"See to it that you remember, not all the heroes were heroes from the start."
Beloved, I have told you of her: Ginny. I have not yet mentioned him. I must tell you that my reasoning was simple: you wouldn't want to know a thing about him had you heard how he began. I'm afraid this story would have ended ages ago if he was the first mentioned. He is not as a Hero ought to be, not humble nor caring in his nature and he was certainly never selfless in his acts.
In the beginning, for him, it was very cold. It had always been this way, long before his beginning when it was his Father's beginning it was cold then too. Some have said it was a wrong doing ages past that made his family that way. Malfoy: their faith was corrupt and placed in flawed systems of society, as well as the shadier arts of magic.
You shudder at the name's past, and you are not alone in this sudden feeling of detestation . Theirs is a history filled with such hate and sadly, it took a hold of their children at such a young age. He was only five when he saw a man's innards paint a wall red. He was nine when his Father had beaten him black and blue for shedding a tear past seven years old. He was eleven when the very core of him froze in this tradition of hatred and corruption.
"Draco."
He was to grow to in the image of his father, as any proper heir would do. He was to be as strong in his bad faith as the Elder Malfoy, holding firm to the beliefs that were crumbling all around him. His Father had failed in raising a true Malfoy, and succeeded in bringing up a man completely selfish and uncouth.
"Draco...?"
His mind was one filled with so many horrid thoughts. Guilt, he had seen the blood of innocents before he was even a man. Anger, how could somebody supposedly impure be better at everything? Pride, surely he was better than the rest, his wealth.. his good genes, his pure breeding. Lust, for power was something his Father told him to ache for, to kill for.
"Are you listening? He... he died last night. In the battle."
"Good," he turned his eyes up to the face of his Mother and watched her expressions melt into one another. He saw the same guilt, anger and pride... but she lacked lust. It was replaced with something foreign to him, something he was never allowed to see or feel: sorrow.
He supposed she wanted to say something to him along the lines of, 'How could you say such a thing?' or maybe even, 'Don't you dare utter that about your Father!'. She didn't though. She lifted her mask over those expressions and let her response seem natural.
"Remember what we are to say." She left him then, so that he might recall what it was he was to give as the lie. Cursed, she and him, to do the things they did, and no they would never think of really joining He-Who-must-Not-Be-Named. Cursed... that was it..
He returned to home the following day, and all the house elves called him "Master." He was no longer "Young Sir" His rank was heightened.