"Draco," Snape said, his voice actually surprisingly gentle. "I'm sorry." Draco began to dry heave and Snape summoned an old cauldron and Draco gratefully leaned over the edge and vomited the contents of his stomach into the rusty container. After completing that task, and several dry heaves later, Draco felt his wave of nausea pass. He rose cautiously, shaking all over, and refused to look at Snape.

He couldn't bare to look at the man, his mentor really, after what he had done. It was an act of cowardice, he knew, but he was a coward. If he had been brave, he would have been sorted in Gryffindor. The thought was almost enough to make him duck back over the cauldron. If he were Potter, now, he'd have stood tall and proud and told the Dark Lord to go take a long walk off a short pier. Potter was brave and righteous. He, Draco, on the other hand, was nothing but a coward and a monster. Snape must have seen the dark look cross his face, because at that moment, the man began to speak.

"Draco, you're not a monster," he said softly. "Contrary to what you said earlier." Oh, yes, he had said that.

"Yeah, I am," Draco muttered.

"You're not!" Snape replied urgently, not loudly though, for which Draco was grateful. He would have fallen apart, he thought, if someone had yelled at him now.

"You saw what happened," Draco said bitterly. "I killed someone."

"You're right that I saw what happened," Snape sighed. "You are what you make yourself, and if you don't make yourself a monster, you won't be."

"I killed someone."

"They made you do it," Snape reasoned. "He would have died anyway. Someone would have killed him. If not you, your aunt. He was a lost soul from the moment they picked him up. Try not to feel too badly about it, Draco. I'm so sorry. He was dead from before you saw him. The Dark Lord would likely have drawn out his suffering even more if you had not been there to kill him. Try to take some consolation in that; you made his passing easier."

"Is that how you justify this to yourself?" Draco rasped, turning away from Snape.

"Yes," Snape whispered softly.

"Does it work?" he choked out.

"No," Snape admitted even more quietly. "I'm sorry." Snape stepped close to Draco and laid what was supposed to be a comforting hand on Draco's shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" Draco shouted as he whirled on Snape. He eyes were almost spilling over with tears, but sheer determination was keeping them back.

"I'm sorry," Snape repeated, holding his hands up in a peace offering. "I was only trying to help."

"You can't help me!" Draco screamed. "You can't make me feel better! I should be the dead one right now! I'm nothing but a stinking coward and a monster! I should have said no!"

"Draco, in the pressure of the moment, it's not always that easy," Snape said, his tone still calm.

"I should be dead now!"

"Survivor's guilt," Snape dismissed. "You'll get used to it."

"I don't want to get used to it!"

"I'm sorry," Snape repeated for how many times that night Draco couldn't remember.

"Not your fault," Draco muttered as he rushed towards the door out of Snape's office. He just wanted to out from under the man's gaze.

"Draco, don't go doing anything you'll regret!" Snape called after him. Draco paused for a moment.

"I won't," he replied. "I promise."

It was almost morning as it was, Draco noticed. He could catch a few hours of sleep, hopefully, before breakfast, and then classes. He was exhausted, and even though his conscience was far from leaving him alone at the moment, his sleep-deprived brain was able to shut his conscience off long enough to fall into bed into unconsciousness. He had had the presence of mind to take a dreamless sleep potion before falling asleep though. He couldn't afford nightmares tonight, not with only a precious few hours of sleep at all that night.

Next morning, he woke to the sounds of his dorm mates preparing themselves for the day. He dressed and showered as quickly as he could before any of his dorm mates could ask any questions. He thought they had learned by now to keep him out of things, but he couldn't be too sure. He'd tried to be a bastard to everyone this year. It was safer that way.

Well, everyone except Alchemist. Thinking of which, Draco made his usual detour to the mail station, hoping to find a letter there. He needed a letter. And he found one.

The Monster in the Dark

I am so sorry. I am so ashamed of myself. You have done nothing to deserve that. I shouldn't have yelled. I'm not really angry at what you said. And I knew that it was a joke. I- I just had a really bad day. And when I read your letter, it was just the final straw.

You see, I'm not a good person. I'm not an Alchemist. I AM an idiot. I am Id. It was very nice of you to want to change my name, but after the last letter, there is no way I can accept that name, Alchemist. It has power behind it. It means strength. Two things right now, that I do not have. I am not a good person. And the way that I treated you shows that. If you don't ever want to send me any more missives I will completely understand. You want to know something, the same friend who told me to start writing the letters in the first place got angry with me when they saw the letter that I sent you. They didn't tell me that they read it until after I sent it.

After my ears stopped ringing, I felt so bad.

So to end this here and now, no I am not suicidal, but I have thought about it. I mean so much will be all done and over with if I just die.

And two, yes I am in danger. My danger is more awful than you can imagine (or maybe you can).

I just want this war to be over. I just want someone to love me for me and not what I'm suppose to stand for. I just- I guess I just want to have a normal year at school.

I hope that you write back. But if not I completely understand.

Idiot. (sorry I just can't call my self that. I AM an idiot to hurt someone who is only trying to help me.)

Draco, still short on sleep and as emotionally wounded as he still was from the previous night, held the letter in his hands and felt himself begin to lose control as he reread it, because it seemed that Alchemist was under some impression that he, Draco, was better than what he had just described about himself. That anyone, even a stranger, could still think well enough of him to apologize was what touched Draco deeply. He quickly pulled out his quill and parchment, because of course he was going to reply.

Dear Alchemist,

I will continue to call you Alchemist. If anyone is the strong one here, it's you. You would never have apologized if you knew me in real life, I'm sure. No one would apologize to me, not sincerely. I neither deserve it nor desire it. But you did apologize, unnecessary though it was. I mean, that has a strength in it, doesn't it? I'm not sure I've ever apologized to someone. Rest assured that your non-existent offense is forgiven. Tell your friend not to fret over it, and that they should apologize for getting angry with you. It wasn't worth getting angry about.

Now, honestly, if we're going to compete for a place on the bottom of the ethical totem pole, I would advise you not compete with me. I will wager anything that I'm a worse person than you.

I had a bad day yesterday too. A person died. It was my fault. I don't think you can compare any lapse in ethics you've ever had to killing someone. Believe me when I say that between the two of us, you're the good one.

Well, try not to kill yourself. I'm sure your friend would be pretty upset if you did that. Okay? You have at least one friend who cares. That's more than I have.

There are different kinds of danger. Mental, emotional, physical, spiritual - at least one other kind I can think of. Let's go with the idea that I can imagine your danger, until we prove otherwise. What is the nature of your danger? Is there a specific someone who is targeting you?

You and me both. I'm tired of this war too. Can't anyone see what it's doing to us? If nothing else, I wish the mothers could find some solidarity and stop the war. There's children involved - on both sides. You know that's what happened in Ireland when the fighting got so bad that they were bombing a thing called a school bus. That's a metal box that moves around to take Muggles places. It's really bizarre. And bombs are a thing that explodes. It's kind of like a spell, I guess. Maybe you know more about Muggles than I do. That adult I told you about - the one who gave a crap about my life - told me this story. But anyway, children were traveling in them, and both sides were killing the children. And then the mothers got together and decided to put a stop to all the stupid fighting.

I suppose my mother would have to love me first though. You never did tell me who called you an idiot. My father called me that too. Making a mistake doesn't make you an idiot though. I suppose making a mistake just makes you human. You had a bad day, and you needed to vent. That's fine and if you ever need to vent again, I'll listen.

Thanks for writing back. It's been one beacon of light for me today. It was one of those mornings were you wake up and everything is worse than when you fell asleep.

My apologies. I just noticed how long winded I've been. I didn't mean to take up so much of your time. And it's almost time for class, I see, and I haven't touched the food, though I can't say I want to. I hope your day is more pleasant than mine.

The Monster in the Dark