This drabble is written for Slytherin House, prompt being "And yet, here you are,"(speech) - 484 words

There was no turning back now, Ianthe Lily Potter knew, but it didn't stop her heart from climbing into her throat, or her hands from clamming as she pushed the great wooden doors open and stepped into the room. No matter how many times she had Hermione and Sirius try talking her out of this, she knew that in the end, if she had to choose between blood of herself and blood of her family, she would always choose herself.

And the smug bastard knew it when he proposed to make a deal with her. And she signed it fully aware of the consequences.

Lord Voldemort – Tom Marvolo Riddle to her, Lord Gaunt to the rest of the Wizarding World – was sitting in his throne, his crimson stare not leaving her green ones as she stopped in the middle of the room she guessed once served as a living room for the Riddle family. Ianthe had to admit he looked devastatingly good; nothing at all like that horrible night in the graveyard and very much like the boy she met in her second year, a mirage-like Tom Riddle who tried to escape from his diary – his Horcrux.

Oh, she knew about the unnatural pieces of magic that kept her parents' killer alive, even after Avada Kedavra rebounded. Professor Dumbledore finally told her about them and the prophecy that linked her and Voldemort, after her dream excursion into Nagini's mind. The vision itself was terrible enough; having her worst enemy realize she was hitching a ride in his mind… well.

Suffice to say Mr. Weasley wasn't the only one transported to St. Mungo's that night.

"Riddle", she said without inflection.

"Miss Potter", he purred, and damn him he sounded better than he looked, which was a feat in itself. Why do the bad guys always look and sound so irresistible? "You came."

"I agreed to come."

"That you did." He studied her, leaning forward. "I expected more of a struggle."

"I agreed to come", Ianthe repeated, now feeling annoyed.

Crimson eyes flashed in amusement.

"It wasn't necessary." He reclined back. "And coming alone… you're either very brave, or very foolish, Ianthe Potter."

"I'm a Gryffindor", she felt necessary to point out. He shook his head.

"In name, maybe. Not in mind, certainly, and not in spirit."

Ianthe felt herself freeze. How did he-?

"Our connection, my dear Horcrux", there was an unholy glint in those unnatural crimson eyes, "does not go one way."

"Bastard", the title she gave him in her mind slipped past her lips without her consent. How dare he?! "I knew it."

"And yet, here you are", Lord Voldemort smirked. "Come, Lady Gaunt. I believe we have an appointment to keep."

"I will murder you in your sleep, my lord husband", Girl-Who-Lived promised him sweetly.

Dark Lord's answering smile was all teeth and no joy.

"I'm counting on that, my lady wife."