I'm relatively known for being a decent writer. I'm notoriously infamous for my tendency to abandon stories. Unfortunately, I feel you may become far more acquainted with the latter than the former. Nevertheless, here we are.
Consider the matter disclaimed. I'm usually darker than this, but complaints over the rating will always be taken into consideration.
Preface
They began differently.
He was a son of the most famous wizard of his age and a renowned Quidditch star. She was a daughter of a disgraced coward and a beautiful Healer who somehow learned to love the coward only across years of courtship.
He took after his father, in that rules were optional, appearances were deceiving, and to him there was nothing quite like being mounted on a broomstick and soaring through the air. He took after his mother, in that he refused to back down and he fought for what he believed in, whether there was a mountain at his back for leverage or an emptiness deeper than a dementor's heart.
She didn't take after either of her parents. Her father was a reserved, quiet, ashamed man who rarely went out unless needed, who worked his share and said nothing more than necessary to anyone he didn't know; she was driven by the success she didn't see in him, the success she knew she could be. She had none of the patience and understanding of her mother. Instead, she was quick, clever, hasty, and never second-guessed a single decision she made.
His brother was a heralded Quidditch signing right out of Hogwarts, on the heavy track to being the best, a rival that had loomed over him and brought out the best in him ever since they were very young. Her brother was an unsung hero, unfairly thrust beneath the burden their family carried and who was expected to bear it all, so that she would have none of it and could succeed in her own way, without any of the forced maturity that had forced him to grow up young.
The greatest goal of his schooling years was to fix the hitch in his throwing motion; he hoped that with any success he could cut the number of quaffle drops of his sixth year in half and really draw the eyes of some next-level scouts. The greatest goal of her schooling years was to learn how to turn into a fantastic beast, master the art of creating Felix Felicis, and pass her early enrollment in alchemy.
His greatest love was a game played hundreds of feet in the air.
Hers was books.
He was offered a wide variety of romantic companionship, and often indulged where it met his fancy.
She was offered a considerably more limited supply, through no fault of her own attractiveness, but took what she had without complaint.
He was her brother's best friend.
She was his sister's archenemy.
He was fierce, loyal, kind, dedicated, and devious.
She was clever, careful, obedient, and quiet.
In the end, however, there was one thing they had in common: they were both inspired by their fathers, albeit in different days. He was motivated by Harry Potter's courage. She was motivated by Draco Malfoy's shame.
She hated him.
He never understood what he'd done to her.
And that, if ever there was a tale worth telling, is where our story begins.