At eleven years old, he hated her because he’d been told to. At fourteen, he’d hated her for always being just a bit smarter than him. One of his favorite ways to disappoint his father was always coming in second to a certain muggle-born witch. At fifteen, he’d hated her for going to the Yule ball with Victor Krum. He especially hated how she looked absolutely gorgeous. At sixteen, he’d hated her for putting herself in a position that landed her on the floor in the drawing room. He’d hated himself for not being brave enough to stop it. 