The bathroom mirror was still fogged-up, your blurry face looking back at you, when you put on the earrings your mother had given you earlier. A quick check-up on your dress couldn't hurt either, so you smoothed the fabric down your thighs once again, making sure it wasn't wrinkled.

"The Gaunts will be our guests tonight. And I expect you on your best behaviour," Mother had said in the morning. What she hadn't done though, was answer the questions you had met her with.

Why are they coming? Since when are they more than any other filthy rich family, looking for peers? And since when is your family interested in such peers? And why, oh why do they visit on the last evening of summer vacation, when you had planned to spend it with your little sister?

"You've got no business asking all those things young lady," she had said, flicking her wand to reposition the cushions on the sofa in the living room. "Now go to your room if you're not going to help me tidy."

A quiet sigh escaped your lips, still looking at your reflection in the mirror. You cupped your own cheek with one hand and wondered when they would arrive.

Your "best behaviour". Pah. As if she ever had to remind you. Nothing was easier than behaving. Just keep your mouth shut and smile. Think of them what you want and maybe hex them later. Never disagree, never tell them what you really think.

You had done this for 18 years. Every dinner party had had its moments when you'd rather told the guests to finally shut up and go home, but you had never done it. Just nodded and agreed to whatever idiotic thing the person next to you had said. Tonight would be exactly the same. Smile, nod, wait for them to vanish. Easy.

On your way downstairs, you peeked into your little sister's room. Elsie was sleeping and took deep, heavy breaths. She had been cursed about a week ago. Someone had sent a letter to your father that she had opened, not knowing what was inside. An adult would have probably been able to get over it, but her tiny body was struggling so badly, you thought it had killed her when it hit her. A house-elf was always with her to check her breathing and her temperature when you or your parents weren't able to watch her. You closed the door and wiped your eyes.

And there rang the doorbell. Father opened the door and in came three men. First was Marvolo Gaunt, roughly 60 years of age, with coarse skin and sparse grey hair beneath his bonnet. The man after introduced himself as Morfin Gaunt, a man in his forties, much better groomed than his father, but nevertheless the same slimy grin on his face.

The third in line was, to your surprise, Tom Riddle, a boy from your school. Their different last names had caused you to forget they were related. But now you remembered. Your friend Camille had told you once that Tom lived with his grandfather and uncle.

If you didn't know better, you could have thought he was a gentleman. He carried himself with a certain sense of pride and elegance. Not too much, not too little. No slimy grin, yet more of an unreadable expression of indifference on his face. He didn't shake your hand like the two men before but glanced curtly at you before he introduced himself to your parents. Prick.

Your sister's seat at the dinner table stayed empty again. The house-elves had set the whole table, in case she wanted to join. You thought about going up to her room to check up on her again. Later. Now it was time for your best behaviour.

"Thank you for having us tonight," Marvolo Gaunt said when the first course arrived. "It's a rare delight to see that there still are families with values."

The way he had emphasised values sent a cold shiver down your spine.

Father nodded. "Rare indeed."

Tom sat opposite of you and ate quietly. Never before had you seen someone not making a noise when cutting their food. Strange.

You weren't even sure if he knew you. He must have, you shared classes at school after all. But he had completely ignored you since they had arrived.

Morfin Gaunt put on his, apparently, most sympathetic smile. "We heard about your other daughter. And her," He paused for a second and looked at the empty spot at the table. "Condition."

What was he implying? Rumours surely spread as quickly as dragon pox, but why bring it up during dinner? You bit your tongue to prevent yourself from asking.

"And we heard about you knowing how to cure it," Father said.

He knew. He must have invited them for exactly that reason. You looked over to Tom, to see if he was privy as well, but he still looked down onto his plate.

"Well, we have our ways," Marvolo said and cut a piece of meat. "Old magic. Curse breaking. Better than whatever humbug they're doing in St. Mungos."

"You've taken her to the hospital, I believe?" Morfin asked.

"We have. They couldn't help her. Said they've never seen a case like it."

"Humbug, as I said," Marvolo chewed complacently. "Bunch of quacks."

"How do you think you can help her?" Mother asked.

"We would have to take a look at her first. From what I've heard it's a rare and complicated curse, but there hasn't been a single one I haven't broken," Morfin told her. "I'd have to brew and test some potions. I know people who supply me with a lot of, uncommon, ingredients. It could take a while and it's not entirely legal. Risky business. But I can manage."

Then it clicked. Of course. They wanted something in return. The Gaunts didn't look like they would do such things out of the kindness of their hearts. But what was it? Money? They didn't look like they needed it. Loyalty?

"And how could we show our gratitude in return?" Father finally asked and took a sip of wine. He always did that to hide his face when he was nervous.

Tom shifted in his seat, while Marvolo and Morfin looked at each other.

"You see," Marvolo began. "Our family is powerful. Our bloodline stretches back to Salazar Slytherin himself. And yet, as much as I'd like to hide it, there's been a stain in this very bloodline, when my daughter had my grandson with this muggle bastard."

All eyes were on Tom now, who looked at his grandfather vacantly. Only you seemed to notice how white his knuckles had turned on the hand around his dinner knife.

"Tom is, against all expectations, very smart and an ingenious wizard," Marvolo went on. "This can be traced back to the good genes of all the generations of Gaunts before him, that I'm sure of. And even though he can be trusted to find his way, I, as the head of the family, must make sure that there won't be another incident that could further dilute our bloodline."

Your parents looked at each other as if they didn't know what to say. Father, with his wine glass still in hand, asked: "So you want what, exactly?"

"Marriage," Marvolo answered.

Your fork fell out of your hand and onto your plate with a shrill clink. Everyone, even Tom, looked at you now.

"I'm sorry?" you asked and cleared your throat. "I must have misheard you, Mr Gaunt."

Marvolo turned back to your parents. "It's simple. You need someone to help your daughter, we need a decent woman, from a noble pureblood family, for my grandson to marry. Accept it, or don't."

"Excuse me. Do I have a say in this?" you asked, more towards your parents than to anyone else.

Mother looked as shocked as you, but only whispered: "They can help Elsie."

"Well, if your older daughter objects, there's still a second one, isn't there?" Morfin asked incidentally.

"She's ten!" you said, a bit too loudly.

"So? We've got time. I wouldn't prefer it either, but if you're not willing to help, we can make it work."

"Uncle," Tom hissed and stared at the table. "Stop!"

"So, what do you say?" Marvolo asked your parents again.

"Can we have time to think about it?" Father asked. "Let me talk to my daughter and -"

"No. Us Gaunts offer our help once and only once. Take it or leave it."

Silence. Your parents looked at Marvolo, then at you and back at themselves. The Gaunts smiled patiently and Tom was looking down onto the table again.

The only thing you could think of was your sister's little face and how it scrunched up when she almost coughed her lungs out. Elsie was too young to suffer like this. She was too kind, too pure to live through the hell that this curse had put her in.

"Why is this happening to me?" she had asked you a few days ago. You had had no answer for her. Not that anyone else deserved to be cursed, but she was the last person that deserved it. Marvolo probably was right - the people at the hospital didn't know how to help her at all. She hadn't even got a little bit better in a week. It was a miracle that she was still alive. But how long can miracles last for?

"Well, no answer is an answer," Marvolo said and pushed his chair back to get up.

"No," you said quickly. "I'll do it. For my sister."

Mother uttered a low cry. You couldn't tell whether it was from relief or horror.

"Excellent," Marvolo said and shook Father's hand, whose face had turned grey.

"When?" Father asked.

"When they've finished their last year of school. No need to further distract them. Unless you want them to tie the knot sooner?"

"No, no. After this school year, it is, then."

"Should we go and take a look at the little one now?" Morfin asked.

"Uh, yes. Of course," Father said and everyone except Tom got up.

You were following the guests and your parents upstairs until Mother turned around. "You stay here, love. We can't let you come. Look after the boy and make sure he doesn't sneak around." She put her hand on your shoulder and squeezed it hard, as if to say thank you, then turned back around and left.

Thank you would have been an understatement you thought while going back into the dining room. Tom was still sitting there, his back facing you. It looked like he hadn't moved an inch.

Your heart was still racing from the life-changing decision you had just made and he looked so indifferent. Was he right in the head?

You sat down opposite him and looked him straight in the eyes, waiting for him to say something. He stared back, not moving a single muscle in his face. You weren't scared, but his whole presence was intimidating. It took up the entire room now and made you reach for your wand in the pocket of your dress.

The way he looked into your eyes, so piercingly, as if he was staring right into your soul, while not showing any emotion on his face was inhuman and eerie. You didn't know if seconds or hours had passed, but he was still looking back at you and you weren't sure if he had even blinked once.

"What?" it blurted out of you.

He leaned back slowly. "What 'what'?"

"What is it with you? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You started it. I'm just returning the favour."

"Well... Stop it then. Please."

"Alright." He seemed amused. Wow.

Silence again. That was even worse than the staring.

"Don't you want to say something?" you finally asked.

"What should I want to say?"

"I don't know. Maybe get upset about the whole 'we're supposed to get married' thing?"

"What difference would it make? It's done."

"Haven't you imagined a different life for yourself? To choose who to marry on your own? Or was it your dream to marry me all along?"

"Don't flatter yourself." He slowly looked you up and down displeasedly. "Believe me. I've never dreamed of you. Ever."

That somehow hurt more than you had anticipated.

"How could you let this happen then? If you don't want to do it."

"As you can imagine, I have not been asked if I wanted to," Tom said and tapped his fingers on the dinner table. "You just experienced yourself how decisive my grandfather can be. How could you let this happen?"

"I had no other choice, had I?"

"Of course you had a choice."

"And let my sister die?"

"Then you made the decision to give her another chance to live and take both our chances away," he said and got up. "You did that to yourself."

"What?"

"I'll wait for my family outside. See you at school."