Draco found himself thinking the rest of the night about Id and the letter. He was pleased with the effectiveness of the distraction, because, he realized, the Dark Lord hadn't crossed his mind all night.

He was lying on his bed, alone, looking up at the ceiling, although it wasn't quite time to turn in yet. He would check the mail station in the morning, and not before. While he might burn mental calories thinking about Id, he had no intention of being a pre-teen girl about this and hanging around the owlery, just waiting for a reply.

He began to wonder who Id could possibly be. A Slytherin? A Hufflepuff? God forbid, a Gryffindor? Could Id be one of his dorm mates, even? Whoever it was, Id sounded both scared and annoyed, and whatever his problem, Draco feared that it was actually a serious problem, not one about a relationship doomed to failure finally succumbing to the inevitable. It concerned him that someone who had as serious a problem as Id, whatever his problem actually was, didn't bring it to someone. Surely there was a teacher who could help him? Or even a friend? It puzzled and worried Draco that Id would write to the public mail station rather than bring it to a friend or a teacher.

It seemed Id did have at least one friend who cared about him - one who had made him promise to reach out if things "got to be too much." So maybe Id had gone to this friend, and he or she had determined the problem to be beyond what he or she could handle.

Then why do you think you can handle it, Draco? a small voice whispered.

Because I have to do something besides become a cold blooded killer, he replied.

He didn't know what he was going to be getting into, and he knew that. Whatever it was that he was getting into, though, it couldn't be nearly as bad as being a Death Eater, he figured. Nervously, he began to finger the outline of the Dark Mark on his left forearm.

One thing he was certainly grateful of in all this was the Snape's support. Snape, who also bore a Dark Mark, who, Draco suspected, would rather not. It wasn't anything Snape said, and it certainly wasn't anything Snape did. It was just a feeling he had. It was entirely possible, maybe even probable, that it was just wishful thinking, that he wanted someone to sympathize with his situation so much that he was willing to read something into a situation where nothing should be read. At the Death Eater meetings - Draco would always begin to think that perhaps he was mistaken, that Snape truly was a Death Eater like the best of them, a true follower of the Dark Lord. He would torture and kill the victims without any sign of remorse or hesitation.

It made Draco sick, to think of what happened at Death Eater meetings. How could anyone stand it? How could anyone be blind to the cruelty it took to act like that? Why had his father - and mother - ever gotten involved in it? Well, he supposed he could see his father getting involved. His father was pretty ruthless, at least about some things. His mother was always nice to him though. Maybe his mother had been sucked into it, something like he had. She was formerly a Black, after all, a family prominently involved in the Dark Arts and subsequently the Dark Lord. Upon marrying Lucius Malfoy, his mother had probably sealed her fate of always being involved with the Dark Lord, no matter what her personal opinions or preferences might be.

Draco remembered the Dark Lord scoffing at the idea of love at one point, calling it a weakness and a liability. Perhaps it was, if it made you do things that made you hate yourself after.

He didn't want to be a Death Eater. He didn't want to kill Dumbledore. He didn't want to torture and kill people. He didn't want to be a monster. But that was what he was turning into, a monster in the dark.

He knew he wasn't that convincing an actor. It was the hight of foolishness to even think of believing that the Dark Lord thought him a loyal servant. Why didn't the Dark Lord just kill him right away? It would have made things much simpler. Heck, maybe he could even be a martyr or something. "Draco Malfoy - trapped between a world of Light and Dark, dies for his convictions." Nah, that certainly wasn't going to happen.

He was so scared of dying. He'd even had a few panic attacks over the thought, when it would strike him with cold reality that he had no other choice than to die at some point. Everyone died, some earlier, some later, some with the grace of a hero, and some with the terror of a coward. Draco hoped he would be the later, and he knew he would be the coward.

But why wasn't he a corpse already? The Dark Lord had sifted through his mind multiple times - a very painful thing - and Draco was no master of Occlumency. He wasn't fool enough to believe that the Dark Lord didn't know he had reservations about serving him. He didn't actually believe the Dark Lord thought it was acceptable to torture and kill people.

The only idea Draco had as to why he was still alive was that this was his torture. Making him do the things that he least wanted to do, dangling his mother, even his father, over his head unless he did it. It might not be the typical physical torture of the meetings, but it was no less painful.

Maybe the Dark Lord didn't demand loyalty - maybe he just demanded predictability. Sure, Draco might have qualms with any number of things regarding the Death Eaters, but as long as the Dark Lord pushed his buttons in the right order, he would always do as commanded. So even if the Dark Lord knew he wasn't loyal, he also knew Draco would be dependable.

Draco wanted to vomit. He hated being manipulated like this. And the worst thing about it was that he knew he was being manipulated, and couldn't do anything about it. He could see his enemy's plans, like a net, fall into place and tie him down, but he couldn't run and he couldn't fight.

With those thoughts, Draco finally drifted off to sleep, his dreams a muddle of Dark Marks and letters from Id.

Next morning, Draco's first thought was anticipation to see if Id had replied. He forced himself to take a shower and put on his uniform first, though. But not even stopping by the Great Hall, he rushed to the owlery. No one was around, which was lucky, because Draco was taking two or three steps a stride in his excitement, not a dignified thing for a Malfoy to do. He rushed to the mail station, and it didn't take him a moment to find the scroll addressed to "The Monster in the Dark." He grabbed the parchment and, without opening it, went back to the Great Hall for breakfast.

When he got there, Draco dished his plate with eggs, toast, and sausage, but didn't really pay attention to the food. He was absently eating as he unrolled the letter and read it.

The Monster in the Dark,

I have to say that I'm surprised that you read my letter. I didn't think anyone actually responded. It's nothing, really. I was just venting. What can I say? Everyone says I'm a liar. No one believes me. So why should you really care? I don't know you. What is it that you really want? Why is helping me so important, now? And how can you understand how I feel? You don't know anything about how I feel! Don't mock me! I am a real person!

Id

Draco's eyes narrowed at the letter. Well, obviously it was going to be harder to crack this riddle than asking a few simple questions. This was a challenge now, and Draco's curiosity was peaked. He was going to win Id's trust, and therefore his secrets, if it killed him. But how to gain the trust of someone you had never met? Who had never met you? As Id aptly pointed out, they didn't know each other, so what motivation could he give Id to tell him?

An idea struck Draco. Perhaps he couldn't give Id a motivation, properly speaking. But if he backed into it, Id might open up. Draco could write about himself and this might inspire Id to open up in return. A little bit of guilt involved, perhaps, if Id realized what he was doing.

Draco quickly pulled out a spare parchment and quill and began to sketch out a reply.

Dear Id,

You may have been surprised that someone actually responded, but you hoped it would happen. Why else would you have checked back so quickly? Hope is the only thing stronger than fear.

A liar? It would be extremely stupid to bring this up now unless you're not. And especially since your reputation - whatever it may be - does not precede you in an anonymous letter, it adds to the evidence that you are, in fact, telling the truth - whatever it may be. Why do people think you're a liar? Is it an incredible story, one that can't be verified? Like Potter's story about -

Draco paused. He almost wrote "the Dark Lord" but that was what those who were either Death Eaters or close to Death Eaters called him. He didn't want to tip his hand to his identity, at least not yet.

Like Potter's story about You-Know-Who? Of course, the story has since been verified. Personally, I believed that story from the beginning, even if I kept my mouth shut at the time.

Your last litany of questions are actually quite closely related. Due to - difficulties - in my own life, I cannot explain everything in detail about myself. I'm a monster, and I don't want to be. I want to do something good this year. I want to help you because it will make me sleep better at night. I can know how you feel because sometimes - sometimes being a monster becomes too much, and I don't know what to do with myself. I suppose you could say that for the very reason I can understand is the reason why I've replied to you.

I had never intended to mock you. Perhaps I will not be able to understand everything, but we won't know for sure until I know more. My apologies if you thought I was mocking you - that was never my intention. The reality of your person is very apparent to me. I doubted much of anything put a real person would be able to write back to me!

Draco quickly scratched an "I'm teasing you" in parentheses, so that Id would read the last sentence in the joking manner in was intended.

You never did answer my question - are you in danger at school?

The Monster in the Dark

It took Draco the rest of breakfast to write out the letter, and when he finished, he realized he needed to run off to his first class, or he would be late. He quickly stuffed the reply in his bag and determined to make a detour to the mail station before lunch to deliver it.