From start of his life, his proud and arrogant father's first sentence had been involved with always upholding the Malfoy pureblood generation. Of course, the little platinum blond haired boy did not care much for Mudbloods at that time. His family did not like filthy mudbloods in their house.
Naturally, the boy had not understood the hate for these creatures that his father had. But he knew better than to not be the obedient little spoiled boy that would grow up and cleanse the world of non-magical creatures.
It was until he had went on the train on Platform three quarters that he had touched one of the mudbloods on accident.
The feeling was not how his father had described it to be: A creature with skin so cracked, it would feel like needles on contact. Their eyes would pierce into one's soul and try to snatch it away from the owner. The face would be full of boils, and their hair so dry, it feel like hay. The being would smell like a farmer that had been hugged by the devil himself.
Somehow, when the boy had brushed against this muggle-born witch, he felt creamy and smooth skin. He smelt daisies and lavenders from her hair. He had seen her rugged looking hair, but it seemed very soft. He had heard an apology being whispered in a melodic voice.
He wanted to tell her it was fine, but instead, his mouth had uttered something very rude and it was close to what his father would say.
" Watch where you're going, you filthy mudblood."