Disclaimer: I don't actually OWN the Slytherin Quidditch players. Wishful thinking doesn't count.
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1) They were both blond. At three, they had run around together, through the sunny, perfect lanes of Narcissa Malfoy's rose garden. Her mother always told her that she belonged with Draco, because they were so alike, but it wasn't really the truth. He was sharp and icy and imperious, and try though she might to emulate it, she couldn't pull off the aloof stateliness. Mum insisted that she would grow into the role of Mistress Malfoy, but pansies did not grow white and straight and tall like narcissus. Draco protected her and she kept his secrets. No more, no less.
2) Draco humoured her and always remembered to pick early violets for her in the springtime, and maybe if she understood less, she would have loved him. They practiced kissing on each other, when both were awkward and refused to admit it to anyone else, and it was because of her that he learnt how to tilt his face so that his sharp nose didn't get in the way. It was nice, like a cup of tea on a lazy afternoon was nice. Everyone left her alone because they thought she was his, and at thirteen she was okay with it.
3) A dark-haired Ravenclaw boy with a secretive smile caught her eye a year later. She beamed at him in Charms, wasting rare smiles like flowers dropped into the snow. One evening, after dinner, he took her hand and pulled her along towards a broom cupboard and told her that he liked the way she looked at him. She demonstrated all the kissing that she'd practiced with Draco on him, and she couldn't see his expression as his hands strayed up her blouse. When she felt his clammy fingers on her skin, she froze, suddenly repulsed, and abruptly kicked him away.
4) It was only after one of her House Prefects started escorting her to classes that the whispered comments of "little Slytherin whore" stopped. Draco arranged to have laxative potions slipped into Michael Corner's butterbeer, but it was little consolation. She watched as Daphne Greengrass bloomed in young beauty, alabaster angles and smouldering eyes, and cast her eyes away from the stony-faced blonde with the upturned nose in the mirror, looking churlish and not at all angelic in frilly pink robes. Draco walked around with her at the Yule Ball, eyes wandering, and she seethed at being outshone by a Gryff.
5) A year later found her best friend enamoured of a Weasley and inconsiderate enough to keep her in the dark about it, citing a need for secrecy when she found out, without apologies. She watched the skinny redheaded girl hexing Draco, and wondered at Draco's unwillingness to retaliate. She despaired with every glance and glare Draco shot at the girl, feeling abandoned, and started confiding in Cassius Warrington about their fellow Prefect's descent into madness. Cassius plied her with ice cream and treated her like an annoying but beloved kid sister. If he minded her, he never mentioned it.
6) He humoured her, just like Draco did, but never kissed her or held her hand. He was older and wiser, darkly handsome, and he would never love her, either. On one stormy night, when everyone else was already in bed, she asked him if he thought she was beautiful, and he smiled wryly at her and told her that she would make some other bloke very lucky and happy someday. She couldn't stop the tears at that, and he snuck her to the kitchens for a midnight snack and sighed as he let her wipe her eyes on his shirtsleeve.
7) Dawn found her still awake, dry-eyed, sitting in front of a mirror in the Prefect's bathroom staring at the reflection of the picture on the wall. A sleeping mermaid with long, flowing hair. The girl sitting in front of the mermaid thinned her lips, picking up her wand with one cold, steady hand. The mahogany gleamed dully in the light before she whispered the spell, and she watched with a sort of dreary triumph as long, dirty-blonde streams of hair from years of emulating Narcissa Malfoy fell away limply to the cold marble floor. It barely brushed her chin now.
8) The Quidditch pitch was cold and just about deserted when she got there, ladylike shoes clicking as she ascended the stands by herself. A lone figure sat on the top row, eyes fixed skywards as she approached, and barely dipped his head in acknowledgement. He passed the steaming, nearly-full cup of coffee he held in his hands towards her, and she accepted, bringing it to her lips. Unlightened and simple and bitter. She laughed at the thought, and gazed at him curiously. "What are you doing here?" He shrugged, and his fingers brushed hers as he reached for the cup.
9) She hadn't ever noticed him before, because he kept to himself. She watched his lips cover the same spot where hers had just been, parting to sip before he handed the cup to her again. For a few moments, nothing was said, and she felt an odd feeling of warmth that didn't come from the coffee or the rising sun as the bitter draught disappeared between them. She handed the empty cup to him and smiled, surprised to receive one in return. It changed his whole face, and she had a feeling that he smiled even less than she did.
10) "You cut your hair," he said at last, breaking the spell. Tranquil green eyes locked with blue. Carefully, as though afraid to break her, he reached out, fingering the short, clipped ends of her hair. His fingertips were close enough to her cheek that she could feel their warmth, and she blushed. He lowered his hand, settling it in his lap. "It becomes you."
She grinned at that, and lifted her chin to raise her face to the sunlight. They sat together, knees touching and sharing warmth, and she went back inside an hour later with her head held high.