Warnings: possible dark themes, psychologically dark-ish? Harry, no magic, virtual reality gaming AU
Pairing: TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle/Harry Potter)
Summary: In the virtual reality game Witches and Wizards, players enjoy the discovery of a new world through all five of their senses. Certain players, such as Scarred and Voldemort, find it kind of hard to do so when they have to share their senses with each other.
Or, in which there is too much plot going on behind the scenes and Harry and Tom would rather discover each other than deal with it.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter series - J.K. Rowling; this story was also inspired by Legendary Moonlight Sculptor, a korean light novel by Nam Hee Sung about a virtual reality game called Royal Road. You can read it at !
The virtual reality game of Witches and Wizards, the first to boast an amazing reality rate of 90%! Already it has a wide player base in Europe, North America, and Asia, and is currently making its way into Africa and Australia! In its world, called Mortem, many kingdoms exist—North, South, East, West, each region calls a variety of kingdoms their own, as well as possess a copious amount of pride in housing one of four bases of the dominating religion…
The Church of Hogwarts, with its Mother Goddess Hecate.
In the North, the Gryffindor faction reigns supreme—boasting courage and strength in the face of the harsh, frigid tundras. In the East, the Ravenclaw faction looks down from their mighty mountain ranges, seeking knowledge and only knowledge in their seclusion. In the South, Slytherin faction hides in the swampy mists of the lower kingdoms, welcoming only those who they deem worthy and powerful. And in the West, Hufflepuff faction kindly welcomes all, with little military dominance but great loyalty all the same from their population in the mild environment.
One could say they are of the utmost importance in Mortem, for even the players, who were not born with the stringent loyalty and nationalism that the NPCs have, find themselves supporting their faction with surprising vigor. Though the religion is one, the factions have developed so that each have their own doctrine, and engage in battle with one another to further separate their realms.
It is, genuinely, a sad tale in history. The Four Founders, Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff, were the best of friends. The religion was to encompass all, and their goal had been peace under the Holy Mother. Yet, it is now, five hundred years later, that their religion is cause for war and conquest.
But perhaps that may change… for a particular couple of players have finally received the quest that could change it all!
In Lumos Kingdom, the light of the North (both figuratively and literally), lies the base for the Gryffindor faction—specifically in the capital of Fortuna Major. The church stands tall, the tallest and most ornamental building in the capital, with sharp points and straight edges to show their dominance. It is both the symbol of protection and the symbol of war. Many flock to it in hopes of receiving a blessing, or sitting for prayer, or serving as a paladin in-training…
But a certain player's reason for coming is different.
His body is cloaked in black, hood thrown over his head and head bent low. His movement is seamless through the crowds—no one notices until he is at the steps to the church. There is something dark in nature draping over his body, something evil and frightening. One hopes he would enter the church to cure himself of it…
"You there! Halt!" an NPC soldier cries from his post. The figure walks faster. "I said stop! Remove your hood! The Church of Gryffindor does not allow suspicious figures like yourself to enter!"
An NPC would register someone as suspicious if they have a depressingly high amount of notoriety, or in reverse terms, an abysmally low amount of fame. Another reason would be having a murderer's mark above the head—the player's name in red, as those who kill other players would not be able to hide their name—or to be afflicted with a particularly strong curse.
Scarred knew this would happen. "I told you this wouldn't work," he grumbled under his breath. The air about him stirred curiously, almost in laughter. "You prat, this is a serious quest, you know. Merlin, why'd I even go along with it—"
"You there!" the NPC cried again. He had finally reached the suspicious player. "Remove your hood!"
Scarred paused, but it was only for a second. His hand moved up, reached the top of his hood agonizingly slow, and then lowered it.
The soldier stumbled back in shock. "Y—you… High Priest! Where have you been? It's been months! Huh… your eyes—wait, that scar…"
Scarred sighed. It was true, he now fit his name. The lightning red thunder bolt scar upon his forehead was hard to miss, even through his bangs. It was so obviously a curse scar that it hurt to walk through a town without his cloak covering it. Everyone looked in his direction. And his eyes, one green one red, looked even more ominous than that.
"Look, I need—"the player began, but was cut off by a cry behind them.
"You! Foul heathen, how dare you step on the entrance to the most holy and noble Church! Halt there and face your divine punishment!"
"Wha—?! But sir, this is the High Priest—"
"If we get caught, I blame you," Scarred muttered under his breath. The air stirred once more in reply. Then, lifting his head to face the guard again, he smiled apologetically. "Sorry. And I quit, by the way."
And then he threw a sucker punch at the soldier's face. Disoriented—because that was a really strong punch, ouch!—he stumbled back and felt his knees give out from under him. The player raced past him and through the large double doors of the church. By the time the group of five other soldiers met the guard at the doors, Scarred was long gone.
"Damn it all! You, go alert the Arch Bishop! Gather the paladins! That bastard must be caught!"
The soldier that Scarred had been talking to managed to get back up on his feet. "Sir… why are you chasing the High Priest?"
The commander took a glance at him from head to toe. "Where've you been man? Living in a cave? Well, that High Priest is no longer our High Priest. He's a renegade. We've put a bounty on his head—one million galleons!"
"Wha—"
"Get back to your post! Make sure no more civilians enter the Church. We're going to catch that heathen today!"
"Y-Yes! Yes sir!"
Gryffindor's main church was, in fact, rather large. The main room was, of course, where players would come to pray and receive blessings, but there were also other rooms. There was one for confession, where priests would heal curses, one for an armory, one for a weaponry, and below the main ground there was lodging and special rooms for priests and paladins.
Scarred knew the layout like the back of his hand. He had lived here before, after all. And the particular room he was targeting was the room he used to reside in—the Office of the Arch Bishop and High Priest. While the Arch Bishop is in charge of most social affairs, the towns, kingdoms, situations of that nature, the High Priest is in charge of military. He'd trained the priests and paladins personally, as well as develop more spells and rituals on his own.
There was a saying—the Arch Bishop made the Church prosper, but the High Priest ensured the Church's existence.
As far as Scarred knew, he was the only player to ever have such a powerful position so far. And it was the only reason he was able to reach the Office; the Church's protections would've kicked him out long ago because of his curse and who he'd brought with him had it not been for the purity of his light magic.
Scarred also figured it was because of his intentions as well. The Church had a level of sentience not seen in other churches, and rumor had it that a piece of Hogwarts, the castle of the Founders, resided somewhere in it. He'd never found it, but the sentience of the Church's building was undeniable for how long he'd lived here. That his intentions seemed terrible at first glance, but were actually… slightly better in nature… proved it.
There was no way he'd be able to get past the protections with the goal of stealing the Church's primary ancient artifact otherwise.
"Ten minutes," he muttered under his breath, dashing through the crowds of people and avoiding all the obstacles as well, "now I have seven. Merlin I'm going to fail I'm going to fail I'mgoingtofail—"
Scarred got to the Office with five minutes left.
"Stop right there!" the Arch Bishop's old, wizened voice commanded. "Old friend you were once, but I will not allow this to continue, Scarred. In the memory of our friendship I will attempt to cure you of that foul curse upon your body, but—"
Scarred ignored him. With a powerful leap, he flew off the dais and into the hands of a ten meter statue of Godric Gryffindor gilded with pure gold. And, from those very cold stone hands, Scarred removed a sword from its resting place. The blade sung as the light from the window hit its edge, and the hilt was easy and light in his hands as if it recognized someone worthy of wielding it. Along the blade was a very simple inscription—GRYFFINDOR.
Sword of Gryffindor
The sword of Gryffindor, one of the Four Founders of the Church of Hogwarts! Crafted by the Master Craftsmen of the Goblin race for Godric Gryffindor's hands, it is not only a masterpiece of art but also one of the most deadly weapons on the battlefield! Though it is practically five centuries old, because of the craftsmen who made it as well as the great care it's been given as a Holy Artifact of the Gryffindor Faction, the sword is in perfect condition.
Durability: 1900/1900
Requirements: Strength 300. Faith 100. Level 400. Advanced Level Sword/Weapon Mastery. If the wielder is accepted as a true Gryffindor, there are no requirements. 20% of health is sacrificed if the wielder uses the sword unjustly.
Attack +500
Mana +1000
Charisma +100
Strength +50
Faith +25
Charm +25
Elemental Resistance +20%
Magical Affinity +30%
Because this weapon is made by Goblins, there are additional abilities that can be used when wielding it. While the abilities are in use, there is a penalty of mana per second depending on the usage.
Gryffindor's Sword can absorb the special attributes of certain legendary monsters it has slain. Current attributes are:
Tears of the Phoenix
Poison of the Nine Headed Hydra
Flight of the Pegasus
Fire of the Nine Tailed Fox
Venom of the Basilisk
There was dead silence.
"Today I'll be taking it," Scarred said, holding the sword in his hands reverently. He smiled and watched his reflection in the blade smile back at him. The adrenaline rushing through his veins drove him to continue.
"You—"
"Today," Scarred proclaimed, lifting the shining sword above his head with one arm, "I'll be taking this back—the Sword of Gryffindor!"
As soon as those words left his lips, the priests sprung into actions. Barriers and shields and movement restrictions were flung in Scarred's direction, but with a single wave of his hand, the restrictions were blown away. All that were left were the outer barriers stopping him from escaping.
"You'll regret this, Scarred!" the Arch Bishop growled. "You'll be an enemy of this Church! You'll never be able to walk among man again with this!"
Scarred opened his mouth to speak, but it was not his voice that spoke next. In the background, the priests' voices were mumbling together to charge up for a powerful spell, and the paladins already surrounded all three sides of the statue as well as block the door.
"With all due respect Arch Bishop, there's nothing you can do to stop us." A cloaked figure materialized at Scarred's side, and the player felt an arm move around behind him and a hand grip his shoulder. The room's temperature dropped several degrees—while the Church was usually kept warm by enchantments, it seemed like they were overpowered by this figure's presence.
"You… You! Leave this holy place! Your presence taints the walls and the entire city with your appearance here! He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! Voldemort!"
"Oh, I'll be leaving alright," Voldemort chuckled, "very soon in fact. But it will be with my partner, and our prize."
"Stop pissing him off," Scarred hissed.
"We're already infamous. There's no possible way we can make it any worse—doubt there's much difference between 5000 notoriety and 6000. Stop worrying so much."
"Where… where did it go wrong… How did you manage to corrupt our High Priest, you filthy necromancer?!"
"Corrupt me?" Scarred muttered to himself. He discreetly elbowed his partner when he began to smirk.
"I'm offended, Arch Bishop. You doubt my charm?"
"Our High Priest has the purest light magic I've ever seen! What kind of curse have you cast—unless, no, you used ancient magic from the Slytherin faction?!"
Voldemort opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off by another jab to his ribs. "Don't. Say. It," Scarred hissed, "I will not be responsible for a war just because you don't like Gryffindor."
"Well what do you expect from me?" Voldemort muttered back, "I'm a Slytherin."
"Have a bit of tact!"
"I don't see anything wrong with a wa—"
"Duck!"
Both players frantically dodged the incoming burst of light magic just in time. It missed but the hair on their head, and as they caught themselves from falling off the statue, they noticed the wide array of spells trained on them… as well as the paladins with their swords ready for when the two would inevitably fall.
"…Got a plan?" Scarred asked nervously.
Voldemort took a deep breath. He was already exhausted from maintaining his intangible form that had allowed them to get into the capital in the first place, and even worse, the holy magic of the Church put a high penalty on any magic usage he could use while being in the building. There was no possible way he could summon any large undead, or cast a dark area spell encompassing all of the paladins and priests. But he had enough for a distraction.
"Switch with me."
That was all that needed to be said. Scarred nodded, trusting his partner, his dark, his other half. His physical body blurred until it faded completely, leaving only a faint sparkle in the air. Immediately it wrapped about Voldemort's body, forming a protective shield against the spells that would certainly come.
"Spirits of the underworld, come to your master's aid; ensnare all the foes before me, summon: spectral wraiths!" It was the best he could do. Voldemort watched as dark bodies began to reach up out of the NPCs' shadows, grabbing at the physical bodies and restraining them. While they were not high or even middle class summons, the fact that he was a high class necromancer boosted their strength to cause a mess that had to be cleaned for the priests. Certainly the paladins would take them down in no time, but because of their sheer number, it would take a few minutes.
And that would be when they would make their escape.
A burst of light magic flew at them from the crowd of priests, doubtlessly one of the spells that took awhile to cast by its spiraling shape and powerful surge. However, Voldemort made no move to dodge. Instead he watched as the spell collided with an invisible shield, and then, as if it could fight no more, dissipated into nothingness.
Scarred was not to be underestimated. While no longer holding the occupation of High Priest, he still was a bishop in class, and his masteries were nothing to shirk at either. Voldemort felt a little proud—the player was a genius when it came to light magic.
But now… was the time to make their escape.
"As my dear partner has said," Voldemort smirked toward the Arch Bishop, "we'll be taking the Sword of Gryffindor. And I guarantee the other factions will not be exempt from our… shall we say, atrocities either."
The window behind them shattered by a piercing beam of light. Voldemort wasted no time in melting into the shadows, becoming nothing more than a blob of untouchable darkness before leaping to the top of the statue and then out the now open window.
Scarred was going to yell at him for this.
Voldemort took them as far as he could go before collapsing in exhaustion. Thankfully, the North wasn't as industrialized as, say, the West—the fickle environment kept most towns tightly packed, wide expanses of open grounds between them and the next. While the capital was far larger than any other town in Lumos Kingdom, there still was open expanse outside the walls, where the paladins and priests could not find them.
He felt Harry materialize beside him, shifting closer to pull his head down to rest upon his shoulder. A hand came to rest upon his head.
"O you who tire, you who protect, let the Holy Mother bless you for your good faith; divine blessing!"
Voldemort relaxed, feeling Scarred's magic wash over his body. The buff boosted his regeneration of stamina, but it would still be best to eat something.
Just not Scarred's cooking.
His partner had… some strange tastes. Most would find them downright foul, and Voldemort was inclined to agree most of the time. His cooking skill was high, certainly, and the attributes to be gained by eating the food were surprisingly useful (and added to a great amount; the strange combinations usually yielded good results for at least Scarred's manner of cooking), but there was usually a penalty placed on it for taste. So Voldemort preferred not to try at all.
"You should eat something," Scarred said, shoving a chocolate bar in front of his nose.
Voldemort grimaced. "No thank you—you should eat it. You stayed in your alternate form for at least nine minutes—"
"Eat it. You don't have to worry, I didn't make it. And I have some herbs I'm munching on right now."
…His partner knew him well. With a sigh, Voldemort moved his head and simply bit off a chunk, letting the dark chocolate taste melt in his mouth. There were some things Witches and Wizards brought to the table that were surprisingly unexpected with their 90% reality. Taste was one of them—he'd probably tried more types of food playing than he had dining at a fancy restaurant. Voldemort closed his eyes and let the bittersweet taste and beauty of silent companionship do away with his fatigue.
The forest they were in gave resistance to the icy winds. Scarred's blessing gave them a bit more resistance to the cold. While they would soon have to move, soon wasn't now. They could relax for a bit, something Voldemort noticed most players didn't appreciate enough. Time flowed differently inside the game, and few realized that Witches and Wizards could be just as hectic as reality when there were urgent things to do.
There were those who played the game for enjoyment. For relaxation. For a trip out of real life and into the beauty of virtual reality.
But there were also players who thought differently.
If you put your time into something, your effort, your hard work and compassion, there is no reason to call that life "virtual reality". Because you are living a life there, wherever that 'there' is. You have goals, you meet people, you laugh and groan and you enjoy it, even the challenges and the difficulties. Some things you enjoy more than others, but that's life.
"Virtual reality" is a reality as well, especially because of developing technology. With a large percentage of the population entering it, despite age, race, and occupation, its existence is undeniable. Some might see it as a new market, others as a vacation whenever you wanted it.
But that too is 'life'.
And Voldemort—Tom Riddle—wanted to enjoy it with the person he couldn't imagine he could live without.
And that was why Scarred—Harry Potter—fought. Giving up was never an option—this life was where he'd met his partner, after all. It was a life he wanted to protect.
"Hey," Scarred murmured, "good job today."
"Mmm. You as well—perhaps we do have a chance of making it out alive…"
Secrets of the Founders Quest
Something is amiss in the Church of Hogwarts—corruption and further miscommunications have been slowly escalating the situation, but recently there has been a spike in conflict! It is believed that the origins of the problem stretch to the Founders of the Church. To right the wrongdoings of the current factions, as well as save the continent from continuing on the path towards an all-encompassing war, establish contact with the Founders through the items they left behind and receive information and permission to investigate! This is a request from Albus Dumbledore, Emperor of Mortem.
Difficulty: ?
Requirements: Advanced Necromancy Skill Advanced Level "Contact the Dead". Advanced Level Light Arts. Advanced Level Dark Arts. Allegiance to at least one of the factions of the Church of Hogwarts.
Sword of Gryffindor 1/1
Locket of Slytherin 0/1
Diadem of Ravenclaw 0/1
Cup of Hufflepuff 0/1
*Failure to complete this quest will result in the permanent deletion of your character, as to be caused by the wrath of Holy Goddess Hecate
*Pre-requisite of Secret of the Deathly Hallows Quest
This fic is to try and fix my writer's block. As such, the writing will have some questionable quality (like this chapter) and focus mainly on plot. There will also be slow updates.
This fic is also posted on Ao3 as well.
Thank you guys!
Sincerely,
R.R.