A/N This is the first story I've attempted in a couple of years. So that means that I'm rusty and some things don't quite make sense. Also, there has not been any betaing. Or cake. Any critiquing would be greatly appreciated. Thanks, and hope you enjoy!

Darkness Surrounding

Disclaimer: In no way do the characters/settings/anything relating to Harry Potter or League of Legends belong to me. I'm just having some fun in a sandbox.

Looking back on the year so far, Harry Potter had to admit that this was probably the worst one. One of the teachers at the school, a certain unpleasant lady if you could call her that, had decided to make the castle into her own personal fiefdom. Any group of students, whether it be a team, club, or otherwise, had to submit to her whims. While he resisted her control, she was able to force him to attend detentions, upon pain of expulsion. While the bodily harm he inflicted on himself was bad enough, the thought of what was waiting out there was even worse.

The one wizard that held the magical community to its knees over 15 years before had returned, yet Harry was one of the few to know that he had returned. He was one of the even more few who had dared speak out and tell others that he had of the wizarding world seemed to believe that he would spread such lies for the thrill of it, for the attention. Granted, anyone who knew him truly would not believe the accusations. It was saddening to therefore see that one of his roommates now viewed him as lying scum. No one besides his two closest friends knew what he had been through, and what he had seen. Harry Potter had very little to depend upon.

What's one of the worst things to him, though, was that he knew he was not yet ready to fight that wizard. He had submerged himself in the dark arts, going so far as to resurrect himself from the dead. The act of returning from a wraith like form to his full body stripped the strongest of his protections from him. The blood magics that were created by his mother at her death many years ago were negated, as that wizard shared his blood. To the magic, they were one and the same. This, on top of the cursed scar that had connected the two since that warlock had first attempted to kill Harry as a baby, joined them even closer. Now, he had to depend on his own skills to defend himself. Somewhat unwilling, he had taken a measure earlier in the year to rectify his deficiencies. One of Harry Potter's oldest friends persuaded him into teaching defense.

Therefore came the biggest worry to his mind. While he knew he was not ready, he had enough skill, and more than a fair share of luck, to keep him safe. Those that he taught, however, were not so fortunate. They were less skilled, and not as talented. They had not consistently faced the worst that this world has to offer. In all other words, they were not ready. That is not to say that he was not teaching them correctly. With his instructions, and a fair bit of practice, their abilities grew in leaps and bounds. He just hoped that if the time ever came that they had to use their abilities, they would be able to run. Run to live another day, to get stronger. For none of them were ready. Harry Potter wasn't ready.

And that is what saw him laying in his four poster bed, cradling his now constantly burning left hand. Avoiding looking at the scrawl that now adorned it, he shoved his face down in his pillow. As he slowly succumbed to sleep, he had one thought running through his mind. I need some way to train faster. Train to be better. I need to protect them until they are ready.

His dreams came once again.

The long endless hallway towards that one door. The same one he has had for months on end. Yet this time, the door unexpectedly opened up. He cautiously walked inside, gripping the sides of the invisibility cloak he was suddenly wearing. He enters the door, bringing up a hand to shield his eyes from the overly bright light. As they adjust, he finds himself in a large field. Turning around, he saw the door was gone. Shuddering slightly, he turned back around, only to find himself face to face with the wizard that had been haunting him. Red eyes gleamed over his snakelike slits, as a cruel smile began to form on his face.

Voldemort had found Harry Potter.

Yet when he spoke, it was not with the raspy voice of the reborn homunculus, but with the cultured voice of his younger self. "Mr. Potter… What am I to do to you. What am I to do. I have you here, at my mercy. Tell me young Harry, why I don't strike you down right now?"

Confused, Harry stepped away slowly, palming his wand. "I do not know what you are hoping to gain, but I will not let you have it."

The visage merely chuckled before shaking his head. "Harry, friend, let me say, there is much that I want, but could you really stop me? What is there to keep me from taking you over and forcing you to kill your little friends? The stupid young Weasley, or that mudblood Granger. Which would you care to see destroyed first?"

Blanching, Harry snapped the wand to the ready position and shot off a disarming spell. Before it traveled halfway towards his foe, Voldemort had smoothly seeped aside. Tutting slightly, the pale man waved his wand, launching Harry back over thirty feet. Landing on his side, he gasped as pain flared in his abdomen. Forcing himself to ignore the pain, he pushed himself back to his feet. "I won't let you have them, Tom. Not over my dead body."

Voldemort's nostrils flared slightly over the sound of his name, before he allowed a smug grin to settle on his face. "Oh, then they are mine for the taking, Potter. You see, nothing you can do here can stop me. Nobody is here to save you. But here is the thing, foolish boy. You don't want to be saved."

Conjuring a chair, he sat down and stared at the boy in front of him. "You may not want to admit it, but you do not want to be saved. You see what these sheep that call themselves the wizarding world do. They put you down and believe the worst of you. They destroy your reputation, and do everything but break out torches and pitchforks. And why?" The grin on his face took a slightly manic look. "Because the Daily Prophet tells them too. They do not care about you, nor your opinion. Why, if I had realized it was so simple the last time I tried to take over this world, I would have just used that newspaper to attack Dumbledore and his precious Order." Pinching the vestigial bridge of his nose, he sighed and looked down at Harry, who was still just breathing heavily, glaring at Voldemort with hate in his eyes.

"Here is the kicker though, young Harry. You always worry how people are going to see you. Your dear Uncle did such a fine job in raising you." Seeing the now white faced boy, Voldemort couldn't help but chuckle. "Yes, I know all about your precious Uncle. Oh, if he wasn't a muggle, I might have liked him. He was just so successful in making you pliant. Just a slap of a hand here, a night or two not going fed there." A glass of water appeared in his hand as he continued to monologue. Smacking his nonexistent lips, he continued. "He made you seek approval. Oh, yes, he made you believe you were a freak. Just the slightest bit of praise and you were willing to do anything. Not that he ever gave you any."

His face screwed up slightly in thought, pondering some unknown item, before going on. "So you sought it from your filthy muggle teachers. They never gave it to you. Your muggle classmates. They wouldn't give it to you. Yet when you rejoined the wizarding world, you foolishly believed that they would treat you better. The little snippets of good will that you have garnered measure quite poorly against the continued treatment of you. Yet, you still fight for them. Why is that, Harry?"

The poor boy was rocked back onto his bottom by the accusations. Sure, he had noticed over years, the abhorrent treatment that was visited upon him. But the few spots that were good, shone bright against the darkness that was everything else. He quietly spoke to himself, unsure why he was even answering the unusually verbose wizard. "I need them. Not everyone else, but I need my friends. And it isn't a matter of whether they are good or bad in the way the rest of wizarding Britain treats me. It's the right thing to do to stand up for them!" By the end of his last remark, he had worked himself into shouting at Voldemort. Yet again, he shook his head.

"Stupid boy, do you really still believe in 'right' and 'wrong'? Tell me, will 'right' and 'wrong' stop me? Will 'right' and 'wrong' save their poor innocent lives from being taken by me? No!" Voldemort kicked aside the chair, before strolling forward and flinging Harry back another thirty feet. "You want power, Potter, and there is only one way to gain it. You must seek the power! Or are you too weak?"

Groaning again at the renewed pain, Harry spat back out at his enemy. "Evil isn't the only way to gain power, Tom. Dumbledore is so powerful, you're afraid of him! And he didn't have to stoop to the Dark Arts to gain that power, either!"

Voldemort ticked softly to himself. "Yet, that old codger refuses to use it. He refuses to take anyone out permanently. Either way, he only has a few more years until he dies. Then there is no champion of the light to stand against me!"

Squaring his shoulders, he raised his wand once again. "Even if he does, I will always be here to fight against you, Voldemort. I will become that next champion you will fear. So be it!"

The red eyed man just shook his head. "So be it indeed Potter. Just watch out for yourself. If you're not too careful, you'll end up becoming me." Reveling in the shocked looked that crossed the boy's face, Voldemort grinned. "But for now, I have but this to say to you. Everbero!"

The force of the spell blasted off of the ground, and finally forcing him out of the dream. Eyes snapping open, Harry jerked himself up, before a pain flared in his stomach. Immediately laying back down and groaning, he felt around his body, wincing at the pain that flared upon every press. "Great… Somehow, he was able to break my ribs in the dream… Oh, that hurts…"

Turning to look at Ron's bed, he was amazed that the redhead hadn't awoken the entire time he was out. Somewhat worried that he hadn't heard. he tried shouting at Ron to wake him up. Seeing that it had no use, he tried to reach for something to throw at his friend. However, his scar immediately flared, and he involuntarily flung himself back into bed.

Pressing into the bed, he tried to concentrate mentally, to force his attacker out. However, as Voldemort's attacked pressed in, some distant voices began to echo in his mind.

A man's voice, one decidedly not that of his foe, began speaking. It sounded like he was arguing with someone else there. An urgent female voice began answering back, with her laced with more than a touch of concern. "…can't do this… hasn't been asked if he wants to join…" "…sn't matter now, look at the state… needs to be here now…" As he was distracted by their voices, Voldemort took the opportunity to attack further, inflicting greater pains.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw that his cries had finally awoken Ron, along with the rest of his dorm. As they only stared at him, he heard the other voices again. "…Don't care. He hears us now… summoning him now…" Blue circles began to appear around Harry's bed. As they grew thicker, the shade of blue beginning to lighten towards a blinding white, Ron sprung up in to get Harry out of the circle. Before he could get close enough to grab Harry, a pillar of light surged through Harry, before it vanished along with him, the bed, and the trunk underneath. As the light enveloped him, the connection with Voldemort broke.

After the light faded away, Harry could tell he was now somewhere different. The pain induced by Voldemort's attack was beating down on his head, however. As he started to drift off, he heard footsteps running towards him, before a figure leaned over the bed. As his vision faded, the figure leaned over him, reminding him of one of his newest friends. "…Luna…?" Before he could tell for sure, he fainted, becoming dead to the world.