AN: Hello there. chapters for the other stories are half completed thanks to real life. My muse has however bombarded me with a gazillion story ideas, so I decided to take a page from other authors and create a scrap bin for your pleasure. If you would like to take any idea here and run with it, please do, and please let me know so I can read the a story without having to write it. Let me know what you think of this little snippet. Thanks.

"Harry Potter And The First Task"

Darkness.

Pain.

A somewhat familiar feeling for Harry James Potter, the-boy-who-lived. How he hated that moniker. The efforts of a phantom dark lord seemed to haunt every corner of his life. Never could he be Just Harry. From his painful muggle existence to his overbearing wizarding one, he never seemed to catch a break. A chance to breath.

Here he was in the hospital wing of Hogwarts again. He could tell by the feel and smell. Afraid to open his eyes just yet, as he could not exactly remember why he was here this time, he just lay there as he returned to a more conscious state.

Breath in. Breath out.

The pain was dull, something he could easily tolerate. A tear escaped his eye at the thought that at only fourteen, he had a high tolerance to pain thanks to his relatives, and then Voldemort's life changing interferences. He wanted a real childhood, but it seemed that he was fate's bitch.

He very nearly chuckled at the use of the word bitch, even in his own thoughts. How many of the adults and Hermione would chide him for his use of language. Especially coming from The-Gryffindor-Golden-Boy, yet another label he despised.

Finally awake enough to perhaps find out what happened this time, though he was afraid to remember, he opened his eyes. His first sight was his right hand sitting gently on top of the blanket that covered him. A moment of terror swept through him, a niggling in the back of his mind that something was horribly wrong, causing him to grip the blanket tightly.

With a shaky breath, he released the blanket and reached over to the night stand and snatched up his glasses, placing them quickly on his face. He puzzled a moment at the potion ingredients, tools, and softly simmering cauldron spread out on the small table, before looking around at the empty hospital wing.

A large, black dragon appeared in the back of his mind.

He remembered and intense fear gripped him.

He had summoned his broom to get past the horn tail dragon. He looked up when he heard the broom soaring to him, and when he looked back, it was just in time to see the tail coming toward him. He raised his left arm instinctively to block the blow that came. The tail didn't just hit him, it pushed him through the air, slamming him into a rocky outcropping on the ground.

Nearly blinded by pain, he saw his left leg was barely recognizable having been crushed below the knee. He could not feel his left arm which appeared to be hanging on by a few strands of skin. He felt numb all over as he stared and the adrenaline started to kick in.

Realizing he needed to get out of there fast, he maneuvered himself onto his broom, and took off, holding on with his thighs mostly. The dragon came after him, and in a fit of delirium, he swooped down and snatched the unprotected golden egg. Flying erratically and barely holding on, he soared up to battered again.

He watched in detached fascination as a narrow miss pushed him to the side and his dangling limbs were scorched and swallowed up by the beast. He giggled insanely as he landed on his back in front of a shocked crowd and frightened judges. The whole episode had lasted all of about thirty seconds.

"I got it!" Harry yelled with a goofy grin as he held the egg up before passing out.

Tears started to flow down his face as he remembered. He shook with fear at the pain and numbness of his left limbs. That was what he feared when he woke up to see just his right hand he realised. But perhaps the bandaged arm was just under the covers he hoped. Madam Pomfrey could fix anything after all.

He looked down and his hope faded. There was no outline in the blanket where his arm and leg should be. Wishing he was dreaming, he slowly dared to place his hand on the blanket on his left side. He slowly, fearfully, pushed into nothingness.

The silent sobs started then.

"Why?" he mumbled to himself.

He couldn't think straight. His life was always hell, no matter if in the muggle or wizarding world. He found he just could not deal with it. Too much. Too much pain. Too much suffering. No more. He reached over and grabbed the knife for preparing potion ingredients and stared hard at it.

Yes.

Peace.

Finally.

He spun it around in his hand and brought it down with all of the strength he had left in him toward his heart.

"Harry no!" a familiar voice called out and Harry found his arm frozen in place, the knife just barely breaking the surface of the skin on his chest.

"Let me die," Harry pleaded sadly as he turned his head toward Dumbledore, oblivious to the others that had entered the room.

"Harry, please let me explain what's happened," Dumbledore started but Harry cut him off.

"What's to explain? I'm fucked. Totally fucked. My first and best friend is jealous of a fame that took any family I had away from me. I've got a potion teacher who hated my father who I never knew and takes it out on me. My aunt and uncle locked me in the cupboard under the goddamned stairs for the first ten years of my life, locked me in my room after that, and starved me the whole time. My cousin and his gang would always play Harry Hunting where they would chase me down and beat the shit out of me. After I found out I was a wizard and started school here, Voldemort nearly killed me in my first and second year. That idiot Fudge would rather listen to a rich death eater than do what he was elected to do and so I can't have my godfather take care of me. The one chance at some kind of caring adult for just me, only me. So I've. Got. No. One. Now I get ripped apart because someone else decides I should die. Let me go to my parents. I know they loved me."

"Harry," Dumbledore said as calmly as he could, the knife wavering a bit as his magic struggled against the boy's will to harm himself. "Please listen. Please."

Harry sadly relaxed his arm, and allowed Dumbledore to approach and take the knife. He stared up at the old wizard, tears and hopelessness in his eyes.

Dumbledore stared at the expression on Harry's face, contemplating what needed to be said first. He began to feel an unending sorrow at what the boy had been through, and vowed to make it better, though much had already been done. He hoped that Harry would listen long enough for him to explain.

"Let me say first that you will be whole once again and we found out who entered your name into the Goblet."

Harry stared hard into the headmasters eyes, a small glimmer of hope appearing as Harry's quiet, sobbing smoothed out and he breathed in and out a little more calmly. "Who?"

Dumbledore relaxed a bit then and replied, "A person known as Bartemius Crouch Junior."

Harry looked confused at that response then looked expectantly for the headmaster to continue.

"After you passed out, he revealed himself. A deatheater who was believed to be dead, hidden by his father, he escaped and was working for Voldemort. You were not supposed to be injured, his intention was an elaborate plan for you to win the tournament, and be whisked away by a portkey made from the Triwizard Cup. The man we believed to be Professor Moody was Barty Jr. using polyjuice potion."

"So he got nervous when I was hurt, then? I can't imagine Voldemort would be too happy about that if he wanted that pleasure to himself."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said with a sad smile. "But in his revelation, we were able to find out where Voldemort was, and he has been taken care of for the moment, with plans in place to make it permanent."

Harry looked down in thought, then looked up suddenly. "Just how long have I been out?"

"Two weeks, and much has happened," Dumbledore replied, holding Harry's gaze. "In his weakened state, I was able to subdue him and find out how he remains alive. We also found Pettigrew, and things will be alright now."

When Dumbledore motioned to the door with his head, Harry glanced over and froze in shock. Everyone was there, and apparently had been the whole time. Hermione, the entire Weasley family, Remus, most of the staff, including Snape, his year mates in Gryffindor, Cedric and his father, even Fudge was there, as well as a certain godfather named after the dogstar.

He saw that everyone had tears of a mixture of sadness and relief in their eyes, even Snape's were a bit most, which took Harry back for a moment. He knew he was dead then, or near it, and his tears slowly started up again.

"I'm dead," he said softly, but Dumbledore heard him.

With a glance at what Harry was looking at, he couldn't help but chuckle. "No, my dear boy, you are not dead. Professor Snape actually does have a heart."

Snape scowled at that as he strode over menacingly. "My relief at you regaining consciousness was only aimed at not wasting my valuable efforts in modifying Skelegro and burn paste to regrow the limbs you managed to lose."

Harry looked between Dumbledore and Snape in shock. "I thought that was impossible."

"Perhaps for someone as horrendous at potions as yourself that would be true. I however am a potions master. But to work the treatment had to be started immediately, before your magic became to accustomed to the absence of your limbs."

With that he scooped up some green paste from one of the cauldrons, pulled Harry's sheet back, and began applying it to the stumps. Harry wasn't the only one to turn his head away from the sight with a cringe.

"Please warn me next time," Harry croaked with a shudder as he felt the paste being spread on a part of his body that he did not want to acknowledge.

"Harry," Snape said quietly after tucking the sheet back in, causing Harry to look up in shock.

Harry stared at the potion Snape was offering before allowing him to tip it into his mouth. It didn't taste as bad as Skelegro usually, causing him to look up at the potions professor in puzzlement.

With a glare back at everyone to be sure he wasn't be overheard, Snape turned to Harry and said, "I was the first one to you when you were injured. With your sweat soaked hair and missing glasses, I, for the first time, did not see you as the arrogant son of James Potter, the bane of my existence, but the injured child of Lily Evans, a wonderful lady whom I knew before we attended Hogwarts, and a person whom I always cared for."

Harry again had another shock, and wondered just how many more there were to come, and how many more he could actually handle.

"We shall speak of this later, tell no one you impudent brat, or you WILL be in detention permanently the moment you are well enough. Am I clear?"

"Yes sir," Harry said, still a bit flabbergasted.

Snape stood up and with another glare at everyone, went back to the work table to continue brewing, as the shelf life of the potion and paste were so short as to be non existent.

Harry looked down at himself and sighed. "So how long will this take?"

"Till about the middle of February," Snape replied harshly. "You must not perform magic, as it will interfere with the healing process."

Dumbledore patted Harry on the shoulder when his tears started up again. "You are disqualified from the tournament now. These injuries have voided the binding magical contract."

"But its such a long time," Harry almost whined. "Months of my life are gone with me stuck like this."

Everyone, including Dumbledore, could empathize with that. Harry had paid so much of his life to the Dark Lord, and now here yet even more. They watched as the modified Skelegro finally kicked in and Harry drifted off to sleep. They all consoled each other as best as they could and left, although Sirius stayed behind.

Snape finished the latest stage of brewing and stood up to leave when he saw the frown the headmaster wore while staring at the sleeping boy. He was startled when the man spun on his heels and strode quickly out the door. Knowing the potion needed no attending for a while, he sped after him.

Dumbledore walking through the halls briskly with a frown on his face, and Snape at his heels, piqued McGonagall's curiosity and she sped off after them. She gave a questioning glance to Snape who seemed to have no idea as well. Soon they arrived at the headmaster's office. McGonagall and Snape watched as the old man riffled through a filing drawer and pulled out the Student attendance register from 1991.

"Albus?" questioned the deputy headmistress.

"Something Harry said doesn't sit well with me," Dumbledore replied and waved his wand at the register, causing it to list student addresses.

"Surely not?" Snape said, remembered quite vividly what the boy had said.

"It's automatic, Severus," Dumbledore replied, "I only added a multiplying charm in case the Dursleys tried to prevent Harry from getting his letter, which they did and I had to eventually send Hagrid."

They watched as the address for Harry cycled through itself in reverse of the auto updating charm. When it finally stopped on the first entry, Dumbledore let out a weary sigh.

"Severus," Dumbledore said after several minutes of contemplation, "I need to do some... investigation at the Dursleys, and I would appreciate your... imaginative skills in that endeavor."

"I believe my skills in transfiguration could be of use as well," McGonagall said with a scowl. "I will not be left out on such an important project."

The three looked at each other, and with a nod, they made their way toward the school entrance. They grabbed Sirius along the way, and headed for number 4, Privet Dr, Little Whinging, Surrey. The Dursleys were unprepared and quite extremely, although uselessly, repentant.