Harry Potter Fanfiction Cauldron (Hp Fic Cauldron) By The Serpent Guardian

Disclaimer: I am not JKR, I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just own the situations I put him in.

AN: This is a collection of unfinished stories, story summaries and ideas. I wanted to know readers responses to some of these. I have quite a few ideas, and more then enough story starts, I would like to know which the public thinks I should work on.

I have had all these works gathered in one place for some time, I call them collectively "The Cauldron," thus the reason behind the name. Since all of these are unfinished and nowhere near being actual story attempts, they are mostly unedited with quite a few plot holes, and such. They appear almost exactly as I have originally scratched them onto paper when I was supposed to be taking a test, doing homework, so on. The only thing I have changed is their legibility, grammar and spelling mistakes. Mind there might still be a few of those as I have no beta.

Each story attempt will appear as its own chapter with its own warnings. Feel free to skip any of them. Enjoy and tell me what you think of them in a review.

Rated PG, repeated references to the ending of the Third Task is the only thing keeping this from a G rating. I do not own The Hobbit, not a crossover.

Placement

Harry started at the ceiling, not registering what he was seeing; after all it wasn't the ceiling that he was seeing. He was seeing the aftermath of the Third Task. Again. Again. Again. Again…

He had already done all his homework, gone over his first year books, cover to cover, mind. And started his second year. He needed something to occupy him. Something that didn't inadvertently remind him of… Him. He had almost torn his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. He couldn't stand the sight of his broom, indeed anything Quidditch only served to fuel his already foul mood. His relatives had even steered clear of him, allowing him to sulk in his room as he saw fit. And sulk he did. Again it replayed. Again. Again.

Again…

He muted a sound of frustration and rolled gracelessly off his, well what was passing as his, bed. At least it was better then the pile of blankets he had used in the cupboard. He stalked, well what would have been a stalk if the appropriate energy had been applied, it was more of a stumbling fall, to the bookcase. Once he had made the required three steps he glared at the books. The only things as yet untouched by Dudley's powers of destruction when it came to his things. Amusing thought that, that Dudley could hold anything resembling a power of destruction. He sighed. He was supposed to be distracting himself, not depress himself even further. Sighing again, he looked at the books.

Most of them were children's books. Books like, "See Spot. See Spot run." type deals. He'd be surprised if Dudley could get past the second page. Just when he was going to give it up as hopeless, he saw something that was out of place. All the books on the self were brand new, practically untouched save the dust. Among the dusty books, was another perhaps even dustier book, but unlike the others, its corners were bent, the cover tattered and worn, the writing on the spine completely worn off. Picking it up, Harry looked at the faded cover. In the four corners there were impressions, as if there had once been something pressed into the roughly worked leather. (The fact that the book was leather bound was a cause for curiosity. And that had always been Harry's downfall.) It looked as if there had been gold gilding drawn in a vine circle on the front cover, and yes, on the back as well. Curiosity over ruling all his common sense, which he had to admit, was fairly below standard levels, he opened it. And promptly wished he hadn't.

After picking himself off the floor, well trying to at any rate, he finally dragged himself onto the wobbly desk chair that was conveniently next to him. He glared at the book in his hand; it didn't seem to be bothered by the glare. Note to self, Harry thought, learn to glare properly… Perhaps Snape could teach me… Gingerly opening the book again, a slip of paper fell out. After poking at it, and nothing happening, Harry deemed it safe to pick it up and read. He proceeded to do just that.

Petunia,

I thought perhaps young Dudley would enjoy this. It is an original copy of The Hobbit.

Arabella Figg

Well that explained it at least. Mrs. Figg was forever going to yard sales and the like. She had even dragged Harry to a few when he was younger. She seemed to have a fondness for things that were broken and failing apart, that had not even the slightest chance of being repaired. Though Harry had found that to his advantage. She seemed to think that young children had the ability to find treasure among trash, and so had let him buy one thing every time she went. At first Harry had gotten the small broken toys that parents make their children throw away, but he soon learned not to as Aunt Petunia always made him throw away such things as soon as she saw them. So he had found things that Aunt Petunia would never think to check for.

At one particular venture, he had hit quite the jack pot. He had found two ornately carved candle holders. They were at a very cheap price, as the gold paint was flaking off, and the vines they were decorated in were bent and snapped in places. But Harry had liked them. The bent and broken vines seemed only to add realism to them. And he was greatly pleased to find that after he had washed them in the hose in the backyard, that the paint was almost completely removed. Remaining only in the tiny grooves of the leaves, making the leaves look like they had grown from gold, with gold veins. The metal underneath was simple iron.

Harry had made many such finds. And he had hidden them with great care. When he had moved from his cupboard to Dudley's second bedroom, he had had a hard time hiding them anew. But he had found places. And now they were scattered through out the room. The only things that made the room his, the only things that provided at least some familiarity.

It seemed though that he had a new find to add to his collection. He had come to trust Mrs. Figg's judgment on what most deemed as "junk," when it came to such things she was the best. So he picked up the book and moved himself to his bed. Having to tuck his feet under him and bend his back to fit on it, didn't bother him much. He hadn't had the room to do so in his cupboard either. And ironically enough, he seemed to hold a great fear of open spaces. At least when they were crowded they didn't seem so big.

Opening the book once again he began to read. His first reaction being, 'This doesn't sound like a muggle book to me.' No thoughts came after this. Time had ceased to exist to Harry, the book was all that mattered. After he had finished it, he read it again. Yes, this, this was what he needed. What he had longed for. Now if he could only achieve it…

End.

I have some notes reminding me of what I had planned for this, if requested I will add them to this chapter.