He watched her with Potter, a feeling like ice in his chest. He watched the way she held herself, the way her hair fell down her back in lose red curls, the way she smiled differently when she thought she was alone with Potter. In that moment, he couldn't help but hate her with a burning passion that enveloped his entire being. He wished that she could be like that with him; there was a time that they could have been – that he was sure they would be – but old prejudices got in the way of what could have been great.