Dumbledore reached into what looked like a normal sized briefcase and extracted a large stone basin, then carefully set it in the middle of the kitchen table. Regulus and little Tom were out practicing Quidditch again, and Zia was amused by how much of a fan Tom was becoming. On his bookshelf now sat three large thick books, one about the history of Quidditch, another about how each of the balls was developed and works, and a final one listing out and explaining different techniques for play. He had read every single one within a week, and this was between his time at school and doing homework, as well as meals, sleeping, and spending time with her and Regulus. Although, Zia thought, the amount of time it took him to finish his work even at a grade level five years ahead of the norm was astoundingly small, so perhaps it wasn't so strange that he'd managed to read them all so quickly.

A little cough came from the doorway of the kitchen, and Zia looked back to see that Tom Riddle Senior was standing there, looking unsure as to whether or not he was allowed in. She had still not let him meet little Tom, but as time passed it became clearer that he really was different than before. Regulus and Tom moved between Regulus' house and hers freely, but Riddle was only allowed in whatever house little Tom was not currently occupying. Zia motioned for him to enter, and he took a seat at her right. Dumbledore sat across from her. Between them all sat what Zia was certain was the Pensieve.

"This is a Pensieve," Dumbledore explained, immediately confirming Zia's suspicions. "I'm going to use this as an additional protection during this exercise. I was not fully prepared for the strength of your abilities last time, but I don't intend to make the same mistake. Allow me to place some memories in here." Dumbledore placed his wand at his temple and pulled it away, along with a silvery wispy thing that he then added to the contents of the Pensieve. It swirled around, then vanished. Dumbledore did this several times before he placed his wand back on the table.

"So you, what you were doing," Riddle began, "You were taking memories out of you and placing them in that thing so that Zia won't be able to access them if something happens?"

"Correct, Mr. Riddle, that is indeed what I was doing," Dumbledore says, peering over his spectacles at Riddle. Tom Sr. blinked slowly and turned his face down slightly, breaking their eye contact, and Zia wondered whether Dumbledore himself was using a little Legilimancy on the man. "Continuing. Are you prepared, Zia?"

"I am," Zia responded, watching him. Dumbledore's face was different this time, more concentration was etched onto it and she knew he was using Occlumency with all his might. She gazed at him and focused on accessing his memories. This time, it was like a wall was there, barring her access. Her eyes narrowed and she felt herself mentally searching along the wall, and then found a weakness. The barrier crumbled and she for the second time found herself witnessing Dumbledore's memories. None of these were as serious or personal as the last time. Instead she was watching scenes at some kind of pub, Dumbledore with other people drinking out of large mugs, and a snowy castle that she realized was probably Hogwarts. Then she pulled back out of his mind.

"It's almost impossible, really," Dumbledore murmured, pressing his fingertips together and gazing at her fixedly across the table. "You are able to do that even without a wand, or the incantation. I wonder what would happen if you were to use those." Zia bit her lip. She was actually afraid of what might happen if she used a wand and the spell to perform Legilimancy. If it heightened her ability enough, what might happen to the subject frightened her. The person could go insane, as so many had due to the torturing of Lord Voldemort—she stopped her thoughts and shuddered. The small boy who, in another reality, held that potential was at that very moment practicing Quidditch in a grassy area of their house.

She wondered if he would still be interested in learning Legilimancy, how much of what he wanted to study would be different than it was in the books. Surely he would stay away from dark things such as horcruxes and murder, but the things that had the potential to be used for good, would he still want to know those things? She had a feeling that, like her, he already possessed some degree of legilimancy without being trained.

Her lessons continued for weeks. It became a regular occurrence to watch Dumbledore lift the pensieve out of the briefcase, place it on the table, and extract those wispy silver memories. He wasn't the only one now. Regulus had volunteered as a practice subject several times, and Dumbledore showed him how to extract the memories and add them to the pensieve for safekeeping. Even the snakes and Pozey the house elf let her peak into their minds. As a test to see how far her skills extended to non-humans.

Riddle Senior watched much of the time, but never participated. He was more used to magic now, but she understood why he didn't want to be a guinea pig. After nearly half a year, wherein

"I don't know if that would be a good idea," she said, voicing her thoughts out loud. "I don't want to hurt anybody." Dumbledore considered her.

"That is true," he said, and she could tell he was thinking through possible outcomes of her working with additional power. "Perhaps if there was a way to test it for a good purpose…" Zia watched him closely, trying to figure out what could possibly be a good purpose for fracturing somebody's mind open.

"Mr. Dumbledore," Riddle stated from the side of the table. She'd almost forgotten he was there. "Does your magical community have interrogations for criminals? Maybe that would be a useful purpose?" Zia turned towards him, and Dumbledore did the same.

"It does," the older man said, eyes beginning to flash with some kind of strange excitement. He turned back to Zia. "The Auror office might be interested in your skills. And possibly the Department of Mysteries." Just as he finished saying the sentence, a child's voice echoed through the kitchen. Zia whirled around to face little Tom, who was looking from her, to Dumbledore, to Tom Riddle Senior.

"What is an Auror office? And the Department of Mysteries?" he asked, running across the room and climbing onto Zia's lap. He put his little arms in a protective hug around her and looked back at Riddle with narrowed eyes, assessing him but not addressing him in any way or acknowledging his presence verbally.

"The Auror office is the office of magical law enforcement. The Department of Mysteries is a part of the Ministry of Magic that explores various things that aren't very well understood," Dumbledore explained calmly.

"I see," said Tom, his eyes still trained on Tom Riddle Senior. "And who is that person?" Zia took a deep breath. She wasn't ready for this, she hadn't had enough time to prepare for this meeting, to figure out what exactly to say or how to say it. But she saw no way to postpone it now, and supposed that it might be time to tell him anyways.

"Tom, this…is your father," she told her son gently. "I was planning on introducing you to him later, but since you've already met, I see no reason why I shouldn't tell you now." The child froze, staring even harder at the man. She wondered what he was thinking, and inwardly pleaded with little Tom that he wouldn't hate her for not telling him sooner.

Tom stared at the man sitting to his mother's right, and narrowed his eyes. There were a lot of similarities between them, and he understood how he had come by a lot of his physical features. Similar hair and eyes, nose and mouth, physically they were obviously closely related. He tightened his hold on his mama. The man had left the other mum alone to die. How could his mother possibly allow the thing into their house? How could she think this was a good idea? What if this man tried to harm her?

Well the answer to that one was very easy actually. If any person tried to harm her…he spent a few seconds imagining various painful experiences for the perpetrator to go through. Yes, that person would answer to him, and it didn't matter who it was or that he was so much smaller and younger. He could wait and be patient if he needed to. Yet why would she let the man anywhere near herself?

"No," little Tom said slowly. "He isn't." The other man's eyes widened, and looked towards the table. Tom watched this with a degree of satisfaction. It seemed that even words as simple as that were enough to cause it pain. He felt his mother run her fingers softly through his hair, the way she did when she wanted to soothe him. Her hands, he noticed, were shaking. He looked up at her and saw the same weary look in her eyes that was there so often, and that her face was growing pale. She looked sick. He was worried about her and reached a small hand up to put on her cheek. She smiled down at him, but it was a weary smile that matched the look in her eyes. What was she afraid of? And was this person part of why she'd been looking like that so often?

"I'm sorry, Tom," the man murmured quietly. "I don't have a right to claim that title, do I?" It was more of a statement than a question, and this response pleased Tom. This person understood exactly what position they were in.

"You do not," Tom confirmed. "What have you ever done to deserve that name? The other one died giving birth to me after you left. You never cared to find anything out about me at all. How could you possibly be any kind of father to me? I choose my family, and you haven't been picked to be a part of it." The words were harsh, and he watched the man flinch as he spoke them, but he didn't care. He relished it, in fact.

"What would it take, to earn a place in your family?" the person asked. Tom considered him again. What would it take? He wasn't sure this person could ever earn a spot in the family. Then he remembered the conversation he'd just overheard. Aurors, Department of Mysteries…why bother going to those places when they had a test subject right here? It was cruel, perhaps, but if his mother went through the man's mind and deemed it safe, then he would accept it.

"Let mother use her skills on you. With a wand. If she looks through your head and feels like you're worthy, I'll allow you in. And I'll know if she's telling the truth. I can always tell with mama. You'll have distant cousin status, but you could work your way up," Tom explained, now in his more businesslike mode. The man's eyes widened, and his mama froze completely, except for the shaking.

"Tom, I don't think that is a fair thing to request, you don't know what could happen if I—" his mama began, but the man himself cut her off.

"It's fair," he said. "I'll do it." Tom smiled, for the first time during the whole conversation.

"Mama, get out your wand."