Title: Harry Potter and the Hogwarts Dungeon

Author: Joshua

Disclaimer: JK Rowling has Harry, and whoever else from the books show up in these plots. I don't own either and I'm not making any money from all this, so don't bother suing me.

Rated: M (Mature Content, Language, Adult Content, Sexual Content, Violence, and Graphic Content)

Summary: Despite the title, it is not what you think. This story is of a genre I have (relatively) recently been exposed to, called 'LitRPG'. There is no crossover here. Short and sweet summary; What if 'Hogwarts' wasn't just a castle filled with wizards? What if it was actually a training ground for Adventurers, called a 'Dungeon' where said Adventurers could quickly gain power, weapons, wealth, and all sorts of things, but for the price that their lives would always be in danger so long as they were within its borders? The moment Harry puts on the Sorting Hat, he is called as an Adventurer. Can he survive the year, let alone all seven?

Day 0, Night 1:

"Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly erupted all around the Great Hall, like the wind before a storm through the trees.

Fortunately, Harry was too far away to hear exactly what was being said, his blood pounding in his ears with each step as anxiety scraped at his heart.

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people trying to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

He didn't have to wait long, as the second after that, a shock ran through him, like the time Dudley had plugged in a shaved extension cord while he was holding it. At least he didn't pass out this time.

Or, that is what he thought as he 'opened' his eyes (when he'd thought they'd already been open) and saw that he was suddenly standing alone in the middle of the hall. All of the people, the tables, the benches, even the candles and banners, all of it was gone. Just him and the stone floor, walls, and the enchanted ceiling which showed...

Harry looked up and then quickly looked down, trying not to throw up with fear. It wasn't something he'd ever done before, but as they say there is a first time for everything, and seeing a giant inhuman eyeball looking down at him amidst a sea of churning blood would certainly be enough to make anyone lose their shit.

Was this part of the Sorting? Why hadn't any of the others nearly thrown up after they were done? Was this something else? Was he supposed to say something? Do something? Amidst all these questions ransacking his brain, there was the overriding fear that desperately hoped none of the blood on the 'ceiling' would fall down on him. He really didn't think he could handle that right now.

HMM?

The... he hesitated to call it a voice as it reverberated throughout the entire room, so to his senses it was as if the sound originated from all around outside him, as well as inside his bones as they echoed from the vibration.

DIFFICULT. VERY DIFFICULT. PLENTY OF COURAGE, I SEE. NOT A BAD MIND EITHER. THERE'S CERTAINLY A LOT OF TALENT, GOODNESS YES. AND A NICE THIRST TO PROVE YOURSELF, NOW THAT IS INTERESTING.

The... Noice, (clearly a voice, but it was so loud that to Harry it was mostly just noise), paused briefly and Harry dared a glance up a the ceiling, doing his best to control his body as he did so. And it might have been his imagination, but he could've sworn that the inhuman giant eyeball looked... surprised to see him looking back up at it. Then it narrowed in focus and there was a brief glare as a beam of illumination speared down from above, like the brightest searchlight in existence, and it was all Harry could do to stay on his feet and not cry out as he was blinded by the light.

YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.

The Noice spoke with such a flat tone that despite being terrified out of his wits and still being tormented by the shard of the sun pouring down upon him, Harry almost laughed out loud. He didn't though.

FIFTY YEARS SINCE THAT LITERAL BASTARD WAS HERE AND ONLY *NOW* DOES THE NEXT ONE SHOW UP! I NEVER SHOULD HAVE LET THAT BASTARD COME AND GO THAT LAST TIME AND.

There was a heavy moment that hung in the air, before the Noice finally seemed to notice how he was cowering and cowed beneath its gaze.

OH RIGHT. YOU ARE SEEING MY TRUE FORM. SORRY. BEEN A WHILE SINCE I'VE DONE THIS. ONE SECOND.

The light disappeared, leaving Harry blinking the spots from his eyes. When he bothered to look, and could actually see again, there was someone new in the hall with him. Also, to his immense relief, when he looked up to check, the ceiling was once more rafters and wood and tile. No blood. No giant inhuman eyeball. Neither was there an enchantment showing the outside sky, but at least there wasn't anything there that was guaranteed to give him nightmares for the rest of his life.

Looking forward once more, Harry was surprised to note how ordinary the man standing before him was. By the eleven-year-old's estimate, he was somewhere within his late 20s to early 30s. He was white, standing a bit taller than most at just under two meters, had plain brown hair, and a remarkably featureless face. No, really, while he did have a human face, the individual features of which were so unremarkable and 'plain' that later on when he tried to recall it with any degree of detail, he could only come up with synonyms for average. He was dressed the same as most adult male wizards that Harry had met thus far, which is to say he was wearing body-covering robes, these ones the same stone-gray color as the walls and floor around them.

"There," the utterly plain man said, his voice and tone as forgettable and flat as the rest of him, which was truly the only remarkable thing about him as he spoke in a flat monotone at all times, "That is better, yes? Well, you're no longer cowering in fear or looking like you are about to toss your cookies, so it must be. Tell me, Harry Potter, do you know what is going on right now?"

Harry dully shook his head, still too stunned by recent events to have found his voice quite yet.

"Hm," the plain man's flat lips pressed together into an even flatter line. Somehow. "My apologies, once again. Normally your kind, for lack of a better term, are better prepared, or have some sort of mind-protecting magic to keep themselves from, what is the word again? Oh yes, from freaking out. Regrettably, neither of us have the time, nor the patience, for you to fully grasp the situation and deal with the reality of it. So, I offer you this choice, young Harry Potter; accept a boon from me that shall ensure you don't freak out about this stuff anymore, or deny your heritage and this all becomes nothing more than a fever dream that you can forget all about over the food you're about to consume. Of course, there are consequences to both. Make your choice, Adventurer."

Anybody sensible that had family or even true friends to get back to would've chosen immediately to do whatever it took to make sure this was 'all a dream to be forgotten', no matter what it might have cost them. Because while everything about the man's body spoke of plain dullness and mediocrity, his eyes... Well, if Harry had bothered to look close enough, he would've seen that they matched exactly to that giant inhuman eye in the sky, complete with blood red sclera, as opposed to the opal white you might see in a human's eye. And anything offered by eyes like those were to be distrusted and faced with fear and great suspicion.

Harry, however, did not see those eyes. And Harry did not have a loving family, and he'd only made a single friend but a few hours ago, who'd been more interested in his status as the Boy-Who-Lived and the Wizarding World's hero than in the boy himself. All Harry had was the knowledge that his 'heritage' as a wizard is what let him escape the Dursleys and keep from having to go to St. Brutus's School. As far as he knew, every other person to have put on the Sorting Hat had seen and experienced the same thing he had and received this 'boon', or likewise had already had this protection the man was talking about. He only hesitated as long as it took him to actually have these thoughts before stammering out his reply.

"Th-th-th-the... b-b-boon," he managed to get out from behind chattering teeth, still recovering from the stress and adrenaline of his earlier terror.

The man showed the first signs of true expression since he'd first appeared, as a smile was formed, muscle by muscle, with his flat lips. It was truly quite disturbing to watch.

And then, like a switch being turned on, all of the boy's panic—and quite rational fear—vanished, just like that. He stopped cowering and stood straight and looked over first himself, then the situation, and finally the stranger standing before him with a cool detachment.

"..." Harry opened his mouth to say something, and then rethought his words, before settling on saying, "I know that you just did something to me, for me, hence calling it a 'boon'. But," Harry frowned and rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to examine the figure more closely, "what exactly did you just do to me?"

"There's that cleverness," the figure remarked, tone still flat, and face back to expressionless. "If you'd been raised amongst your wizard and witch peers, you might best understand it as applying the same effect as a Calming Potion, just directly to your mind. Seeing that you've been raised by the mundane, or muggle population instead, I will phrase it like thus; I have given you a Skill that applies a passive status effect upon your mind and body. The status effect, quite simply put, is the protection of your mind, and brain, from harmful effects. Such as too much stress that might cause someone to go insane. It also protects you from mental intrusion and other mind-altering affects, even if they would work on your brain before affecting your mind. So, sorry, but drugs like cocaine, heroin, and other instantly-addictive-hallucination-inducing, also known as mind-altering drugs, will no longer work on you. At all."

"And your mind remains clear—not to mention your adrenaline and endorphin levels remain stable, even while exposed to stimuli that would normally engage your Fight-Or-Flight response," he/it concluded. Harry was beginning to doubt that, appearances aside, the figure standing before him was anything like a human. He was already quite convinced that it was not human at all.

"So..." he slowly worked it out, "This 'boon' keeps me from freaking out, and maybe even keeps others from reading my mind and other stuff?"

"An adequate summary," the plain figure remarked.

"Who... what are you?" Harry wanted to know.

The... entity... shifted its expression into that odd and disturbing smile once again, before almost immediately reverting to its neutral state. At the same time, their surroundings shifted somewhat. It was still the Great Hall, minus tables, decorations, chairs, or benches. There was, however, now a model-scale diorama of the Hogwarts Castle set between them on the floor. Or, out of the floor.

"Clever, most clever indeed," he... it said. "Perhaps you belong in Ravenclaw after all. On the other hand, you stood up to my true form and could still speak afterwards, so more points for Gryffindor in the end. There is still that thirst to prove yourself though."

Apparently seeing Harry lose patience, the faux-human finally answered the question.

"I AM HOGWARTS!" the mouth on the body moved, but what spoke was the same Noice as before. "And now for the ugly truth of the matter," it switched back to the normal-volume monotone. "Hogwarts is a Dungeon. I am the spirit of the Dungeon Core, communicating with you via the Sorting Hat, in a mental avatar. I already know everything about you, Harry James Potter. It's all here, in your head. So I know that you know what I mean when I call myself a Dungeon. Of course, your family never partook of any tabletop role playing game, though I am impressed with your method of learning about them. You might more easily remember the levels of the video games your cousin complained about that he could never get all the way through. Areas where monsters spawn and constantly attack the Player, until you come to the Boss Monster and defeat it, before moving onto the next level? I am that sort of Dungeon."

"But... the school?" Harry asked, confused.

"Yes, the school," it said, raising and lowering its shoulders while the sound of a loud wind echoed throughout the stone chamber. Hogwarts was sighing, the eleven-year-old realized. "Sadly, we do not have as much time to speak as either of us might enjoy. Suffice it to say, the mages of this era are far removed from those that thought to... tame me in the past. Very far removed. In order for me to maintain my power and retain my sense of self, I require sustenance in the form of what your language would call Anima. Of course all the raw magic that students learning the craft throw around during their lessons certainly does not hurt. I gain Anima via three primary means; Living Sacrifice, Combat, and Willing Sacrifice. Ironically, Combat provides the most Anima at any given moment, while a Living Sacrifice the least. However, I can usually trick one or two idiots into performing a Willing Sacrifice that has the same effect as a heavy meal, and I only need one of those every hundred years or so. Not to worry, young Adventurer, I've already had my 'Sacrifice' for the century. She's currently the ghost in the girl's restroom on the First Floor. Living Sacrifices is, quite simply, the ongoing presence of unbound creatures within the confines of my Dungeon. I get a steady trickle of Anima for each person, the longer they're here. Barely enough to survive, but all the mana all those witches and wizards give off help matters a great deal."

"I take it that 'Combat' is where I come into play?" Harry asked, amazed at how calm he was being, boon aside. "Why do you keep calling me 'Adventurer'? I thought I was a Wizard!"

"You truly are trying for Ravenclaw, aren't you?" Harry got the distinct impression that Hogwarts was laughing at him, just a little. "But look at you! Me, talking about death and sacrifice, and the place you go to school being full of monsters that are going to do their best to kill you, and there you are, practically chomping at the bit, and ready to go. Definitely Gryffindor. Yet, still there's that thirst to prove yourself. It practically radiating out of your pores. That calls to Slytherin."

"Is this normal for a Sorting?" he finally asked the question that had been on the tip of his tongue since this whole thing started.

"No," came the reply. "This is all because of your kind becoming so rare that I was not on guard for you. Yes, to answer your earlier question. I do keep calling you Adventurer, because that is what you are. Your kind are as far removed from the rest of the wizard rabble as they are from the mundanes... muggles. Unfortunately, your all so rare these days. Not sure if that is from lack of proper breeding, or if one of the others of my kind got a bit too careless in their design. The point is to have more and more Adventurers come through again and again, not be a slaughterhouse for them. Alas, I have no way of knowing for sure either way."

"Were," Harry hesitated in asking, but he had to know, and everyone had already told him that they'd both come here, so if anyone... anything could tell him about them, this would be his chance, "Were my parents Adventurers? James Potter and Lily, er... Evans?"

The plain-faced avatar opened its mouth to speak, and then froze like a still-image, or a robot that had been turned off. After an uncertain amount of time, though it didn't seem like very long at all, it started up again and closed its mouth. Perhaps a minute, maybe not quite that long, it resumed talking as the floor shifted between them so that a waist-high (for the avatar, for Harry it was just below chest-high) stone table appeared. Upon the table was a lengthy piece of parchment (about seven and a half feet, give or take a few inches) with very small lettering written upon it.

"Your parents, in fact, were not Adventurers," he was informed. "Which means that you are even more unique than I'd first thought. We are running out of time, Harry Potter. I have no control over the perceptions of the low level mages in the Great Hall, so for all this time that we have been conversing here, in your mind, they have been sitting there waiting for me to declare what House you will join. I am a Dungeon and you are an Adventurer, albeit an untrained one. I'm offering you a deal, Harry Potter. Say yes, sign the contract, and we'll have all the time in the world to talk afterwards. Say no, don't sign the contract... and I take my boon back. And you get to experience all the fear and raw emotion that has been suppressed all at once. Even if you were in good health, I'm quite certain that your body could not handle the strain... and I would get my second Willing Sacrifice within a century."

"Wait," Harry physically backed away from the table, hands held up to ward off, "if I didn't inherit this... Adventurer thing from my parents, then how the heck do you know that I am one?! Maybe I'm just unlucky number one million and thirteen and just put on the hat at the wrong time! Ever think of it that way?"

"Sadly, that is not the way that it works. Otherwise, trust me, there would be a lot more of your kind roaming about, and I would choose a much smaller number than a million and thirteen. Like... one point one five, so maybe one out of ten wouldn't be an Adventurer and let me use them as hostages."

Harry stopped backing away and put down his hands.

"Wait, what hostages?" he demanded to know.

The avatar began to move its mouth, muscle by muscle into that weird ass creepy as hell smile it had, before answering.

"Sign the contract, Harry Potter."

"What happens if I say yes, but don't sign the contract?" he said, just to be contrary.

The smile that was revealed at that seemed to be the first genuine expression that Hogwarts had revealed to the young human in this entire encounter. Because it wasn't slowly built, muscle by twitching muscle, it was an instantaneous shift in the otherwise still plain face of the puppet Hogwarts was using. That didn't make the smile any less creepy, because it wasn't so much a 'smile' as a slit in the face that went from (literally) eye to eye, in the shape of a scimitar. Harry would have loved to call it a 'shark-tooth grin' or a 'T-Rex smile' or any number of predatory metaphors. Because then that would imply that there were teeth and a mouth there. The crescent slit in the plain face was nothing by a gaping black void. Harry really wanted to run screaming and start crying like a scared little boy and never stop. But he didn't.

Because whatever 'Boon' Hogwarts had given him, it kept his fear and panic and the worst of his emotions below a certain level. Oh, he still definitely felt the fear and terror and everything else, but he was still able to use his brain, his mind and make logical choices. And he knew if he didn't keep it together and play this out, he was dead.

IF YOU DO NOT SIGN THE CONTRACT, THEN THERE IS ONLY A SINGLE OPTION AVAILABLE TO YOU. ADVENTURER. YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO LEAVE THE DUNGEON UNTIL YOU DEFEAT EVERY LEVEL OF THE DUNGEON. EVERY FLOOR'S BOSS MONSTER. EVERY ROAMING MONSTER. SOLVED EVERY PUZZLE. AND DESTROYED MY PHYSICAL AVATAR IN THE ROOM WHERE MY DUNGEON CORE IS LOCATED. OF COURSE IF YOU WERE TO ACTUALY ACHIEVE THAT AND SUCCEED IN LEAVING THE DUNGEON, IF YOU WERE TO EVER SET FOOT ON HOGWARTS GROUNDS AGAIN, YOU'D HAVE TO DO IT ALL OVER AGAIN. AND BY NOT SIGNING THE CONTRACT, I HAVE NO CHOICE, I MUST USE EVERYTHING WITHIN MY POWER, WHICH I HAVE SPENT NEARLY FIFTEEN HUNDRED YEARS CULTIVATING, TO DESTROY YOU UTTERLY. NO QUARTER GIVEN OR OFFERED.

Gulping, Harry started inching his way back toward the table with the contract still on it. "Wh-wh—uh, what does it say, exactly? The contract?"

"We don't have time for me to explain it to you, nor for you to read it. Sign, and then we can move on." The Avatar spoke after the Noice had silenced.

"I'm not signing anything without knowing everything about it, and the deal it would represent," Harry resolutely declared. "And you're the one that was whining about not having an Adventurer around! What good is it if you kill me, an eleven-year-old BOY, the very night I arrive, without even explaining anything to me?! If you want me to actually stand a chance and play around, or whatever, in your Dungeon, then you have to cut me some slack here! Besides, I'm pretty sure, even two thousand years ago, they didn't let minors sign contracts or whatever it is you're trying to get from me. I have no training, and my parents are both dead, and my legal guardians aren't here to vouch for me, and I DIDN'T EVEN PUT THE SORTING HAT ON MY OWN HEAD!"

The plain-faced puppet blinked. Very slowly.

"You have a point," it decided. "I suppose I did get a bit too excited there. Very well then."

The table, and the contract upon it disappeared.

"A verbal contract will have to do, for the time being, until you've passed the Trials of Ascension. Rite of passage to adulthood. Druids of the day called it something else, but it is the closest translation that your modern mind can comprehend at the moment. The Dungeon will remain in stand-by, as it has for the majority of the last thousand years, until twenty-four hours after you make your decision. I offer you these choices, Harry Potter:

1: Refuse the Boon, allow me to take it back from you without hesitation or doubt, and forsake your destiny and heritage as an Adventurer. In return, these events will be wiped from your mind, and you will be just another wizard amongst your fellow students. Further, you will be placed in Hufflepuff house and your destiny will be shaped so that nothing 'bad' or dangerous ever happens to you for the remainder of your time at the school.

2: Claim your heritage as an Adventurer, and immediately leave the Dungeon, only to return when you are able to survive it... and sign my contract. OR...

3: Agree to become my Apprentice, and all that it entails."

It was the Noice that spoke next, and Harry had no doubt that he was out of time and indeed had to

CHOOSE!

(AN: I've been reading a lot, I mean, a *LOT* of LitRPG stories of late. A few of which have been "Dungeon Core" stories, which explains this little... er, experiment. Basic premise; What If "Hogwarts" is more than just a Magic School, What If it is a *Dungeon* like the kind filled with traps and puzzles and undead and has secret rooms and treasures hidden inside of it? Oh, wait, it DOES! Question then became, why doesn't Hogwarts spend all its time trying to kill the students, and then one recalls that a select number of students actually DO face mortal peril at regular intervals within its halls. Short version, Harry, Tom Riddle, maybe a select few over the years, are a *special* kind of wizard known (currently) as an Adventurer. Subject to change if anyone has any better suggestions. As for that whole 'boon' thing? That was basically Hogwarts granting Harry the magical equivalent of "Gamer's Mind". As for the Apprentice thing, that's Hogwarts way of basically turning Harry into his pet, so that it can have him run through its Dungeon areas without him permanently dying. Prematurely. I'm also toying with this idea that takes elements from the anime/game series "Persona". Specifically the Persona 4 anime with 'shadows' of all the students wandering around and Harry has to defeat/protect/deal with them on a nightly basis, while during the day and in classes everybody is normal. As far as special powers for Harrry...? Well, it is still very early and I am open to suggestions. Also, if anyone happens to have links to other LitRPG/Dungeon Core-esque fanfics, I would LOVE to read them, so please drop me a link in the Reviews, or a PM. Please keep in mind FF Net's filtering. :)