There was much for him to learn, in this new era. He had missed quite a lot between his time being dead, and fooling others of his newfound curiosities. Aurelio was never a man so keen on potions or academics, and had much rather preferred hobbies of the mundane, such as food and gardening. For a man as big as his heart, he'd been surprised that beneath all that meat and bones was enough drive and strength for him to begin his rigorous training to thin and stabilize the body.

The endless supply of faces who did not recognize the man at first, smiled widely and cheered him on for his efforts. A significant difference between himself as a Dark Lord and himself as a mere primary school director, was the emotional response to his genetics.

Once upon a time, Tom Marvolo Riddle would curse his father's grave, condemning him to the realms of hell for giving him such muggle traits. While accustomed to using his attractive features to his advantage, he had preferred the face he made for himself. Removing his very being from the equation that connected him from his weak, magicless father and embracing the heritage of snakes from his mother.

Aurelio Tom on the other hand, had been nearly a carbon copy.

Graced with near identical traits to the mix of the Gaunt and Riddle lines, dismissing the man's starting weight, he was perfect. His height change had been in his favour, adding inches to his past measurements. From where he once had to make servants and beggars grovel at his feet for any sense of superiority, his new form naturally towered over others. Not in such a way it was deemed giant like Hagrid stood, but enough that his presence once again turned all eyes on him. That, with pale and pristine skin in all aspects, and hair kept neat for all occasions, he learned from his mistakes to never take his gifts for granted in such a way – or tries. All that differs from his old form would be his new, silver eyes.

Coming to terms with a body with foreign characteristics would have been daunting, but seeing as he had taken over the life of a man with similar genetics, he was up and active nearly as his young self.

Having spent the majority of his time reborn wrapping his head around his surroundings and building a solid backstory, as well as building and managing an elementary school for magical children, he had little to no time to care or learn of the rather popular neighbour to Hogsmeade. Granted, Hogwarts was no longer on his list of priorities. He would regularly encourage his students to make their way to those familiar doors, but as an educator, he also threw out ideas of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons to those interested in going further out into the world.

Before opening the school, he had spent long hours attempting to recreate one of Hogwarts' closely guarded treasures: the Quill of Acceptance and the Book of Admittance. Responsible for sending out letters to all possible student across the United Kingdom, he wished to have his own form of the legendary book and quill. He had planned, long ago, to commit to such a plan that spanned all across the planet, but he knew to be too ambitious for even a wizard of his caliber.

He settled on the aid of Pooky, the Tom family house elf, in which he entrusts the elf to carry an enchanted leather-bound book that would act as the school's official records book. Pooky's life-long task would be to document every single newborn child within a mere train ride from Hogsmeade, with the guardian's permission, with their name glowing red once they are of the appropriate age to attend his school. If their guardian later on decides on not letting their child peruse an early education, the name disappears like ink in water.

In the end, his prime concerns were to be towards his own school than the others. He was their headmaster; their teacher. The Director of Hogsmeade Primary, a new budding school for magical children that honed their skills and interests early in life rather than at eleven years old. His belief was that even without a wand, a witch or wizard could accomplish much more in life with the help of a nurturing hand. A kind belief, that brought forward the hearts of many who wished to see it.

Guardians of children ages of three and ten-years-old began sending him letters day in and day out, with Fooky also popping in around nearby towns and hamlets in search of children to list off into the records. By the start of a new year, he already held more than one hundred names of children before the ages of eleven that would begin his term in September.

He had split the students by age, each group being taught by competent professors he handpicked for each age group. He had specifically chosen witches and wizards who's experience varied, wanting variety and diversity his walls. He refused to have educators with similar styles, wanting these children to be exposed to all sorts of ways of thinking. To let them have their own opinions on who was the better teacher for their own reasons, and rarely be able to compare to another member of staff. Aside from himself, of course.

• • •

It was during the early hours of his break, whilst seated in his office. During the bright hours of a weekend afternoon, he noticed a large group of children huddled outside the gates of his school from his window. They not dare hop the fence, but a curious bunch had begun to stick their noses between the bars. Seeing as all his professors were occupied with their classes, he decided a quick confrontation would not hurt.

Apparating behind the children without the sound or gust of a pop, he gave a clear grunt of his throat to catch their attention. All had turned their heads, astonished by the suddenness of his presence, as well as a few squeals from the smaller ones. Upon further inspection, he was correct to take slight interest in these kids. They were all dressed so familiar, after all.

"And here I thought Hogsmeade weekends to not be open until next week," he asks the bunch, "or are you all hear of your own volition? I'd suggest not to linger for very long, any more time you spend eyeing my school and I will contact the Aurors for your disturbance." He would never, but it was fun to watch their faces.

"No need for the hostility, Director," a voice from behind perched, "this is a quick trip to Hogsmeade for purely educational purposes. Wouldn't want students who have never come here to get lost on their first weekend trip, do we?" Rounding his head to the figure behind him, he could only glare at the familiar face.

"Headmistress," he bows, sarcasm dripping with every muscle, "odd to see someone of your stature to be here out and about. What of your other professors?"

"A recent tradition," she answered, as if it were obvious. "it has become custom for our students in their second or third year to leave the grounds of New Hogwarts to search for the new and magical. The chosen location is chosen by popular vote. I must say, I am impressed with what you've built in such a short time."

Hearing the addition to his old school name did nothing but irk him. There was nothing new to the school that he could think of. Of course, the destruction he and his followers cost the loss of much, but he knew it to survive. One would only call it new if it had been removed completely, or even replaced.

The dark arts was still outlawed, and traditional magical practices were done in secret. He could neither forget the new coot as headmistress, albeit less hated and more likeable to his standard.

"My apologies, then." Nothing had changed. Ignoring the woman, he turns to face the full gathering of bright-eyed students from Hogwarts.

"I thank you all for deciding on my school as your choice of adventure and exploration this year, it is quite the honour. My name is Aurelio Domarion Tom, and I am what you'd consider to be the headmaster of this school. I am called the Director. I do not officially teach my students, as I myself have hired a selection of professors from across the lands to teach these young minds the ways of magic. However, that does not mean to say that I 'lack' the necessary knowledge to teach. I never had a full set of staff the first few months, there were indeed times I found myself juggling three groups of students at once. Not a pleasant experience, I assure you."

He elaborated and spoke of his beginnings with ease. From his time at the battle of Hogwarts, to the final brick of his school being laid down, he told his story to the ever eager students. Telling them of his strengths and shortcomings, and how to properly ready oneself to the harshness of the real world. His word enraptured all who dared to listen, the flames of his silver tongue leaking through his Gryffindor persona. He had occupied these students' time for so long, that even the children from his own school began to poke their heads out from windows, curious to see the mass of older kids surrounding their director.

"Pardon me, Director," he recognizes the voice as a member of his staff, Professor Anthony Zelba, "but I have come to inform you about one of the children in Miss Dean's classroom. Justine Caster had attempted to teleport from her desk to Dean's, and has managed to get herself lodged into said desk. Traditional spells have not worked thus far, and we hope for your assistance before we call for St. Mungo's."

"Top drawer, Professor Zelba," he answered, amused, "top drawer."

"Right away, sir."

"Accidental magic, I assume?" McGonagall's shoulders rise and fall with her laughter, "As a newly made headmaster, how do those go for you?"

"Takes much patience, truly," he confesses, "but most of them learn early on that I mean business. Helping with their control over magic and such, it's quite fun."

Taking close watch of the curious children, he sees their attention turn to what he assumes to be his students running about in the yard. They know not to steer near the front gates before dismissal, but he knew that would never stop the nosey ones. He figured, as this was their longest break, giving these Hogwarts students a quick tour could not hurt.

"Despite the short notice, the grounds are open. The students are on break, and would not be back to their classrooms in half an hour. Shall we?"

He began to express his knowledge on not just his skill in each subject, but architecture as well. The small school was of his design, of course. Any and all things that caught these students' eyes were purely by his choices alone. He explained the structure of his curriculum as best as he could, earning the respect of some of the third year students. He did his best to avoid the darker elements of his educational system, leaving out that dark magic was a staple for some of his subjects, such as Magical Defence.

He had also brought up, to all their shocks, that he did not teach his students by year or by house, but choice. As one's magical core grows and matures, the child's skills and aspirations are what guide them to becoming a more honed witch or wizard. He believed that if a student holds certain academic desires, why waste or squander such dreams? A child with a talent for herbology, should be allowed to continue that study, rather than waste away learning the bread crumbs of another. He understood that schools had already implemented this, with Hogwarts and such allowing their students to choose electives. A decision was made, to allow children as early as nine years old decide on specified subjects, on the condition they promised true aptitude for it. A student who desired to study animals but could not handle the worst of them, would be refused to study further than the minimum. He was strictly adamant however, that did not mean his students could truly avoid everything.

Excluding those aged three to six years old, his students were required to pass an end-of-year practical exam. For documentation purposes, he called them a test for Magical Aptitude and Gifted Intuition- the M.A.G.I. exams. As he ran a fairly small school, he knew his students well. He designed the exam for the best and worst case scenario. To test his students as if they were to peruse a higher education, as well as those who simply wanted to go out into the world with their gathered knowledge. Against the members of staff and the Director himself, each student would test their skill and prove their ability in potions, knowledge, charm work, and eventually, duels. He would remind his students that their goal was not to beat them, but for their skill to be indistinguishable against an adult's. It was a strongly ambitious role, but it was one he believed would set his students up for success when out in the world.

"That sounds so cool," one of the students beamed, "I wish your school was open before I went to Hogwarts, maybe I'd do better at potions."

"I'm sure you would have," he smiled, opening his arms, "I'm sure you all would have been excellent under my care. However, I had only just started, so let us hope for the students to come and the impeccable skill and progress they will make in years to come."

Signalling the end of their tour, and the end of break, he ushered the headmistress and her students off his grounds. Some had complained otherwise, wishing to experience the best of his classes, but both he and Minerva agreed for them to return before any ruckus began.

Waving the students farewell from the gates, he felt a sense of peace within himself. He would never forget the clarity that flooded his mind the day he awakened. Children to teach, and fellow professors to guide. He knew nothing of what he was doing would truly bury what he'd done in his early years, but he'd rest well knowing that what he did would bring about a calmer, and slightly less violent future.

"You're a brilliant man, Mr. Tom,"

"Hm?" A man, dressed in muggle clothes. His wand firmly planted, sticking out from his breast pocket. Hands tucked, put away in his pockets. A sign of harmlessness, but who was he to think a man as such?

"Sorry," he grinned, familiar rounded glasses rising to his bow at one side with his crooked smile, "did I startle you?"

"No," a scar he could never forget, "but I suppose today is my lucky day. What brings you to Hogsmeade Primary, Mr. Potter?"