Prologue: True Valor
Malfoy Manor was an imposing place, full of ancient objects that oozed history and power. Draco Malfoy, barely nine years old, was sitting in the library next to his father, Lucius, who was leafing through an old family grimoire. The atmosphere was solemn, almost ceremonial.
"Draco," Lucius began, in his usual cold and authoritative tone, "there is something you must understand as you grow up. As a member of the Malfoy family, you are part of a long line of pure wizards. Our blood is what makes us superior to others. Muggle-borns are nothing more than an aberration, a stain on the wizarding world. And the muggles...—she paused to emphasize his words——are nothing.
Draco looked at his father carefully, as expected of him. Lucius continued:
—Blood purity is the most important thing, Draco. It is what differentiates us, what makes us strong. Always remember this. Our superiority is an undeniable fact.
But, as Lucius spoke, Draco couldn't stop thinking about something that had been bothering him for a while. Around him, many of the "purebloods" his father admired did not seem to be as intelligent or as powerful. He thought about Crabbe and Goyle, the sons of his father's friends, two boys who were always around him but could barely form a complete sentence without looking confused. How could they be superior just because of their blood?
Draco dared to question it, at least in his mind
"If we purebloods are so superior, why are Crabbe and Goyle so. ...stupid?" he thought as he kept a neutral expression on his face
The young Malfoy had recently become fascinated with some muggle inventions. He had heard about things like the train, the plane, and, more recently, computers. Muggles didn't have magic, but they still found ways to do amazing things.
"If they don't have magic, how come they created so many things we haven't?" Draco wondered, as his father continued her speech about purity.
"Remember, Draco," Lucius said, closing the grimoire with a click, "don't let them convince you otherwise." Blood is everything
Draco nodded, but deep down he knew he didn't agree. It wasn't the blood that made someone powerful, but his ability, his talent. What was the point of having pure blood if you weren't able to use it for anything other than blindly following family traditions?
As his father stood up and left the room, Draco sat, staring at the pages of the grimoire, but without really thinking about it. see them.
"Talent is what matters," he told himself, with a determination he had not felt before. "Not blood. Only the most talented deserve true respect, no matter where they come from."
Draco closed the book in front of him carefully and decided then and there that his life would not follow the paths it had. His father plotted for him. It wouldn't matter if someone was muggle or muggle-born. If they were talented, they would earn his respect. And if they didn't have it, pure blood or not, they didn't deserve anything.