Tom Riddle's mouth opened a fraction, his eyes widened, and his mouth worked soundlessly until he found his voice. "My—my son? I have a son?"

"Yes, he's actually named after you. Tom."

"Named after me," Tom Riddle Senior murmured to himself, covering his face with his hands. Zia sat across from him quietly, understanding that he needed time to process this information. After what seemed like much too long, he looked back up, tugging on the ends of his hair. "Does he know about me?"

"He's aware that he has a father, obviously. He knows very little about his mother other than that she died giving birth to him, and that she had magic." At the last few words Tom's mouth tightened.

"Does my son have magic?" Zia's own mouth pulled down into a frown. She didn't like the way the man talked about her Tom.

"He does. He is extremely gifted." Tom Riddle's face contorted.

"Gifted? I call that cursed."

"It's clear that he doesn't get his intelligence or his skills from you," Zia retorted defensively. "Just his looks, which don't last forever anyways."

"Well how would you feel about magic if you'd been forced into being part of the creation of a child by someone you didn't like, didn't love, and who ruined your life?" He stood now, his anger rising. "Do you know the disgrace of it? Do you know what it is like to feel dirtied like that? My reputation, my former fiancée, the approval of my parents, gone. Wrecked. Everything was destroyed by that woman's selfish use of her magic. You can't expect me to feel any joy over this."

"I didn't expect you to. I just wanted to know what you were like. I wanted to meet the man that my child thinks about, wonders about, and wishes he knew." Zia said quietly. "I've heard enough. I feel no guilt raising Tom without knowing his father. I am sorry for what happened to you, but...I think it's for the best that you weren't aware." She pulled out her wand and pointed it at his forehead. "You won't remember this. Any of it." He looked at her, and she was surprised at the anguished expression on his face.

"Don't." He said simply. She lowered her wand.

"Why not?"

"How do you know about all of this? What part do you play?" Tom asked.

"I am your son's aunt," Zia said. Tom raised one eyebrow, and sat back in the chair again.

"Impossible. That family only had one son and one daughter, neither quite right in the head, and the father wasn't right in the head either. And they were all—how do I put this—hideous. You bear no resemblance to any of them. I repeat my question: how do you know about this?" Zia was silent, trying to think of an answer when she had none. Tom was more intelligent than she gave him credit for, and she realized that she would need to be very careful with what she said.

"I was illegitimate, and then did not display any sort of magic when I was young. Did you ever wonder where the mother was?" Tom scrutinized her face.

"I don't think that's true, but if that is the answer you wish to use, I will agree to play along," he said slowly.

"Agree to play along? When I wipe your memory, you won't have any recollection of me at all."

"Mmhmm. And what if your 'nephew' decides to find his father and finds out that his 'aunt' is a fake? How do you think that would work out?" Tom Riddle Senior's mouth was twisted into a semi-triumphant smile. Zia's eyes narrowed as she looked at him, and she realized grudgingly that he had a valid point.

"What do you want? You wouldn't be doing this if you didn't want something." Tom's face broke into a completely triumphant smile now.

"Retribution."

"What do you mean?"

"What is your name?" he asked her. Zia didn't understand why it mattered, but she did understand that if she didn't answer, there could be consequences.

"Zia Gaunt."

"Age?"

"24." He raised both eyebrows.

"You are 24? You don't look older than late teens," he said examining her. Zia knew this already; she hadn't aged very much physically for the four years since she had become Tom's aunt, and even before then she had always looked young for her age.

"I am 24. You can choose to believe that or not, but there it is." He looked at her thoughtfully.

"Not a bad age."

"What does age have to do with anything?" Zia was beginning to feel uneasy at the direction the conversation was going. Nothing about her mattered in this situation.

"I don't want it to look like I'm pursuing someone much younger than I am," he said calmly, folding his fingers together in a slightly business-like gesture.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm 26, you know. Only two years older than you. Very much acceptable, you see."

"I don't see."

"You're not bad to look at either. Unlike my captor," he continued.

"What is this? Why are you analyzing me like this?"

"Retribution. An eye for an eye. Although I think you have it better than I did, I'm at least not bad to look at," Tom Riddle Senior was smiling, but there was no hint of joy there. Only four years of built up anger. Zia stood up.

"I don't know what you're planning exactly, but I'm not going to go along with it. What happened to you was terrible, but I wasn't involved. There's no reason to punish me for it. So, I'll modify everything. You won't remember me, you won't remember her, you won't remember magic." She reached to pull out her wand, and realized that it was not there. Looking up, she saw Tom twirling it in his fingers, looking interestedly at it.

"What would happen if I break this?" Zia froze, and her body went numb with cold horror. She could not speak. She was average sized, maybe bigger than some of the twig thin women of this era, but definitely not strong enough to overpower a fully grown man. Not without help. "Ahhh I thought so. That would be a problem wouldn't it?"

"I could get a new one."

"But there wouldn't be a way of erasing my memory would there? I could simply find my son and tell him the truth before you get the chance…how do you think he would take it?"

"I should have wiped your memory when I had the chance, but I took pity on you."

"Will you hear out my proposition? Depending on how you answer, you could get your wand back."

"Fine," Zia said grudgingly.

"Sit down," the man said, pointing back to the chair. Zia sat, crossing her arms, angry. "You are raising my son. I am his father. You said he wants to know his father."

"I don't think he would want to know you."

"No interruptions. Anyway, I see one very good solution to this whole issue, and it would even include retribution for me," he continued, pausing and looking at her giving silent permission for her to speak. Zia saw in the man what she was trying desperately to prevent her Tom from becoming, and felt sick.

"What solution is that?"

"Marry me."