The message almost made Draco pass out. As it was, he stared at his arm for several long seconds – too long – the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach growing along with the pain of the Mark. He looked wildly around the room, crowded as always with the flotsam and jetsam of decades of magical mess and student carelessness, begging it to show him an escape. But he knew that the magic of this place was no match for his Master's demand and the binding magical contract he had made when he allowed the Dark Mark to be branded onto his arm.

When he couldn't stand it any longer, when he thought his body was about to burst into flames, he finally reached out a trembling finger to the writhing black shape and touched.

The Room of Requirement receded from his vision and he was standing in what looked like a library. Draco didn't think he had actually traveled anywhere; he could still see the cabinet and furniture, fuzzy in the corners of his sight. After a minute he realized it was his father's library, in Malfoy Manor, that had jumped into sharp focus. The roaring fire couldn't chase away the neglect in the room; his father hadn't been there for months and his mum was staying elsewhere.

His Master was sitting in a chair in front of the fire.

Although he had expected this, known as soon as his scar burned that his time was up, seeing Him here, only feet away, was too much. He swayed and would have fallen but for a soft word from Voldemort, and suddenly, Draco was unable to fall, unable to look away from the snakelike face, the red eyes.

Voldemort appraised him for a long minute while Draco felt his heart almost beating out of his chest. He tried to speak, and found his voice had been bound; even his frantic breath was silent.

"I am not going to kill you today, Draco." The obvious meaning of his Master's words gave Draco no comfort. He tried again to speak and found that now, the words came.

"I'm close Master. I swear. It will be done . . . both will be done, soon." He didn't even try to hide the begging plead in his voice, and he sounded even younger than his 16 years.

"I don't know why you try to lie to Lord Voldemort, Draco," his Master said silkily. "I know you are no closer now than when you started. I know you almost gave away too much with that stupid plan to make an Unbreakable Vow. I know of all your failures." Voldemort's voice was calm; Draco almost wished he would yell.

"But all is not lost. The near debacle of the Vow helped me see that my path forward is sure. You are just going to have to work harder to complete your part of the journey. I trust that you have learned the spell I showed you?"

Draco nodded jerkily; wondering if the spell freezing him limbs would also keep him from vomiting.

"Good, good. That is something, at least. And here, I have finally decided what you will use." A flick of his wand, and an ebony object with a silver skull handle appeared in the air between them. His father's walking stick. Another flick of the wand and the wood fell away, leaving only the top. Draco's hand jerked out of its own accord and the skull fell neatly into it.

"Use this," ordered Voldemort. "And bring it to me as soon as you are done."

"But Master, how should I . . ." Draco was beyond all reasonable fear now and it made him lose sight of the caution he needed. Pain shot through his head and he heard Voldemort's next words in his head as the room blurred in front of him.

"That is not my concern. I am not going to wait much longer before I find someone else, Draco. And you . . . well, we know what happens to those who displease me."

The voice faded away and Draco was back in the Room of Requirement. His head was spinning and he hoped against hope it had all been a dream, except for the fact that he was clutching a heavy silver skull in one hand.