It had started one day when the snow was settling onto the tree branches and leaves, this feeling of quiet and control that comes when the world is muted.
It had started when the girl was sitting at the fireplace and watching the clock, waiting for her father to get home.
It had started when her father had entered the door to their small house in New Yorkshire, brushing the white off of his coat and greeting his wife and child.
It had started when he gave her the broom - every twig pulled straight and tight, the handle gleaming, her tiny fingers holding it in awe.
It had started when he lead her out into their backyard and ordered her not to be afraid.
It had started when he told her to fly.
It had started when, many years later, a dusty hat had been placed on her head and determined the life she'd live for the next seven years.
It had started when, a year later, she gripped the same broom from all those years ago anxiously as she waited to try out for her house team.
It had started when she'd flown flawlessly.
It had started when the other members of her school berated her - no girl, they thought, could be as good a quidditch player as a boy could be.
It had started the first game of the season, when she stood in front of the changing room mirror and looked at the green uniform that hung loosely on her, self-doubt and worry flickering through her head.
It had started when she remembered her father's comforting hand on her shoulder from all those years ago, that moment when she'd learned how to fly.
It had started when she marched out of the changing room, confidence replacing the negativity.
It had started when they'd won - that game, and the game after, and the game after that.
It had started when her teammates accepted her, clapping her on the back after every game and hexing those who insulted her.
It had started when she'd been hailed by her housemates at the many victory parties thrown in the common room late at night - smuggled firewhisky, good friends, and a sense of purpose.
This fascination, it had a million different starting points. But the most important thing was this:
Grace Dark loved Quidditch. And she would do anything to win.