The next thing she knew the name "Zia Gaunt" was signed to official documents stating that she now had full custody of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Tom himself seemed somehow aware that something was taking place, but his one-year-old mind didn't seem to know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. He was a very quiet child, and as the matron handed him over to Zia, along with the few things that apparently belonged to him, his face remained perfectly expressionless. Mr. Dawkins, or Papa Charlie as he was now insisting she call him, helped her out with everything; he signed as a witness, and then paid any fees that came up.
"And you will still be coming home for dinner, right?" Papa Charlie asked, although it was more of a statement than a question. Zia nodded, and he again took the lead, although now he walked slower to compensate for the additional weight of Tom and the meager bag of belongings that the orphanage had handed to her, the former being carried by Zia and the latter being carried by a somehow more energetic Charlie Dawkins.
They continued on for a little while, finally coming up to bus stop. "I'll get your ticket, and we'll be off," Mr. Dawkins said. He talked to the driver then they both boarded, Zia's arms wrapped around her "nephew." She wasn't sure she trusted the safety of the old-fashioned bus, but it was the only option, since newer buses hadn't been invented yet.
After about twenty minutes or so, the bus pulled to a stop, and Mr. Dawkins led her out and to a quaint little house with—she smiled at this—a picket fence and a little garden.
"Mary!" he called. "I brought you a surprise!" A plump old lady with a bun of gray streaked light brown hair came flying out of the house, saw Zia and little Tom, and immediately set her course for her new "surprise." The woman smiled, her eyes twinkling.
"And who might this young lady be?" she asked.
"I'm Zia Gaunt," Zia began, then had the air crushed out of her with a hug, although the woman was careful not to squish the one year old placidly staring at her.
"And who might this young fellow be?" She asked, easily observing that the one year old was a boy.
"This is Tom Riddle, my nephew." Zia explained. Somehow the lie came easily, even though she had never really lied before because it made her uncomfortable. She was calm and sure that this was what she wanted to do, even though she realized that she had taken an intensely difficult task upon herself. Or rather, two difficult tasks, because she considered raising a child and that child potentially being mass murderer Lord Voldemort two separate problems entirely. The closest thing she had ever come to raising a child was her job as a caregiver for autistic children and she wondered if that would be enough to go on. New parents were beginners too though, and she took comfort in the idea that many first born and only children turned out very well. Mary was attempting to get Tom to smile, and failing dismally in the attempt.
"Well dear, let's get you into the house. We still have some toys somewhere, maybe Tom would like to play with them," at this she turned to her husband and gave him a look that clearly expressed her desire for him to find the toys, then continued. "I'm sure I've got something you can wear, and then you can help me with dinner! I'm sure Charlie would love to keep an eye on Tom while we cook. Oh this is so exciting!" and with that, Mary Dawkins steered Zia into the house and quickly had her outfitted in a dress, nylons, shoes, and then put her to work chopping potatoes. Papa Charlie located the box of toys, and Tom proceeded to pick up each one and examine it with his chubby little fingers, as if trying to figure out which ones he approved of and which ones he deemed unworthy of play time. Charlie seemed to find this amusing rather than strange, which Zia was grateful for.
Soon the meal was finished and in the space of time that it took to prepare and cook the dinner, the Dawkins couple figured out that Zia was alone, had no family, and no job. Mary had heard about her husband's insistence that he be called Papa Charlie, and urged Zia to call her Nana Mary. Zia felt guilty for being such a surprise guest, not to mention that she had no idea of half the things going on in the world, but it was hard not to feel comfortable around Papa Charlie and Nana Mary.
"Zia," Mr. Dawkins began, having finished his portion of mashed carrots. "I'd like to offer you a job at my office. We're in desperate need of a hard-working receptionist, and you seem like a bright girl. You would be paid well, and we would help set you and Tom up in a nice apartment of your own. What do you think?" Zia wasn't sure what to say.
"Mr. Dawkins," she began ("Papa Charlie!") "that is extremely kind of you, but you've already done so much, and-"
"Oh nonsense! You accept his offer Zia!" Mary urged. Then she leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, "And besides, this way we will be able to visit your Tom! He is so sweet!" Zia looked over at Tom, who was sitting in a makeshift high chair at the table, staring at some mashed carrots that he seemed to consider a questionable source of nutrients. Sweet wouldn't have been exactly the word she would use for him, but maybe that was her knowledge of his very un-sweet potential future. Thinking of how unfair that judgment was to place on a one-year-old, she remembered what her mother had told her once. Don't look at who someone is, but who they can be. If you treat them like they're already the person they could be, they're more likely to truly become that person. She looked back at Tom.
"I will take the job. Thank you very much, Papa Charlie. And you, Nana Mary."