Author's Note: I have several ideas and neither the free time nor the motivation to write them. Though I reserve the ability to continue my own ideas if I get such opportunity, I'm posting them here for perusal and/or adoption.

If anyone wants to take on any of the ideas posted, credit me in an author's note at the start of the fic.

(This isn't listed in the crossover section because most ideas won't be crossovers, although the first one definitely is.)

[Harry the Shaper]

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR; the Geneforge series belongs to Spiderweb Software.

Spoilers for Geneforge I & II follow.

At the edge of civilization, It seethed.

Long had It reigned - so long that It had forgotten Its own name and original sex. But such things were the trappings of mortals. After Shaping upon Shaping, It could not be said to be a mortal any longer. It was, in truth, a living god.

But even gods could die.

Somehow, It had not pillaged the entirety of Sucia Isle. The half-witted investigators sent by the jelly-minded Shaper Council had recovered enough information to begin the work anew - to create a new Geneforge!

The news had, for the first time since Its rebirth, sent a spike of fear straight through Its heart. Though those events seemed like another life, It remembered how It had once been a feeble, half-drowned apprentice, washed up on Sucia's forgotten shores... weak, ignorant, barely able to Shape... fleeing every rogue Creation It saw, sneaking about like the lowest of Serviles... and then It had found the Canisters... those glowing, churning, acid-green containers, which, though It had not known it then, contained the merest fraction of the power of the true Geneforge... and everything changed... everything changed...

If the secrets of that island, the sealed pinnacle of Shaper achievement, had so uplifted a mere sniveling apprentice, what might they do for a master Shaper?

But It soon learned Its fears were unfounded: the new Geneforges, though they awed the childlike folk of the continent, were the merest eidolon of Sucia's - barely worthy of the title: more glorified Canisters, in Its judgment. Good for a Shaper civil war, but not much else. Content, It settled back in Its self-forged kingdom and dedicated Itself to pushing the boundaries of Shaping beyond what any quavering Council-approved Shapers had ever dared, free from the petty concerns of mortals.

And so It wasted Its time, ignorant of the true threat: the Drakons.

Why! Why! Why?! Drayks were enough trouble as they were: who had thought of using the power of a Geneforge, be it ever so inferior, to enhance the things?! Moreover, to allow them to Shape? Yes! By all means! Give a Creation not only human-level intellect, a greedy and independent temperament, and a powerful reptilian body, but also the power to Shape! Whatever could go wrong? Why ever not? What were the chances that such beings, realizing they had all the gifts of humankind and more, might decide they no longer needed their masters?

Quite high, as the rogue Shapers would discover! Extraordinarily so! So much so that the human rogues soon found themselves little more than Serviles for the Drakons! Why. How stupid could anyone be? The temperament-adjusting effects of the Canisters (which were really quite mild, but It supposed they could have a greater effect upon the weak) could not suffice to explain a tenth of the insanity behind such a decision.

Faced with a superior foe, the Shaper Council was forced to allow wartime innovation; the Drakons responded in kind. And, as the escalating, expanding arms race writhed across the continent, even It was drawn into the edges of the conflict.

It did not wish to participate; It remained on the fringes, and made no overtures to either side. But Its domain was seen as a potential source of resources, and captured infiltrators confessed, under Vlish interrogation, that their masters hoped to extract the secrets of the true Geneforge from Its corpse. It flew into a rage, launching random raids against nearby Shaper and Rebel encampments alike, but It was but one, however godlike; Its forces were beaten back from Rebel and Shaper strongholds, albeit with heavy losses.

Worse, It soon realized that the arms race was outpacing It by far. Its superhuman intelligence was not equal to the finest Shapers and Drakons slaving away day and night in search of an innovation that might decisively end the war; in comparison, Its Creations were either outdated or eccentric, not flawlessly optimized for war. And always the threat loomed that the Drakons might, in a flash of brilliance, make the leap from their pitiful imitations to a true Geneforge.

Raging against Its increasing impotence, It turned Its gaze afar, seeking a solution outside of the realms of Shaping. It had toyed with magic in the past, then tossed that aside to resume Its pursuit of Shaping; now, outpaced in that pursuit, It looked to magic for answers.

With Its accelerated intelligence, learning came easily; it soon ventured into fronts that, so far as it could tell, neither the Shaper Council nor the Drayks had dared to explore. With great effort, and the sacrifice of many creations, It was able to tear the very fabric of space, and open a portal - but one, to Its disgust, It soon found could not transmit matter.

With difficulty, however, It could transfer magic across the rift, and, with the knowledge of Sucia Isle, go so far as to rewrite the little scrolls within the beings upon which It focused - the scrolls which, the forbidden research had revealed, controlled the very composition of living beings. And that might be sufficient, might it not? After all, the Canisters held the power to transfer knowledge through extensive overwriting of the scrolls... Surely It could copy Its thoughts, memories, and abilities onto a fresh host with sufficient rewriting, and so, even if this form died, It would persist...

But experimentation was slow, and the borders of Its domain receded. Maddeningly, making alterations across the portal was arduous and prone to mistakes, and those upon whom It experimented often perished. Worse yet, the rift seemed to be to some defective world in which magical power was pathetically rare, and those without magic often reacted quite poorly to alterations granting magically-based abilities. Spontaneous combustion was frustratingly common. Magical humans were not much better; flailing half-blind as It was, It often had... interesting effects on their physiologies. Even worse, their natural magic would rally to their defense and attempt to repair Its changes!

As time ran short, It focused on a particularly durable specimen: a young boy, less than ten years of age, affected by some sort of magical condition that rendered him extremely difficult to kill. Whenever he fell prey to a fatal alteration, a strange enchantment embedded in his forehead would flow throughout his body and act as life support, albeit apparently of an unpleasant sort, until It could undo Its error. Even better, his guardians maltreated him, so that his physiological reserves were often quite drained, and his magic had not the room to fight back against Its alterations!

Yes, yes - he would make a good target. If only It had more time!

But the Drakons had advanced horribly, creating some sort of abomination called the Unbound - and the Shapers had surged forth in answer. There was no room for neutrality any longer. Geneforges dotted the land, and not all of them shameful imitations. Once, It had been a living god - and now - and now -

And now It was something to be devoured by greater monsters.

In mortal terror, It threw Itself whole-heartedly into the project. It no longer attempted to defend Its domain's borders; the Creations It sent out existed solely to slow the flood - what little good they did. It spent all Its time before the portal, perfecting Its technique upon the boy and loading into his feeble form all the secrets of Sucia Isle.

It would not die! It could not die! They could not kill It, these pathetic, hateful upstarts! It - It -

In his cupboard, Harry Potter, the sickest boy alive, awoke from a particularly troubled slumber.

For years, he had fallen prey to about every ailment possible: his skin sloughing off, his lungs filling with blood, his eardrums bursting, his brain ceasing to function for three days straight, his intestines doing unmentionable things, his skeleton crumbling like chalk...

Honestly, he well-understood why his relatives called him a freak. He assuredly was, for somehow he went through all of that and survived. (Not that he could always say he wanted to.) Even more, he always recovered from the condition of the month and came back stronger - only to fall prey to another ailment in short order.

He didn't even understand how one could come down with spontaneous combustion. He had done that. Multiple times. His relatives had seemed oddly unsurprised, but never bothered to explain the exact mechanism to him - just screamed at him more than usual and kept the fire extinguisher ready at all times.

He now, however, found himself in the strangest condition of all:

He wasn't sick. In fact, he felt amazing.

Not only that, but his mind raced with new information. It was as though he'd managed to not only make up for every single day of school he'd missed due to illness, but somehow managed to go to university in the meantime. A very strange university indeed, mind - one that had taught him about magic, which his relatives had often assured him wasn't real, and some bizarrely advanced form of biology - mad science, more like - known as Shaping.

But if magic didn't work, how did that spell of Unlock, in which his newfound knowledge had instructed him, work? (He had not tested Firebolt and, due to memories of spontaneous combustion, was not eager to try.) Speed or War Blessing, he could explain as psychological effects - but the latch on his cupboard door didn't open itself for psychosomatic reasons.

For all that he knew he should have been amazed by that, his new instincts told him Shaping was the greatest power of all. And, though he hadn't had much opportunity to explore it, he somehow knew he would not be receiving any more gifts from whatever freakish twist of fate had, in the past few weeks, turned him from unnaturally unwell to indecently healthy.

From now on, he was on his own. And any more information he wanted, he'd have to gather on his own.

He sat up in his cot, thinking, and absently brushed a spider off his leg. It was a pity they were too small to effectively Shape - he had an abundance of them.

Maybe he could get his hands on a garden snake soon, though. They would probably make the best basis for an Artila...

He should probably omit the part about spitting acid, though - at least at first. He could see a lot of ways that could go wrong.

For those who have not played Geneforge: Shaping is, more or less, magically altering existing organisms (implied to be a difficult and lengthy process) and raising new Creations from "Essence" using the recipes passed down from on high (much simpler). Or that's what it should be.

The Shaper researchers on the colony of Sucia Isle, through much laborious effort, learned to directly alter DNA. Moreover, they discovered how to pass on Shaper knowledge and magic, ordinarily the product of many years of study and hard work, by writing it directly to the target's genome, and mass-produced Canisters containing green goo that would automatically do just that. Excessive Canister use did have mild side effects, such as impaired social skills, decreased impulse control, violent behavior, megalomania, and glowing in the dark, but that's science.

Sadly the Shaper Council didn't quite agree, and the program was shut down, the island was Barred from ever being visited again, and everything was hastily abandoned in place. Including the titular Geneforge - a sort of Canister to end all Canisters, massively empowering the user in every way imaginable.

It also will turn you into a screaming mass of undifferentiated tissue for the three seemingly-everlasting seconds before you die if you use it without proper preparations, but that's science.

Unfortunately for everyone, a no-name apprentice manages to get shipwrecked on Sucia, kicking off Geneforge I. Depending on your ending, the apprentice will either manage to leave the island and notify the Council of what they witnessed like a good Shaper (causing the Council to actually do a serious clean-up job this time), or, having used the Geneforge, attempt to do so, fly into a psychotic rage and butcher the Shapers who were attempting to restrain the raving lunatic, and head off into the wilderness to go play at godhood. (The Council retraces your steps, realizes what happened, and does a serious clean-up job this time.) You may guess that the narrator for this idea... had the latter ending.

In Geneforge II, it turned up that the Shapers doing clean-up decided to huff a few Canisters out of curiosity and promptly decided Canisters weren't a bad thing, the Geneforge would probably be even better if they had one, and the absolute best thing they could do with their time was to head off into the mountains and try to make a new one.

It didn't work out well. Who ever could have guessed brewing CRISPR-Cas9 moonshine might be bad for your mind, your body, and the continued integrity of your cellular structure?

[Harry the Shaper] Summary: The Geneforge I protagonist (Use The Geneforge ending) has degenerated into a ranting megalomaniac with superpowers, but superpowers that are rapidly being obsoleted by the Geneforge II+ arms race. In desperation, it turns to magic and opens a portal to the Harry Potter universe, but can't transfer itself over. It instead engages in haphazard genetic experimentation upon the inhabitants of that Earth, managing to kill numerous Muggles and wizards alike in horrible ways and probably leaving multiple survivors crippled for life.

It manages to zero in on Harry because his status as a Horcrux prevents him from outright dying unless "put beyond magical repair", then tampers with his physiology in various abominable ways until it gets it right and can begin copying over knowledge and abilities. Unfortunately for it, it can't copy its personality and personal memories onto him quite in time...

Thus Harry, having gotten a life of unending misfortune out of the way early, finds himself with a newly-strengthened body, an array of basic spells, and a Shaper's power and knowledge. Just about in time for Hogwarts.

If anyone wants to adopt this, wholly up to author's discretion whether Harry's empowerment corresponds to an extremely nerfed version of Geneforge usage (basic Shaper Harry, slightly stronger, smarter, and speedier than the average boy), the full-blown version (Super!Harry, expert Shaper, super-strong, super-smart, and super-speedy), or anything in-between. Also up to author's discretion whether his unusual empowerment left him with Canister-junkie symptoms or not.