Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry stared at his hand, flexing it in the light that filtered through the flat’s smudged window. His game console’s bio-tuning had left a tingling sensation when he’d cast the tutorial spells in VR earlier, during the setup.

The tingling remained, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable.

Curious.

He turned to check the device’s foldable display, seeing that the bio-tuning was almost done calculating all his personal data — ninety-four percent, and rising. “Heck yeah,” he mumbled, allowing himself to feel giddy. “Finally!”

He’d waited more than a year for this moment.

An eternity of balancing his attempt to get decent final grades with earning enough money to continue living on his own. Nothing fancy; of course, he barely had enough money for food. But he wanted more than his GCSEs; those A-levels would open important doors to a career in law enforcement. So he broke his back trying to do both, trying to be good enough. And Harry didn’t mind ramen a few times per week.

He’d earned a bloody break, though.

So, instead of saving up for an emergency, he’d spent the remainder of his small inheritance from Sirius on the sleek gaming console on his nightstand. Nine months worth of rent for a Hallows H7 setup — the Prophecy version, exclusively sold on Riddle Technology’s online shop; with random slots, a ridiculous queue and everything. Maybe he was a complete fool. But Sirius would’ve found it hilarious to see him spending the money that way, no doubt. He’d have helped him, most likely.

To be fair, that console would last Harry a few years. Dudley’s banged-up old model that he’d repaired haphazardly time and again had seen him all the way through his final school years. But it simply couldn’t run the latest Hogwarts title, being an outdated H4. And all the older games were now defunct, thanks to live service gaming policies. 

Harry grabbed the small disc case he’d bought alongside the hardware, turning it to see the foil elements glitter in the light. Hogwarts: The Deathly Hallows. The deluxe Founder’s Edition, of course, since he was going all in. Extra character outfits and special drops from bosses in the iconic dungeons. 

Yeah, no half-measures this time, even though he’d probably eat ramen for the rest of winter. Maybe also avoid using heating whenever possible.

This was about doing something nice, something for himself for once. And after playing the hell out of the new beta on a borrowed H6, he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into this newest incarnation of the Hogwarts series.

“Please don’t let me down, darling,” Harry mumbled as he carefully slotted the pristine disc into the console, just as the bio-tuning was finished doing its thing.

He was done with his chores, had done his laundry and filled his fridge. Christmas holidays began tomorrow, so no work and no lessons. Just gaming  — it would be epic. He’d even muted his phone in case Aunt Petunia tried to pressure him into an awkward dinner at the last minute. No, he much preferred the full sensory deep dive the H7’s helmet promised.

Leading him to places much prettier than the faded walls of his flat.

Harry reached for the VR helmet, appreciating its comforting weight again before he put it on. He’d never worn adaptive, climate-controlled headgear such as this one, and having bought such premium tech for the first time in his life gave him quite the rush. As he lay down on his bed, the console’s disc drive whispered next to him. A promise of adventure, of escape. He was more than ready to do just that.

The clock in his head-up display told him that he was right on time. Riddle Technology’s digital launch party was about to start, and there’d be a unique gift for all attendees. The stats on that broom had looked sick, so of course he absolutely needed to have it.

Harry smiled as he finally booted up the game. “Let’s do some magic.”

Hogwarts was alive.

More substantial than the real world, it felt like.

Hermione couldn’t stop staring, swept away by astonishment as she tried to drink it all in. She could actually smell the floating candles, hear the wooden beams creak high above the Great Hall. The food, too, sent rich and promising aromas wafting along the tables. Soft shadows flickered across the dusty banners on the walls, and there was even a cold draft when the Gray Lady passed her by.

She wasn’t the only one gaping. All around, players were lost in wonderment, feeling their arms or running fingers across the hall’s fixtures. The majority was mingling, though, to chat, eat, laugh, most likely all VR veterans or beta players accustomed to this incarnation of the Great Hall.

Someone bumped into her, breaking the moment. A young blonde man.

“Sorry!” He flashed her a smile. It clashed with his pale blonde hair and the Necromancer outfit, particularly the ghastly silver mask he was holding rather than wearing. The UI overlay told Hermione he was one of the lucky ones who’d gotten their hands on the Founder's Edition. Hermione wasn’t exactly jealous since most of the extras could be gained one way or another by doing grindy quests, but still.

Although she’d never choose a villain outfit. The dev blog had been vague about Death Eaters as a faction, but there was little doubt in her mind that they were evil. More infos would likely become available after the launch party and she filed it away as something to look up later.

Shaking her head, yet pleased to have received an apology at all, Hermione kept the overlay active to take a closer look at the people around her. Aurors, potioneers, Quidditch players, beast whisperers with companions crawling or fluttering next to them, even a Hit Witch in a kickass outfit imported from the previous title’s Rise of the Dark Arts expansion. Then she noticed a hulking man who appeared to be more a fantasy barbarian than a spellcaster. He leaned on a staff that she easily identified as the Archon Staff of Avalon — a unique drop, the only existing copy in fact. Which meant she was looking at vaultbreakrrr, the player who’d been the first to solo the final boss in Hogwarts: Beyond the Veil.

“Wow,” she heard herself whisper, stealing another glance at the imposing man. Gaming royalty, right in front of her.

He seemed nice enough, laugh lines crinkling around his eyes as he chatted with two younger players. Normally, there’d be high chance he was just a 14-year-old kid pretending to be a hunk. But in this game, for the first time ever in the age of VR, avatars would always resemble the players. Details could be tweaked — hair or eye color changed, or the build slightly adjusted, but nothing drastic.

The public outcry in certain gaming circles had been epic.

Despite being self-conscious about her looks, Hermione enjoyed it. She had quite enough of ridiculous big-chested anime babe avatars or hulking warrior monstrosities that didn’t fit through regular doors and broke immersion. And if vaultbreakrrr was indeed a human tank, well, good for him.

A dragon rider passed her by, albeit sans companion, and winked as he noticed her interest. He could’ve been a boring accountant in real life; here, his splint armor with those padded arms made him cool. It was in the posture, Hermione thought and blushed under his gaze.

“Hey there”, he said, not stopping before he vanished in the crowd.

She realized most of the surrounding players had already formed parties. Those were limited to groups of seven people this time around, and just like the avatar fidelity had caused lots of backlash online. But large guilds had always ended up having too much influence on the meta in the older titles, and Hermione was all for a change of pace. 

The new, small parties would still offer various bonuses to their members, also benefit from trading within the associated House. A majority vote of all parties associated with a Hogwarts House could change global rates for standard NPC items and services for members of the other three Houses, earning a percentage each time some bought something. But that was just about it. As a solo player, Hermione didn’t mind — less drama and politics, more focus on actually playing the game.

However, unlike in previous titles, she couldn’t simply join a big faceless guild to tag along when the adventure zones went online, only to leave once she’d unlocked the first couple of spawn points and quest NPCs. No, she needed to engage actual people now — and find a party with a slot still open.

Hermione didn’t like that prospect, but needs must.

As she continued to look out for the icon that signaled open party slots, her gaze fell onto a blonde girl with gentle eyes and a huge, witchy hat circled by a flying, potato-shaped creature. The UI told her it was a Nargle companion, a legendary achievement from Hogwarts: Curse of the Boggart King. She hadn’t ever heard of this one, even though she’d gone through that game’s quest list with a fine-tooth comb.

Someone bumped into her again.

“What is it with people today?” she grumbled, turning around to see who’d interrupted her this time. “Don’t you have eyes?”

The player in front of her froze, and he did indeed have eyes, green ones — a gorgeous emerald shade that had to be fake, but it fit him perfectly. They widened in shock before he even opened his mouth. “I’m so sorry! I hate it when people do that, and now look at me.”

Hermione did.

And she rather liked what she was seeing, despite her irritation. In addition to being tall and equipped with stunning eyes, he had unruly black hair that she instinctively wanted to smooth over. That lopsided smile said cocky bad boy at first glance, but she imagined seeing honesty behind it. He was a bit thin, though.

Only then did she notice his gamer tag.

Ch0seN1.

“Oh, it’s you!” she blurted out, embarrassed. “We met in chat earlier.”

He grinned as recognition set in, and when it reached his eyes, they almost glowed. “So you’re rawrclevergirl! Well, I can see that now, that’s a kickass outfit you've got there. Funny that we stumble into each other like that.”

“Well, one of us did the stumbling, I guess,” she said, immediately horrified that she’d actually spoken the thought out loud. Way to make a first impression.

But Ch0seN1 laughed. “True, I tend to trip over my feet more often than I like to admit. Name’s Harry, by the way.” He offered his hand.

Hermione stared.

She could see he was also a Founder’s Edition player, yet he wasn’t wearing any outlandish armor or items. Instead, his robes were an imported rare drop from the Flight of the Phoenix expansion for the previous game, available only by beating that utterly insane broom race she’d never even tried to do. Not a high-end outfit in the classic sense, despite its considerable agility boost  — but it offered more upgrade slots than virtually any other piece of armor in the series’ recent titles, which meant tactical flexibility.

So Ch0seN1 wasn’t just after big numbers but had a style, maybe even a plan. She liked that, too. “I’m Hermione. Nice to meet you in person, so to speak,” she finally said and shook his hand. 

It felt firm and very real.

He held on to her a second longer than expected.

“That’s a lovely name you have.” He still smiled. “And, as I said before, sorry about that remark about grinding. It’s thanks to players like you collecting all the data and clues for the wiki that the rest of us have an easy time.”

Hermione blushed again and silently cursed her VR helmet’s capabilities as she felt her cheeks grow hot. The damn thing didn’t need to blast all those bodily reactions out for other gamers to see!

“Thank you,” she whispered, not quite trusting her voice.

“Don’t mention it.”

He continued to beam at her, and she squirmed, torn between enjoying the moment and telling him to stop. “You… You've been playing since the beta, right?” she stammered.

Harry nodded. “Whenever I got the chance, but not as often as I wanted to since I had to borrow the gear in secret.”

She wondered what he meant by that.

“Anyway, have you seen Ron? GingerNinjer? He’s a bit taller than me — red hair, freckles, the whole package. Probably wears a Quidditch outfit.” Harry gestured towards his chest. “I can’t call him for some reason.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so, but I’ve just begun to look around.”

“Ah well, might have to use chat again then.” He didn’t seem to harbor high hopes of that working out. Hermione watched him open his UI and type something fast. Due to the standard privacy filters, it was all pixelated, though. After closing it all again, Harry sighed and leaned back, stretching himself. His eyes remained on the enchanted ceiling.

Looking him up and down again, she only now noticed he’d chosen to be a Slytherin. Normally, most of those were roleplayers or silly edgelords, and he didn’t seem to be either one of those.

“It’s something, isn’t it?” Harry smiled, not the lopsided kind but a quieter, more vulnerable version Hermione hadn’t seen before. But she disliked where her mind was going with that and broke eye contact to stare at the crowd instead.

 “Hogwarts never felt so real before,” Harry continued. “I think I want to live here forever, especially since they're going to go wild with the plot.”

That intrigued her a great deal, and she found herself turning back to him. “What do you mean? Were there new story spoilers I missed?”

Harry shrugged slowly. “No, but the name does give it away, doesn't it — the Deathly Hallows? When the console series has been called Hallows for how many years now? Someone had fun planning this for a long time, I reckon.”

“Oh.” Hermione bit her lip as she processed his line of reasoning. “I hope you're right and that it's not something marketing made up afterward to fit the name.”

“Wanna bet?”

Caught by a cheeky impulse, she squinted at him, dead serious all of a sudden. “No.”

Harry had the distinct expression of a deer caught in headlights until she couldn’t hold her mirth inside any longer. They both laughed awkwardly, but it didn’t feel cringe. “Ignore me, I'm still giddy and weird,” she said.

“You say it like that's a bad thing,” Harry replied without missing a beat.

Since Hermione had no idea how to respond to that, she straightened herself and acted as if he hadn’t said anything. “I felt the same about the game during the beta, but I guess eventually you would grow to dislike staying here. It’s beautiful because we know we have to go back to the real world eventually. That being said, this one surpasses the previous game’s visual fidelity by a mile.”

Harry shot her a curious look. “Wow, you played that one in VR?”

“I did! My dad bought me a Hallows H5 with the second-generation helmet when I got straight A’s the year before I finished school,” Hermione said, wondering why she was sharing such private details with a stranger. “After I got over the initial headache of moving around in 3D space, it was rather immersive. Compared to this, though, I might’ve played it on a Game Boy.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “Hey, those blocky, gray pixels were the height of technology once.”

They chuckled, and she enjoyed the growing feeling of camaraderie. Ch0seN1 — Harry! — had a way about him that made her feel at ease. No wonder this Ron guy was friends with him; he was probably great to hang out with no matter what. She hadn't expected either of those things, and a feeling of hope blossomed in her chest.

“Well, I only played on the telly; I didn’t have the helmet,” he continued. “But it was fun nonetheless.”

“It was.”

Hermione didn't know what else to say. She fiddled with her hands, feeling nervous, wondering if she should ask him to —

“Oh, someone’s read his chat.” Harry opened his UI again and groaned.

“What is it?” Hermione asked.

Harry pinched his nose. “Nothing, just an idiot being at work. Man, how is that supposed to tell me where you are, Ron…” He typed furiously. “I’m directing him towards us. We’re at the Gryff’s table, aren’t we?”

“Yes, and towards the middle, I’d say.”

“Thanks.” Harry shut his menu once more and craned his neck to find his friend among the audience. “They're scaling the hall bigger each time; it's ridiculous. He might be anywhere! You could play a rugby championship here and not bother anyone.”

Hermione chuckled at the hyperbole, trying to imagine how burly men would make a mess of this place in pursuit of a leather ellipsoid. “I’m sure plenty of people would be bothered by having a ball come their way.”

“Not a sports fan, I take it?” 

“Not particularly.” She shrugged, uncomfortable by being put on the spot even though his curiosity appeared genuine. “As I wrote in chat earlier, I prefer quieter quests and activities. If there’s a riddle to be solved or a broom race to be won, I know which one I choose.”

“Fair enough.”

It felt as if he cooled off towards her, and all Hermione could feel was dread. Harry was already one of the nicest guys she’d ever met online, but she couldn’t keep a conversation going if her life depended on it. She either overshared tidbits of gaming knowledge accumulated over the years, coming off as a pompous know-it-all, or she said the wrong things at the wrong time, like just now.

There was a reason she played alone.

“Harry!”

Out of nowhere, her newest acquaintance was tackled by a tall redhead who indeed wore Quidditch armor. Both laughed, clapping each other’s backs.

“Haven’t seen you in ages, mate.”

“Likewise. This is so cool; it’s like you’re actually there.” Harry grasped Ron’s shoulder. “I’m glad we’re doing this; it’s going to be great to feel the wind in our hair.”

Ron beamed, but then his brows furrowed. “Wait, why are you a snake? Dude, you chose Slytherin? Why?”

“Felt like it.” Harry shrugged, unbothered. “I have ambitions, you know.”

“There goes our pact.”

Harry laughed at Ron’s overly dramatic reaction. “Mate, we were barely teens when we said that; no way I’m going to select Gryffs in every single Hogwarts game. Come now.”

“Alright, alright. But I wanted to play for the Inter-House Cup, with you!”

This made Harry visibly peevish. “I'm sorry, I forgot. Got carried away during my avatar generation, I guess. It just sounded exciting to fight the evil NPCs from within.”

“Which only proves you shouldn't have unsupervised access to a gaming console,” Ron grumbled, but it was without malice.

Harry tried to punch his shoulder, but he deflected the blow, causing both of them to smirk and shake their heads.

Hermione tried to follow along, and she wondered why Harry decided to deviate from what sounded like a familiar pattern of the two friends. Not that she didn't understand his decision. Despite the annoying vibes of many Slytherin players, she'd found the thought of joining the snakes to be intriguing at times.

“Anyway!” Ron perked up again. “People won’t know what hit them once we finally get to the Quidditch pitch. Did you see the list of all the professional teams we can play against? The Chudley Cannons are immediately available once we get the Hogwarts Cup, so even with you being a snake now, it's not all lost.”

“Oh dear, here we go again,” Harry laughed.

“What? That was the plan, wasn’t it? That one’s non-negotiable, I’m afraid.” Ron crossed his arms, but he was still grinning. Then his eyes fell on Hermione. “Who’s your new friend?”

Harry flinched. “Sorry, I forgot the introductions. Hermione, this is Ron. Ron, she’s the one we met in chat when we were stuck in the queue.”

Ron’s eyes went up and down, taking her appearance in. She felt self-conscious but suppressed the urge to mirror him by crossing her arms as well.

“Hello,” she said.

He smirked. “Hermione, eh? Well, I say you have perfected that whole walking wiki thing. Only you're a Huff for some reason? Didn't see that coming.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, the wiki thing?” Hermione didn’t think she’d get along with Ron, who seemed to be a classic Gryffindor player. Loud and brash. She hadn’t forgotten about his grinding comment in chat, either. “Is that because I’m a woman, or because I don’t wear fancy armor?”

Harry threw both of them anguished looks.

“Pfft, no, of course not. I mean those runes in your robes. But you do you.” Ron rolled his eyes. “Anyway, Harry, want to party? Ginny and Dean are here as well, but their group is already maxed out.”

“Sure.” He opened his in-game menu once more and went through the options. “Wait… where is the logout? Shouldn’t it be right there, at the bottom?”

Ron leaned closer, and Hermione did so as well, her curiosity getting the better of her. This was an opportunity to show she had something to offer after all. “The game menu hasn’t meaningfully changed in almost six years, and the logout has always been at the bottom. Maybe your console is having problems loading the…” 

She activated her UI, then stopped.

“Huh.”

Every option was where it should be, except the logout with its obvious red icon.

She tapped the menu again.

Still no icon.

“Could be they want to make sure nobody accidentally drops out?” Ron asked. “This being the launch party and all. Some idiot would probably manage to do just that and then throw a tantrum on the forums about how he was kicked out.”

“Yeah, something like that.” Harry furrowed his brows, then shrugged. “Anyway, they changed other parts of the menu as well — the party option was different in beta. Oh, and look, there’s a cooldown now? What?”

“What do you mean?” Hermione frantically thumbed through her own menu, but she hadn’t paid much attention to the group mechanics before. “Oh, if you leave a party, you can’t join another one for three days after. That… actually, that’s quite reasonable. I remember seeing that idea in an early dev blog, but I thought they had dropped it since.”

It would affect players like her, too, but Hermione preferred the fairness of it. Disallowing power players to band and disband at will was good, so they couldn’t occupy valuable instances in the game even if those had a daily limit for individual parties.

Ron shook his head. “Nah, that’s bull. How are we supposed to raid? You can’t even get a pickup group together. It’s stupid? I hope it’ll be patched soon, none of the pros will like this.”

A new voice interrupted them — a female one. “Ron, where is Harry? Oh, there he is! Hey, you!”

Hermione watched a pretty girl with smooth ginger hair the color of Ron’s throw herself at Harry. If she had to guess, she was his sister. The similarities were undeniable, but unlike her brother, she didn’t hesitate to kiss Harry’s cheeks.

“You broke your promise,” she complained. “You didn’t visit on Halloween.”

“Gin, how are you?” Harry embraced her carefully. They were obviously very familiar with each other, oozing what almost felt like a couple's dynamic. Hermione felt worse just watching them, fearing that her time with Harry had come to an end. He was obviously popular, had friends, and even with the apparent new party limits, they would likely tackle the first dungeon or boss area together as soon as possible.

She couldn’t compete with that.

“Wait, Ginny, how are you here? If Ron took Percy’s console, where did you log in from?” Harry stepped back, inspecting her Hogwarts uniform.

The redhead grinned mischievously. “I’m at Dean's; his half brother lent us his H6 so we could dive in side by side. Didn’t want to miss this! I’m sorry our party is already full, but we can still fly together, right?”

“Oh, sure.” Harry sounded a bit less enthused, Hermione thought.

Ron clapped his hands. “Alright, I want to indulge in this delicious food some more. All the taste, none of the calorcalories — now's real magic. And then we can talk strategy with Dean. I aim to unlock the Quidditch pitch as soon as possible.”

“Why not do both? Unless you speak with your mouth full again,” Harry quipped.

Ginny laughed as Ron flipped him off. “That was one time.”

“Sure, mate.”

“Okay, Dean’s over there, at the far end of the Hufflepuff table. Come, I’ll introduce you to the others. You’ll like them, I promise.” Ron’s sister turned Harry around and pointed the middle of the Great Hall out to him.

Hermione slunk back, dejected. 

She wasn’t part of this group, and Harry had already forgotten all about her. It had happened before, with other random encounters in prior Hogwarts games. Yet time and again, she got her hopes up, only to end up in the same lonely place. Why didn’t she ever learn? Writing tutorials, being a slow human chatbot — that was her apparent role.

A solo player, forever.

As Ron and Ginny carried on about Quidditch and imported gear from the previous game and other things that she only half-listened to, Hermione looked down at the massive flagstones underneath her feet. 

Like everything else in the game, they were ultra-realistic. When she moved her foot, purposefully using her shoes to try and scratch them, the scraping sound spoke of real leather soles meeting actual granite.

She didn’t actually care about that, but she tried and forced herself to, just to ignore the awful feeling of rejection. It was a new game, but players were the same as always. Hermione wondered if a teardrop would leave a mark on the floor like it would in the real world.

She was startled when a hand touched her shoulder, shattering the spiral of misery. Harry stood right behind her, emerald eyes roaming her face, and she wondered how much he saw, how much he understood.

It felt intense — she wasn't used to being on someone else's mind like this.

“You coming or what?” he asked.

“— and then he slammed right into the stands, still clinging to the bludger, of course!”

Raucous laughter answered Ron as he finished the tale of a catastrophic Quidditch match that’d taken place last year in the Flight of the Phoenix expansion. The Hufflepuff table was packed with people, more so than other corners of the Great Hall, and quite a few were listening in. Ginny was holding her sides, wheezing as she leaned on Dean, even though she’d been part of the team that’d played said match.

But it had been a series of pure slapstick moments that spawned enduring memes in the Quidditch player scene.

Harry grinned, seeing how everyone was having such a good time.

He adored flying a broom or fighting a challenging mob of monsters, but this here, chilling with friends, was what made the difference between the Hogwarts series and other fantasy adventure games.

When he reached for the pitcher with pumpkin juice, he noticed that Hermione was still busy with the in-game menu. A few errant locks had escaped her ponytail, and she constantly blew them out of her face.

“Figured out what’s wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head, eyes still locked on the hovering UI squares in front of her. “No. It’s frustrating because I can’t find anything in the blog, announcements, or patch notes about this being a closed event without a log-off.”

“Well.” He shrugged, not feeling too worried. “Since there are literally thousands of players online right now, I suspect that somewhere a boss is breathing down some poor programmer’s neck about a glitch. Dozens of people here have already sent a bug report or messaged support, we’ve both seen them do it. We’ll be fine.”

Hermione sighed. “I’m sorry, this stuff is like catnip to me. I mean, being unable to log out is a bit scary, but still, I should let it go and enjoy the opening.” She glanced at him and blushed. “What?”

Harry would never admit to it publicly, but he loved seeing her react to him like that.

She was utterly adorable.

It had taken him a minute to realize that she was also completely oblivious about her looks, which had stopped him dead in his tracks. Partially because those yellow Hufflepuff dueling robes were cut shorter than the regular issue, showing a bit of leg and tall brown boots that complemented her hair. They also featured thin lines of spell incantations running up and down the sides, moving even when she didn’t — a cool effect that Harry hadn’t seen in the item store during setup. And then there was the snarling badger on her chest, with eyelashes. 

Probably a play on her gamer tag.

Hermione blinked and continued to shift under his gaze. “What is it?” she repeated.

“Nothing,” he said, leaning a bit closer to show that his focus was entirely on her. “Why those robes?”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your robes, they… I mean, they're a PvP issue even though I’ve never seen that effect, but you said you prefer to quest in peace. Why not wear something with a charisma boost then, to unlock additional dialogue?”

“Oh.” Hermione. “I don’t like most of the classic PvE robes, they’re stuffy and look ridiculous. This one allows me to move more freely, I guess you know how important that can be. And I love figuring out quests without all sorts of absurd bonuses, so I just kept them.”

He enjoyed her pragmatism. “Well, I think they suit you very well.”

Harry recognized a flicker in her eyes as she pulled back a bit — a look he’d spent years seeing in his reflection. Loneliness mixed with distrust, yearning and hope. She was wary of him but also intrigued by the possibility of forming a connection. He’d been the same, once, before Ron’s and Ginny’s friendship had saved him — quite literally. And Harry would be damned if he missed an opportunity to pass that gift along. It also didn’t hurt that he was already nursing quite the crush on her, which was also evident by his avatar’s physical reaction. Had the game’s standard PG filters been disabled somehow?

She still stared at him with wide eyes, and Harry noticed golden flecks in the hazel color of her iris. If he were a betting man, he’d wager that those were her real eyes.

Not just adorable, but lovely beyond words.

“I… I found something else, though,” she whispered.

Harry shook himself out of it. “Come again?”

“Earlier, you mentioned not being able to ping GingerNinjer — I mean Ron. Did you try that from the friends list, the local chat, or the mini map?”

He blinked.

“You can ping something from the mini map?!”

“Yes. It’s almost a hidden feature, but when you manually mark a player or NPC, they remain tagged for a minute after leaving the mini map’s boundaries. You can see the icon normally during that time, across game zones. And ping it. At least it was like that in beta.”

Harry was flabbergasted. “I never heard about that before, wow. That sounds so useful!”

“So you don’t know everything after all.” Hermione smiled. “Good to know.”

He had trouble keeping his train of thought on track and barely managed not to make an utter fool out of himself. “Oh, there is loads of stuff passing me by,” he mumbled. “Maybe that’s why I like being the Seeker, since I’m playing catch-up anyway.”

That heartfelt admission had come out of nowhere. Harry winced internally, fearing that he’d laid it on a bit too thick with the self-deprecating humor. He didn’t have a problem making fun of himself, but nobody liked whiners.

Thankfully, Hermione didn’t seem to mind, still smiling that little half-smile of hers.

To distract himself, he fumbled with the juice pitcher again, only for his hand to grasp nothing but air — the pitcher was gone. Looking left and right, Harry didn’t see it anywhere else.

“Ron, did you help yourself to the pumpkin juice?”

His friend shook his head. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Err… okay.” Harry scratched his neck. He’d noticed a few minor bugs since arriving in the Great Hall — objects flickering or shadows overlaying each other weirdly at certain angles, which was to be expected on release day. But despawning objects, right in front of his nose?

“What’s this about?” Hermione asked.

“It’s gone.” He pointed to the empty spot between the other dishes. “Despawned, I think.”

Her eyes shone with interest. “Oh, interesting. We should fill in a bug report!”

But before Harry could reply, the atmosphere in the Great Hall changed. Conversations stopped as people turned their eyes to the high table. He turned around to see that the headmaster NPC was about to make an announcement.

“What a name,” he snarked. And those robes were an absolute riot as well.

Ron snorted, still holding a chicken leg. “It’s a giveaway that he’ll become important to the main questline. Meanwhile, I’ll bet my pants that this Professor Vector over there on the right is completely forgettable.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Harry whispered to everyone's amusement. Then he shut up because the headmaster now stood behind the gilded lectern. 

Dumbledore raised a hand in greeting. “I hope you forgive an old man for interrupting this nice evening once again. It is not every day that we celebrate a welcoming such as this one. Two things I have to share before you leave to go exploring,” he said.

“Where’s the skip dialogue button!” someone in the hall yelled, and laughter erupted.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “There goes the immersion.”

“Hear, hear,” Hermione replied, and the two of them exchanged glances. Harry saw how Ginny nodded almost imperceptibly. They hadn’t talked much since he’d introduced Hermione to the group, and he worried about possible friction due to everyone except her being a Quidditch fiend.

Dumbledore ignored the rude interruption. “First, I want to remind everyone here that importing items from previous Hogwarts games is only possible before you leave the castle. As soon as you enter the grounds or any place outside these walls, that option will be locked permanently for your avatar.”

Murmurs rose in the hall, but nobody argued, since that reminder had been displayed prominently in the avatar builder during setup. It was a balancing reason first and foremost, also to prevent exploits — Harry vividly remembered how speed runners had cut the main quest down to a few minutes in the previous title. You had to stun Grindelwald long enough to equip him with a cursed ring from the Shadows over Hogsmeade browser promo game that only lasted a day upon dropping. That ring, in return, had removed Grindelwald’s quest NPC status prematurely.

He’d tried it himself, of course, only to end up not enjoying his spoils of extremely overpowered item drops since it’d been too easy.

Being able to import stuff at any time had been beyond broken.

“And second, I want to offer to you all the chance for a re-sorting in case you have doubts about what the Sorting Hat told you during character creation,” Dumbledore continued, gesturing towards a chair next to him where the ancient artifact now appeared. “Anyone willing to can form a line in the center of the Great Hall, and we will —”

“Avada Kedavra!”

A green flash, a thump.

The headmaster was lying on the ground, unmoving, his broken eyes staring into infinity.

“Merlin, no!” one of the other professors yelled as the staff erupted into panic.

The player base didn’t react at all, Harry noticed with sly amusement. Everyone knew this was a cut scene, a prologue for the actual game and main quest line. He smirked in Ron’s direction, who appeared shocked to have been proven wrong so quickly.

One professor had remained sitting, though. Exquisite black robes, a silver brooch fixed to his chest, and a regal face with dark eyes. His hair was combed close to the head with brilliantine in an old-fashioned hairstyle.

Harry chagrined because if there was ever a pureblood enemy NPC, it was this guy.

So obvious, and yet nobody had paid attention to him before.

“Ah, that felt good,” the professor said, his silky voice amplified to carry across the entire Great Hall. “I knew the old man talks entirely too much, but actually sitting here for hours is actual torture.” 

He snapped his fingers, rendering the rest of the staff mute as they continued to fuss over the corpse of Dumbledore, trapped in a reactive pattern that ignored him or the players. One of them was a man so huge he probably represented a half-giant. “Also, there will be no re-sorting since all of you are old enough to make an informed decision when presented with a choice, yes?” 

He rounded the high table and kicked the chair with the Sorting Hat aside, causing it to skid across the floor. Nobody made a sound, thousands of eyes locked onto the NPC with keen interest.

This opening was new, Harry thought.

Brash, violent… and also weird.

The man stepped over Dumbledore’s corpse, parting his colleagues as if they were illusions, and approached the lectern. His eyes roamed the hall before he leaned on it and slowly twirled a wand between two fingers. “So, let us dispense with all that nonsense the dear departed headmaster alluded to. None of you seem like the sort to engage in a discussion about determinism, anyway.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t a pretty sight.

There was something about his eyes, how it didn’t reach them, that gave Harry the creeps. His mind went back to Grindelwald once more, who’d been similar in some ways, but this new guy felt less… constrained? Definitely not typical NPC villain behavior.

“Harry, he doesn’t have a name tag!” Hermione’s breath ghosted across his ear since she was right beside him, and it proved to be very distracting. “Have you ever seen something like it?”

“No.”

He tried and failed to have his UI show him the professor’s name. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? Good thing they weren’t trying to raid one of the dungeons right now, his thoughts were all over the place. He needed to focus.

“Who the fuck are you, then?” another player asked, a black woman with a French braid. She wore something eerily similar to Ron’s armor — and Harry finally recognized her.

“Holy crap!” he hissed. “Angelina is also here?”

She’d been his team captain in the Flight of the Phoenix's ranked matches, the player who whipped their team into shape and led them to beat the entire competition. Their win of 870 to 720 points against GrowlingWyverns was the all-time Quidditch League high score to this day.

Ginny, Ron, and Dean tried to catch sight of her as the mysterious professor continued.

“Do that again, and I’ll dissolve you on the spot,” he snapped in Angelina’s direction. “But have it your way, I shall skip the details.”

He waited if anyone else was going to be rude, but the players were too interested in the bizarre unfoldings. A few of them were furrowing their brows, though, arms crossed. Harry hadn’t been the only one to realize that something was off.

“My name is Tom Riddle, and no, I am not a Hogwarts professor. Or any other kind of NPC, for that matter. If you think that name sounds familiar, then yes, I am indeed the CEO of Riddle Technology.”

As he spoke, Riddle’s avatar seemed to grow, the shadows behind him deepening, swallowing the pattern-trapped Hogwarts staff behind the lectern.

Nervous whispers rose everywhere, all at once.

“I see you’re not as ignorant as I thought, good.” Riddle’s empty smile faded. “The reason I’m speaking here is to inform you of a small change of plans. You logged in tonight expecting a grand opening, bonus drops, and all the other frivolous things associated with this game series. We’ll do something different instead.”

He pocketed his wand before making a gesture towards the Great Hall’s ceiling. One of the floating candles descended towards him and Riddle carefully took hold of it, inspecting it with apparent interest. “As some of you already noticed, the logoff button has disappeared from the menu. That is not a bug, although I have to admit quite a few of these also persist.”

He turned the candle in his hand, letting a single drop of wax fall onto the lectern.

Harry felt goosebumps rise on his arms and neck.

He really didn’t like where this was going. Either it was a prank in rather bad taste, or they were in trouble. All around him, players opened their in-game menus to find that Riddle had spoken the truth, but he didn’t need to verify that fact. Instead, he regretted pushing Hermione’s worries aside earlier.

“Riddle Technology is much more than a game company,” Riddle said as the ambient light of the hall slowly dimmed. “The world’s future lies in the digital realm, yet we cannot upload a human mind, not really. Not without serious degradation effects setting in. You are going to help me change that.”

He let go of the candle, and it hovered in front of him, flickering, reflecting in his dark eyes.

“As long as you’re online, your brains are being monitored by your console’s SenseGear, which also serves as a secret dead man switch. There is no way to log out, but if anyone unplugs your body from the game, you die. If your avatar is reduced to zero hit points, you die. No pain filters, no more resurrection or respawning. Why? Because the agony, the deaths, your brain’s shutdowns, will be recorded in detail, like everything else in the game. And ultimately, that gives me the power to do what nobody has done before — conquer death.”

One of the players, a teenage boy with sandy hair and blue robes, stood up and aimed his wand at Riddle. “Shut up, you’re insane! Stupefy!” he yelled.

Nothing happened except that the boy froze, becoming a statue.

“Tut, tut, tut,” the man said, wagging his finger. “There is no casting in the Great Hall, didn’t you know? But what you did know was that I wouldn’t tolerate any more disruptions. Well, Mister Charms4Harms, at least in death you have a chance to further humankind.”

Broken pixels blurred the boy’s frozen silhouette, and Harry imagined seeing actual bits of code fragments whirling inside the effect. 

Then the body vanished with a quiet whoosh.

The Great Hall exploded.

“Is he for real?” Ron shouted as people all around them shot up from their places, pushing benches aside, trying to find friends. “Did that just happen?”

“Afraid so,” Harry replied, raising as well. “Not sure that this is a hoax anymore.”

Frantic players bumped into him repeatedly, yet nobody seemed to know what to do. A few desperate ones tried to fire more spells at the avatar of Riddle, only to dissolve in that strange effect that reminded Harry of broken pixel shaders. This caused more panic, and people began clustering near the Great Hall’s entrance — which, to their dismay, had been locked as well.

“Stop this foolishness.” Riddle sighed theatrically, his voice carrying over the noise. “There is no escape, nobody will come to save you. The more you resist, the earlier you die, it’s that simple. But I guess you need some sort of evidence to really believe me, so have at it.”

At another wave of his hand, Harry’s UI flashed with numerous screens layered on top of each other — live feeds from TV stations and news websites, all of them reporting on the hostage crisis in Hogwarts: The Deathly Hallows. Worldwide, hundreds of players had already died, mostly because concerned family members unplugged them. Riddle had also spread a prepared manifesto, explaining what he just revealed to the players in the Great Hall. His company was losing billions in record time as the stock price continued to plummet, but nobody knew where the man was or how to stop the death game.

Harry’s stomach churned.

Not just because of all the people who’d died, and he hadn’t even realized it — not just because he worried about his friends, either. It was because he lived on his own now. There was nobody who’d come knocking, not until his rent would fail to be debited by the bank. By then, his body would've long perished due to a lack of water or food.

He was almost invisible to the real world, and therefore screwed.

When the news feed vanished, Harry looked up to see shocked faces all around. Ginny was pale, and Ron seemed close to blowing a fuse. Everyone had been shown, they all understood this wasn’t a game anymore.

Nobody attempted to hex the mad CEO again. Not that they could, even if they wanted to, since real combat spells had to be unlocked at later levels. And the Great Hall was a neutral zone anyway.

“Silence suits you,” Riddle said with a dry chuckle. “To those of you not cowed so easily by the prospect of real death, I offer this: There is, in fact, a way to survive the game and come out on the other side. If you finish all parts of the main quest line and defeat the bosses, I will let you go — the first twenty-eight of you to do so, anyway. If you’re wondering why that number, don’t bother, you wouldn’t understand it even if I tried.”

Harry’s heartbeat spiked.

He immediately knew this meant bloodshed, with serious consequences. The game featured PvP, even offered interesting perks for all who advanced in levels by killing other players. Some dungeons and boss areas were PvP zones by default to balance out the general PvE bias of the game’s quest structure. But if death was suddenly real, with only twenty-eight slots to get out of this madness… 

They were all royally screwed.

Next to him, Hermione stirred, and Harry heard how she drew a shuddering breath. She was likely scared out of her mind. He too, if he was honest with himself. 

Riddle drew his wand again. Every light source in the Great Hall except his candle went out, leaving only a soft glow in front of the madman at the lectern.

“You will have to manage without communication with the outside world, for obvious reasons. No browser access, no voice messages, no way to import or export data, you’re on your own. At this point, any other man in my place might wish you luck or Godspeed, but I am not like others. We won’t see each other again, and I don’t care if you live or die — just that you do it while being connected to this place. My place.”

He blew out the flame and the whole place went dark.

Then, as the first hesitant whispers rose, the floating candles above were magically lit once again. Riddle was gone, though, as were Dumbledore’s corpse and the other Hogwarts professors. Looking around, Harry noticed that a few players were missing as well, as if they’d despawned in the dark. Fear threatened to overcome him as he envisioned dozens of screaming parents and friends, how they leaned over corpses wearing a VR helmet.

It couldn’t be, he couldn’t end like this.

On the other end of the hall, the entrance had been opened with a loud click.

“Fuck me,” someone nearby said. Harry agreed, feeling numb and helpless. 

But when it was clear that no divine punishment came — that Riddle had left them to their fate — everyone shouted at once. Half of the remaining players rushed to the exit, either due to a fight or flight instinct or because they were actually curious, but Harry didn’t care. Sinking back onto the bench of the Hufflepuff table, he lowered his head into his hands, consumed by dread.

“What do we do now?” he asked.