What you are looking at may not always be what it seems to be.
A young, Russian-Bulgarian boy, with a slightly severe manner of being.
He has long, thick black, shoulder-length hair. Long enough to hide his face beneath its silky curtains. His inky black eyes are like pools of blood, watching, waiting. For something or someone, who knows.
When you look at him, you notice his height. 5'3, an inch taller than most of his peers.
This would make him stand out in a crowd, if he wasn't so good at escaping notice.
He has pale features, glowing as the moon, with high cheek-bone to accent a slightly angular face.
Handsome, would be a word to describe him perfectly.
Harsh, would be another, if you caught him in the light.
His hair frames his face in such a way that it gives him an ethereal quality.
His lips are soft, and full, but look like they rarely upturn into a smile. He has a strange, jagged scar on the palm of his right hand from the first time he used magic.

Quiet, but not shy. Doesn't speak much, but when he does, it sounds like leaves falling in a forest.
Peaceful enough that it reaches to the depths of your soul.
His persona prefers to hide away with books in the trees and secret passageways that no one knows.
He likes philosophy, for the fact that you can challenge life, your existence, the only true relief from the life that he leads, brings him a sense of clarity.
He has 7 names.
4 middle names, 1 first name, and 2 last names, curtesy of a mother who was far too eccentric for his father. Drago himself is eccentric, just in a less obvious way, though as so, on as you get talking with him, it soon shows.
He speaks 7 languages, curtesy of living in a household with many diverse people.
He liked to listen to music, and learned how to play the cello and the piano.
He learned how to read and write quickly, and was an avid scholar.
His family was proud of how hard he worked and how much he learned so quickly.
He probably read more books then was heathly for him, sometimes skipping meals so that he could stay in the library. The house-elves brought him food though, so he didn't entirely miss meals.

Drago Volkov Voronin Krasny Morozov Thanatos-Kholodov was born on the frozen morning of the 1st of October, 2012. His parents, Adrik Thanatos-Kholodov and Ranavalona Thanatos-Kholodov, were pleased by his birth as the first born, and the first born son of the Thanatos-Kholodov line.
He was brought up by house-elves, because his parents were occupied elsewhere. Specifically his father.
His mother tried to be there for him, but her mental health was slowly declining. On his 5th birthday, she disappeared. His father searched far and wide but she was nowhere to be found.
Before his 5th birthday, he spoke very little, but after that spectacle, it left an imprint on his little mind that he could not forget.
No matter how hard everyone tried to get him to speak, he refused, and didn't speak a word until his 10th birthday.
His father tried everything. He pleaded, he begged, he even screamed and ranted about how it wasn't proper that a Thanatos-Kholodov should behave in that manner.
But he just looked up at his father with big, black eyes and refused to speak.

His first instance of magic happened at the age of 8.
He was attempting to get his father's attention, because he had drawn what he thought in his young, childish mind, what was a very good horse.
His father paid to attention to him, being engaged in matters far more pressing in his opinion.
Then again, anything was far more pressing to Adrik Thanatos-Kholodov than looking at a picture his son drew.
He finally got so worked up and upset that the curtain that he was standing next to caught fire.
He burned his hand on it, having been holding and yanking on them to get his father's attention.
Adrik finally looked up when he heard his son's anguished cries.
Despite his best efforts, the burn mark could not be removed completely because it was too severe.
It had covered his entire palm, but was finally reduced to something smaller.
He always remained with a jagged scar, stretching from the tip of his middle finger, to the left side of his hand where the wrist meets the palm.
It was shaped like a tree, a fern, or like a burning inferno.
He liked the way it looked on him, so when they found a solution to completely remove it a year later, he refused.
His father attempted to get him to remove it but he said that it was so that he could look like his father who had scars from his time as a master dueler. His father was so proud of him, he let him keep the scar.