Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Semper Letteris Mandate
Lady Draculea
Chapter 1: Mens sana in corpore sano

It had always been during the night that Harry Potter felt he could think more clearly.

It was a time, whether while staying with the Dursleys or during school at Hogwarts, which he could think without interruptions. The silence had its own way of communicating and it calmed him long enough to sort his thoughts and feelings. Tonight was no exception, but he couldn't help but hate the silence and night, for making him think of everything that went wrong, everything that he did wrong.

The weeks following the Department of Mysteries fiasco were exhausting, and yet he couldn't sleep. The thought of what he could have done differently clung heavily to the back of his mind. Though the idea followed him everywhere, he forced himself to stop blaming himself for Sirius' death. How was he to know that the visions were shams when no one but Sirius took him seriously? He was fifteen and yet everyone expected him to be brimming with the foresight to see through the tricks and manipulation. It was not as if he was taught how to react to hostile situations at school, neither did he receive special training. How was he supposed to save the world from Voldemort if he couldn't even save himself? He had gotten into more troublesome situations than he cared for, and he had only gotten out of them out by dumb luck.

People kept telling him that he had so much power, but what good was his power if he couldn't use it properly? He was entering his sixth year of attending Hogwarts, a magical school that taught young witches and wizards how to use their magic, to protect themselves and live in their magical community. Yet, Harry could think of dozens of things that the school didn't prepare its students for. Even after being aware of the magical community for over five years, there were still loads of things he didn't know about.

Nobody ever explained the rules, so until he looked for himself he was clueless, leaving him vulnerable. While at Hogwarts Harry was introduced to things that he had previously never thought possible and each year he was surprised, even though he felt he shouldn't be. It was his lack of knowledge of the magical community that made him look less than bright. If he could, Harry would grab at all the information he could. How could he not want to when he was surrounded with what made fantasy novels jealous?

Sure, there was the Hogwarts library, but he really didn't have all the time that Hermione thought he did. There was always something suspicious going on, and if there wasn't then Harry would become apprehensive at the lack of activity. His previous years proved that. He was busy enough dodging people who wanted to kill him, keeping up with his studies as well as quidditch practice. Though, his last year was a bit of a breath of fresh air if you ignored Umbridge and her reign of terror. The life-long ban from quidditch gave Harry more time to do the things he wanted to do, that is, when he wasn't serving detention with the toad of a Defence teacher. Harry had already decided that he wasn't going to rejoin the quidditch team next year, even if it destroyed Gryffindor's chances for the House Cup. Harry loved flying, the freedom of feeling the wind rushing past him was exhilarating, and he didn't need quidditch to achieve that.

Depending on the new Defence teacher, he didn't know if he should start the DA up again. And even if he did, he wasn't going to call it 'Dumbledore's Army' anymore.

'Let the old man find his own pawns,' Harry thought.

It had taken him five years, but it was clear to Harry now that Dumbledore wasn't simply "the good guy", but also a leader in the war that seemed never-ending. Life didn't seem so black and white anymore, and it was foolish to actually see the world that way. Harry didn't even know exactly what he was fighting for. He knew that Voldemort had killed his parents, and that his followers had killed and tortured many others, but why? What was Voldemort after? What was he trying to change and why did he want to change it? Harry wanted to find the answers to these questions, but being stuck at the Dursley's hindered his ability to do much of anything. It wasn't as if he could write Voldemort a letter, nor could he write to the Order. They wouldn't answer his questions anyways.

Harry sighed and wondered for the millionth time how the so called 'blood wards' offered more protection than a house full of Order members plus a fidelus charm did. He wondered how Remus was doing at Grimmauld Place. The werewolf had taken Sirius' death hard. Harry could tell, even though the once Defence professor tried his best not to let it show.

Harry's head snapped up as the slam of a door was heard and looked at the barred window. The sky was no longer the deep blue-black, but lighter with the pinks and yellows of dawn. He sighed as he untangled his legs from his bed sheet and got dressed. Another night spent in his thoughts and without any sleep.

He was putting on his socks when his uncle bellowed from the kitchen. As usual, it was another day with more useless chores the was forced to do. Today his job was to weed the lawn and cleaning the garage that seemed to accumulate more junk and old toys of Dudley's that he broke on a day to day basis. Since they had given Harry Dudley's second bedroom, they had reverted to using the garage to dump everything.

The day couldn't go by fast enough. Maybe if he finished early he could spend some time reading. Harry figured if he couldn't get the most from learning at Hogwarts he'd soak up what he could during the summer. Though, being unable to actually practice the spells for Charms, Defence, and Transfiguration… well, he made due.

Another angry bellow from Vernon Dursley made Harry hurry with his socks and shoes before bolting through the door and down the stairs. It was already a bad start to the morning and he didn't want to add bruises to his list of grievances.

TRHPTRHPTRHP

The last of the Death Eaters filed out of the room and the Dark Lord Voldemort, né Tom Riddle, rose from his seat. The latest reports revealed nothing of high importance, though a few matters did peak his interest. Dumbledore and his Order were quiet, in mourning over Sirius Black.

The loss of the head of the Black household had been a devastating blow to the Order, Tom knew. The wizard had only escaped from Azkaban three years past before meeting his final fate at the wand of Bellatrix Lestrange. Though the Order was feeling the loss of Sirius, Tom doubted if Dumbledore shared that pain.

Tom knew how important it was that Dumbledore had everyone's complete trust in him. The old wizard couldn't afford for anyone to dig into his past or look too deeply into his actions, for what one could discover would be the end of him and what he was trying to accomplish. Tom knew of one witch who had lost her life already from trying to dig too deeply into Dumbledore's past.

It was many years ago that Tom was told of the true face of Albus Dumbledore, and he learned it straight from the man's own mouth. A proposition was given; Tom had refused and was then forced to flee for his life. For years Dumbledore had follow in pursuit, to permanently silence him. He created the Order of the Phoenix, a gathering of people with the specific goal to defeat him. Dumbledore poisoned their minds with lies and twisted his goal, his true goal, not one that spoke of destroying muggles and that muggleborns should kneel at their feet.

A misconception that even some of his Death Eaters believed and promoted, believing that their pure blood was superior to all others. Tom let them believe what they wanted as long as they aligned their loyalty to him and not some other buffoon who would sooner start a killing spree than work the delicate politics that it took to change anything in the wizarding community.

Magic was limitless. It could create, transform, destroy, yet they were limited on what they were allowed to do, to accomplish. The dark arts, banned and feared as something not understood, was just another challenge to Tom as anything else was when faced.

The dark arts were not evil, they had their own was of healing, of hexing, of cursing. Was magic meant to wound automatically called dark? What categorized dark magic? Questions, so many questions and yet books could answer them all, if you knew where to find them. Though books many of the answers to these questions could be found, but while Tom yearned to simply relax with a book, there was simply too much to be done.

With Dumbledore's machinations and the actions of his over zealous Death Eaters, it was believed that he was a dictator, ruling by fear. Decades of battle and simply trying to survive had him twisting his own goal, even losing sight of it when he learned the prophecy involving one Harry Potter, the son of two of Dumbledore's pawns, destined to defeat him. A trap that Tom was ashamed to admit that he hadn't seen through, hadn't seen how Dumbledore planned his death in a nearly fail-proof way. If Tom wasn't killed in the rebound of his own killing curse, then the prophecy placed on the infant would. He hadn't been killed, but Harry Potter was being led to destroy him.

In the end, all he should have done, and will now do, was wait. He was a patient man, and waiting was something he was good at. Things had a way of working themselves out. Now, with a clearer path, Tom could concentrate on his goals. As of now he was getting trusted people into the Ministry, securing allies from foreign counties, and freeing a select few of his captured Death Eaters from Azkaban. His goal had been lost once, but now it was clearer than ever before.

It was his most important project, though, that Tom spent the most time on. Dumbledore never imagined that the very boy that he had entangled in his games would be one of such great power. Harry Potter had little use to Dumbledore now as the false prophecy was now simply an ignorance to the unlucky boy being led to his death.

It was the link that Tom shared with Harry, forged when Tom had tried to kill him when he was an infant, that he slowly worked on mastering. It was a slow process, but through the unwittingly transferred information that Harry sent, ranging from great emotions to forgotten memories, Tom had come to realise that Harry was a vital piece in the war. With the whispers from Tom that had found their way into Harry's dreams, Tom was pleased to find that Harry was slowly breaking away from the restrictions that Dumbledore had placed upon him.

Tom would have Harry Potter. He would stand beside him, and with him, Dumbledore would fall.