Secrecy, that was what he lived for. For his life, even that was a secret. Everyone knew him, but no one knew who he was.
He hid behind the masks his father had carefully constructed and forced him to hide behind. It hurt him to know his father held for him such contempt, but he never showed it. He feigned the same polite coldness as his father and kept to himself, trying to survive.
He never loved, not is father, nor his mother, he was ice, cold and unmanageable, no one can handle it for long before it turns so cold it burns them. Until he met someone who was just as unfeeling as he was. Then everything changed.
That one dreaded feeling, that one thing that could make him, or break him apart. That feeling so loathed and cherished by him. Love. That one emotion that drove you to do things so unheard of it made you think perhaps love was just another form of twisted insanity or torture. And so it is. Draco Malfoy was in love. With Harry Potter, it made no sense to him, or anyone else he knew, but when Harry kissed him, nothing else mattered. He stopped being a Malfoy, and Harry stopped being the-boy-who-lived, they were just two boys in love, and that was all they ever needed.