemed to feel the same way.

Over the next few days, Mr. Dursley had sealed up every possible entrance to the house, but more and more letters for Harry and me continued to find their way in. It started with the mail slot, then the windows, then the cracks in the doors and even through the chimney! They wouldn't stop. The three Dursley's, especially Mr. Dursley, were overjoyed when Sunday came.

Mr. Dursley sighed in relief, relaxing into his kitchen chair. "Sunday. The best day of the week, in my opinion. Does anyone know why?"

"Because the circus comes to town and you can join?" I chimed in with a fake smile. The man glared at me.

"Because there's no post on Sundays," Harry rescued, in a miserable voice. Mr. Dursley brightened immediately.

"Right you are, Harry!" he cheered. "No letters! No one single bloody letter is going to slip through our—"

His sentence was cut when something hit him sharply in the back of the head. Sure enough, it was another letter. A low rumbling sound flowed through the house and the entire structure seemed to shake with the force of what was coming.

Letters burst through the fireplace. They came through the boarded up windows and through the sealed mail flap. There must have been at least a hundred! Harry and I desperately lunged for them, trying to get a hold of just one. Every time we got one, a member of the Dursley family would violently rip it out of our grasp.

"JUST LET US BLOODY READ ONE!" I screamed, trying to pull a letter out of Mrs. Dursley's grip.

"OUT!" Mr. Dursley shrieked, and shoved us all outside. "That's it! We are leaving! We are going to go so far away that not one blasted letter can reach us!"

And with that, we packed our bags and filed into the car. We sped far away from the house, and the letters slipped out of our reach once again.

~o~