(This is so late!) I've decided to do this for my Harry Potter story too, I'll write view specials on the backgrounds of characters. You'll learn this in-story too, but more gradually, and it won't be as thorough. The view specials are intended for you to live through their past. For this reason, unlike the View Specials in Forgiveness, these will be moved to the back of the book.

Let's start with Draco! Why? Because Harry and Draco are the main characters of this fanfiction, and we have seven whole books (eight movies) of Harry's story.

This may not be accurate, but it's my take on what Draco's past could be.

Draco Malfoy: age 9

"I'm gonna use magic like you, someday, right Momma?" I ask, waiting for the answer my mother always gave. Her warm lap and proud, glittering blue eyes seem to invite me to smile. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a bun.

I've seen her face frost over before, but for me, it was warm.

"Of course, Draco." Momma says, smiling down at me. "You'll be the best wizard ever."

"That's only if the boy would listen." Father interrupts. "Now that the Dark Lord is gone, we need to be ready for whichever wizard comes next. We can't do that if the boy remains soft."

Momma frowns. "He will be."

I glance over to Father, his stern gaze over me. His pale blonde hair looks like my own, and it's tied back.  I slide down quickly.

Soft meant weak, and being weak was bad.

"I'm sorry, father. I'll do better."

"Honestly," Father frowns, glaring down at me. "If the Dark Lord was still here ..."

The Dark Lord was what Father called He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. If I was soft, than the Dark Lord was my opposite. He was powerful, cruel, and able to bring our family back to where we belonged.

Sometimes though, the way Father talked about him like the Dark Lord was an old girlfriend. Other times, it sounded like the Dark Lord was an older brother to me: someone I could never measure up to. In this case, it was the latter.

"I will do better!"

"Then do so." He says, dismissing me.

I nod, before scurrying out of the room. When I go to close the door behind me though, I pause, hearing Father mutter something to Momma.

"Those muggle children are becoming a nuisance. If the Dark Lord was here, I would have killed them by now, but they insist on coming in and egging the place."

Momma's voice, now as cold as the wind, scoffs in agreement. "If we try anything magical, we risk revealing our world to the muggles. We'll just ha-"

I close the door softly, hoping they wouldn't notice my eavesdropping.

I pace the darkened corridor, threading my way to my room, passing paintings that attempt conversation and arched doorways.

Muggle children?

I pause, halfway up the stairs, as the thought hits me.

Of course!

I'll get rid of the muggles and that will prove that I wasn't soft.

Father would be proud. Maybe he'll even give me a smile as warm as Momma's.

I sneak down the stairs, past Dobby the soft house-elf, and rushed over to where we kept the brooms. I grab my toy broom and run back to the stairs, almost knocking over the house-elf in my hurry.

I don't apologize, because Father says that wouldn't 'befit my station'. Instead, I keep running, into my room and to the window. Upon looking out at the dark sky, I temporarily reconsider my plan. I could barely make out the silhouettes of the trees, and it was awfully high.

Don't. Be. Soft.

I shake my head, reminding myself why I was here. Taking a deep breath, I push open the window, standing on the ledge.

The cold breeze rustles my hair, chilling my skin. Trepidation roils in my stomach. Don't be soft.

I hover my broom, going up and over the ledge. I bite my lip as broom falls down the huge height. Since mine was only a kid's broom, it couldn't go as high as the brooms I'd use later in Hogwarts.

I almost crack my teeth, trying not to scream. I barely register my white knuckles.

It stops, suddenly, a couple feet off the ground, jostling me about with the sudden stop.

I gasp for breath, guiding the broom onward.

Too late to turn back now.

I fly forward, carefully going through the garden and over the gate. In the dark, all the bright colors of Momma's flowers seem dull and lifeless.

I hear voices, I land my broom stick.

A group of laughing voices.

I step off my broom, gripping it in my hands.

It's a trio of small boys, my age. It's hard to see in the dark, but the ringleader's spindly form sticks out in the moonlight. I think his hair is black and his eyes a dark gray, perhaps.

His friends differ in build. Whereas the ringleader sports long limbs, one of the two boys flanking him has what I think is black hair, short and in a bowl cut, his eyes an indecipherable color. His skin seems to be a deep brown. This one is big, blocky, for my age, and I realize he's actually older than me. Even though he's older, the ringleader almost matches him in height.

The third one's short and blonde, like me. His eyes flash with blue humour, his smaller limbs making him seem weaker than the others.

"Who're you?" The ringleader says.

"I'm Draco Malfoy, muggle."

"Cute." The short one says, "He's using made up words now."

"Hmphff." I scoff at them.

The ringleader chuckles. "He thinks he's gonna beat us with that broomstick. Cute is the right word."

Though he's laughing, the ringleader's eyes show pure rage.

Why?

"Want me to take him out?" The blocky one asks.

"Why not." The ringleader shrugs. "Come on, Vago."

The short one follows his lead.

I rush forward, but the big one blocks my path.

Squeaking, I fall over, landing on my bum.

"This will be fun." He murmurs, reaching for me.

I close my eyes as his hands grab the front of my shirt.

Suddenly, he roars.

I peek open one eye to see that a green fire had decided to enwrap his hand.

The ringleader stops, looking back.

"Change in plans, Corvin." He mutters, turning around. "Go egg the house with Vago. I'll deal with Mr. Wizard here."

Corvin gladly complies, scurrying off.

"You know what I hate about people like you?" The ringleader whispers, his voice carrying on the still breeze. "I hate that you have everything, and you use that everything to stomp little people like me into the dirt."

"R-Run! Or ... Or I'll do to you what I did to Corvin!" I exclaim.

"You won't have time to do any accidental magic, Malfoy." He says, "I'll make sure of it."

My eyes widen as he launches himself forward, striking my face swiftly, following by a knee to my stomach. I fall, sprawling backwards.

He grips my arms, turning me on my belly and wrenching my arm out of my socket.  I scream, the pain rushing through me all at once, my vision blacking out for a second. It passes, delirium at the edges at my mind. Then, the other one, the agony almost as bad as the first. I feel my mind weaken, my sense of reality fading. He lifts me up, easily. "Are you two done?"

After another minute, Vago and Corvin run back, each with an empty carton of eggs. "What is it, Engrazio?"

"He's going into the well."

Corvin draws back. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." His bitter, dark eyes turn to me. "Draco Malfoy. Now you'll see what it's like to be nothing."

I groan, and Engrazio shoves me down, off his shoulders, and pushes me into the ground. My shoulders burn.

"This is what it's like to be me, worm. Don't forget it." He growls, before standing upright, dragging my body with him as he walks.

"Engrazio, no!" Corvin says, "You're letting your business take over you."

"And why shouldn't I? This one, here, is at my mercy."

Through the pain, I'm dimly aware that we've reached the well in the forest near my family's castle. Edges of fear break through my confusion.

Were they really going to throw me in there?

"Then show him mercy."

"This is mercy. I could beat him again and again and he'd be powerless to stop me. Instead, I'm just going to injure him and leave him to fend for himself in an inhospitable environment. Sounds like what he and his filthy rich brethren did to me." With that, he glares at me. Terror roils in my belly. He was right. I was helpless.

With that, he lifts me up and drops me.

By the time my parents brought me out, I was freezing, cold. Small, weak. Soft.

My father seemed cross with me, but I was too angry at myself to notice.

I don't ever want to feel small again. I don't ever want to be weak and helpless.

I want power, so that I won't have to feel fear and pain ever again.

With that realization, I feel the cold from the well seep into my soul, so deep I didn't think I could ever be rid of it.

And that was okay.

Because the cold would make me stronger.