Mr. Tom

He thought he would never see familiar faces from his past life ever again, especially one as prominent as Harry Potter. Not once had he thought to visit his Death Eaters, nor think to enact revenge on any surviving members of the Order. He had back his appearance and his sanity, along with his old ambitions of becoming a man of education. There was no reason for him to think back on his past so closely, with the exception of attempting to despise himself for it.

He could see that the boy had clearly grown, adding height to a stature he once towered over. They were nearly identical in that aspect, but Tom knew that he still overtook him by mere inches. The similarities between them were astounding; they could have been mistaken as siblings.

“My daughter will be starting her second year at Hogwarts in a few months,” he said fondly, “she was the little blonde Gryffindor who stood by McGonagall. Thought I’d drop by at the end of her little adventure. Never knew this is what became of the Shrieking Shack. Call me impressed.”

He could not help but twitch, the mere thought of a man such as Harry Potter to have children surprised him. He was a courageous man, sure, but he had come to realize that some of the things the boy had done in his earlier years was downright dangerous and completely reckless. Then again, he was in Gryffindor

“As flattering as it may be to imagine teaching your children,” Tom snorts, “we only enrol children within our borders. Otherwise, I would be competing with Hogwarts, and that is not my intention.” His elf had only been tasked with going north towards the Ford Bog, and south until the Clagmar Coast. Any further, and his school would not be able to handle any more, lest he builds dormitories.

A private school would do no good to the guardians who wished to remain close with their children. A hamlet, such as Feldcroft for example, Tom deemed too far of a distance for children to trudge through just to reach his gates. Hence, he had managed to secure a handful of thestral-drawn carriages as his school’s form of transportation. To his relief, none of his students were able to see them roam the yards. The adults could, of course, but with several warnings and training, both the thestrals and staff came to a peaceful co-existence.

“You’ve become the talk of the Ministry, Aurelio. You’ve achieved quite a feat. A school for magical children, younger than eleven. As you’ve only been open for a year, I will be excited to see if any of your students come to Hogwarts.” Crossing his arms with a smile, he shifts his eyes towards the castle beyond, “It will be good to see it again.”

“Again?” Tom asks, “Last time I heard, you’ve been working at the Ministry. What reason do you have at Hogwarts other than to teach?”

“You haven’t heard?” The wizard was truly surprised, believing that the man had at last picked up a copy of the Daily Prophet in the last few days. “I had left my job at the Ministry as Head of the Magical Law Enforcement. McGonagall had offered me the position as a professor.”

“Let me guess,” Tom chuckles, “Defence Against the Dark Arts?”

“Sorry to disappoint, but no. Of all the classes I had both the joy and dread of experiencing, I found muggle studies to be severely lacking. I heard rumours of Burbage feeling her age, so I took the chance.”

“Hm,” A professor at Muggle Studies? “and here I thought Binns would have finally been exorcised.”

Tom inwardly sneered. A lowly professor? Harry held much potential for the future. He was merely a wizard in his prime. Tom had lived for fifty-five years before the destruction of his body, then an additional fourteen of simply roaming and living like a leech to all forms of life. He had only lived for three more years with a complete body until his demise at the Battle of Hogwarts. Seventy-two years of life, with more than half of it terrorizing the wizarding world.

He lived what was deemed a proper muggle life, and mediocre amongst wizards. Yet, he had shown his strength. Potter on the other hand, had yet to show any. His defeat was mediocre, with a rebounded killing curse to the chest. Any brave or stupid soul could do it. The boy’s education was weak at best, having been hunted for most of his school life. Harry had barely lived, and that sent Tom seething.

Such a waste of talent. A powerful wizard such as he could be out there in the Ministry, controlling those cowardly puppets on a string. Fools they are, bugs they will be. No witch or wizard could fathom his power, when truly put to the test. He would show them all. There is no good or bloody evil, only-

“-power, and those too weak to seek it.”

The pregnant silence was paralyzing. How much was said aloud?

Eyes forward, he takes a harder look at the man before him. Wand not in hand, but arms still crossed. Hair unkept, but face cleanly shaven. Clothes of the magicless world, but pressed well. He smiled.

Harry Potter did not intend on a simple visit.

“An interesting quote,” Tom drags, “one I thought not many to know. Who spoke to you of such ideals?”

“Well, that depends,” the man smirked, “my answer will vary on who claim to be.” To Tom’s excitement, the man had finally drawn his wand.

“I may have left the Ministry, but that does not mean I have forgotten. This really was a visit strictly for curiosity’s sake, but consider me now downright enamoured. I thought we had finally caught the remaining dark wizards from his reign – who are you?”

Ah. Good.

“For your information,” Tom spoke, albeit dramatically, “a Death Eater from that fateful day is the one who spoke it to me. He is dead, you’re welcome. Although his cause to follow the mad man were what ended in his demise, I found that he was not wrong. I was more so interested in that statement that his alignment, and eventually found myself following it. I’m no dark wizard Mr. potter, not to their standard. I am but simply a man who seeks to reach higher levels of magic for purely academic reasons. If I happen to share that with children, who is to complain? The child will be stronger, safer when out in the world.”

“I don’t disagree with you,” he confessed, “but consider me on edge. You don’t seem to be the sort of man to enter bouts of sneer anger and magical flares, Mr. Tom. No doubt you’re aura could be felt well beyond Hogwarts. What irks you?”

“Your decision to teach rather than hone your skills within Ministry walls. Surely, no other job fancied your interest? None at all? Even Quidditch? You’d be building muscle otherwise.”

“I would speak the same for you, Tom. That bout of magic I felt could not have belonged to a mere wizard. With your power alone, you could be at the Ministry as well. By Merlin, you could very well attempt to run for Minister and I have no doubt you’d win. What keeps you at this school you’ve built, than with me at the Ministry of Magic?”

“Same as any other wizard who has had a taste of true power,” Tom confessed, eyes aimed down as he turned to face his school. To bask in its young glory. “Peace.”

“And don’t you think I deserve the same, after all these years?”

“Oh, no, I simply do not think you are ready for it. You are too loud, too large. Your core still shines bright, Mr. Potter. A young soul. No soul like yours should be spending the next twenty to thirty years wasting away with insolence and paperwork.” He looks down at his hands, offhandedly gesturing to him, “I’ve had my fun. I’ve done my time. Dealt with dark wizards, light wizards, grey wizards… I ate my fill of life, now all I wish to see are children doing the same – and rewrite my wrongdoings.”

“A Death Eater that neither eats nor causes death,” Harry mummers, “interesting.”

“If you arrest me,” the ex-Dark Lord adds, “the school will fall. It’s by my hands and wards that keep that structure alive, and I have no intention of leaving this position, Harry Potter, these children will continue to thrive under my guidance.”

“I take that back,” Harry quickly corrects himself, “I see that a horcrux is not beneath you. That confession alone should send you to a seat in the heart of Azkaban.”

“Not if I obliviate you first.” Not what he intends, but it was a possibility.

“Expelliarmus!” Possibility indeed.

§Obliviate!§

• • •

He had no one to thank but the Gods themselves once he realized his inherited gifts remained. It meant that his talent in parseltongue would not be squandered, and he could continue to practice it to his heart’s content.

The power behind a spell spoken in the tongue of snakes overtook Potter’s disarming spell, successfully removing his interaction with him. Memories were altered and tweaked, with Harry believing that his sudden headache was correlated to phantom pains from his scar. A pain so tense that he nearly toppled over, with Aurelio catching him and fixing him tea endured with calming draught.

“Thanks,” he sighs, “didn’t know what came over me back there.”

“May have been the wards,” Quick to lie, he summons the base and spell work of the school, “strangers don’t tend to linger. Unknown persons would be on the receiving end of few discomforting and painful curses. Don’t fret, they’re minor, but they do get the job done.”

“I should complain, but instead I commend you for your skill in ward casting. If it hurt me that badly,” the mere though running through Harry’s mind made him smile, “then I couldn’t imagine what those deserving would feel.”

Tom had allowed Harry to enter the grounds, and dragged his unconscious body to his office, where he recovered. With tea in hand, and memories altered, the two began to discuss the future of all things. Harry’s upcoming position as a Hogwarts professor, and Tom’s rising stress levels with handling his students’ first ever M.A.G.I exams. Tips were shared amongst the two on how to improve, as well as where to put ideas aside.

“That’s just not practical! Or ethical!”

“You have to warn them early, don’t you? The levitation charm can be used with evil intent.”

“That doesn’t mean you can use it on a rat in front of three-year-olds!”

The argument in question, was the use of the levitation charm. Tom had clearly stated that he had once before cast the spell on an unassuming rodent, lifting it forty feet into the air, before releasing his hold. He described the mixed emotions of fascination, indifference, and fear that flooded the classroom.

“But it got them to understand, did it not? As cruel as it may be, if I were me, I’d be grateful I stopped at only rodents.” A necessary evil, by his standards. There was no better way than the worst case scenario to truly ingrained it into his students.

In the end, their debate was cut short. A knock emanated from his office doors, and in stepped another of the man’s staff.

“Director Tom, sir,” the woman entered, “there are two boys and a girl outside your gates demanding entrance. From Hogwarts. We allowed them in, and they are currently throwing a fit in Madam Roberro’s class. They claim that their father to be here.”

“Ah,” a wake of clarity rushing through Harry’s eyes, “those would be mine. James, Albus and Lily. I did tell them I would be here, suppose I never said for how long.”

Taking the man’s hand, Tom guides Harry out of his office and down the halls of his school. He would catch students peaking through windows from inside their classes, wondering about the commotion that no doubt the man’s children were causing. A proper drink and night out at the Hog’s Head may make up for it.

Down a narrowing hall where windows and students lessened by the second, Tom takes Harry by the arm and pulls him down a sharp left turn, directly in view of Madam Robbero’s class. The door is swung open with an echoing bang, and the head of the small school could not help but try and hold his laughter at the sight. A truly immortalizing view. A memory worthy of a pensieve.

“My, my. What is happening here?”

Madam Robbero was clearly at her wit’s end with those children. The young girl, whom he believed to be strong in spirit, was throwing magical tantrums beyond any child he has seen. Papers were in the air, and cauldrons knocked off their stations. The taller boy of the two before him, a Gryffindor, stood tall atop the professor’s desk, demanding the location of his father while threatening the poor woman at wand point. He will speak to that one later. Attempting to take hold of the brash Gryffindor, was a fellow Slytherin similar to the hotheaded boy in looks.

“A-Aurelio!” Madam Robbero cried out, “these little demons! Do you know where their father is?!”

“Right here,” stepped in Harry, “and I am rightfully disappointed. Lily, calm down. James, get off the poor woman’s desk. Albus- ah, help your sister.”

Tom had nearly wanted to raise a brow. Analyzing the two of them, he could feel the tension in the air. The boy would not meet the man’s eyes, nor he to his son. Perhaps a fight, but the root of the problem was usually deeper than that.

“Dad!”

The boy, James, had come down from his enraged high and went barreling towards his father. On the other hand, the man seemed to refused to be anywhere near related to him. The hug was not recuperated, and was otherwise ignored and pushed aside. Instead, the man holds out his hand to the boy, as if knowing what was to placed in it.

“But-”

“That does not mean you can rein hellfire at a school that is not yours. Parchment, now.” When the item was not placed in the man’s possession immediately, he was more forceful the second time.

§Now, boy.§

That, had peaked his interest. The boy-who-lived had managed to retain his ability with parseltongue? Interesting.

From within the boy’s robe, James had pulled out a large and aged-old parchment which was quickly confiscated from him. Harry secured is beneath his arm, and gestures for his three to exit the room and wait for him outside. They did, and the room was left with himself, Harry, and his two other staff.

“As amusing as that was,” Tom noted, “I hope my next meeting with your children is less… chaotic.”

“I am, so sorry.” Ears burning red, and eyes shut closed, “I will pay for the trouble they caused in this room. Maybe three times over. I’ll make sure they don’t act like this ever again.”

“Your son in Slytherin understood what was important,” he smirked, “what was his name? I’m afraid I never caught it.”

“Oh. Albus.” It was spoken with the straightest face he knew Potter could muster. “Albus Severus Potter. Named after the two headmasters of Hogwarts.”

Albus Severus? Bloody hell, was he asking for the boy to get bullied? Tom swore on his magic that he would have a proper conversation with the man about the art of child naming.

“Imaginative.”

The lie was gleaming on his face clear as day. A drink would correct this. A good, heavy drink. Maybe he would drag Potter to Hog’s Head after all.