Ok, if you read "Cold as Ice" from my profile, then you know by now that this series IS NOT MINE and that statement is goes for all the rest of this series.

However, if you HAVEN'T read "Cold as Ice" then what the hell are you doing on this story, go onto my profile and read that story first.

usual copyright stuff applies: Happy Potter and other characters belong to J.K. Rowling, if it belonged to anyone else it would be rubbish

Harry flexed his new appendage for what seemed like the the hundreth time in many hours. It was light, and felt exactly the same as his other arm.

Felt? Let him rephrase.

There was no feeling in his new arm. He had learned from experimentation, that it couldn't conduct magic, either. He would never use it as a wand arm as it was.

The upside was that it was quite strong. Harry had found himself able to bend metal of most kinds. He also learned that his arm could, in fact, be scratched, and such. It was, after all, only silver. But still, very hard, and very durable.

It would be good as a spell blocker or just a brawling tool, if it ever came to that.

Harry had managed to convince Dumbledore to let him copy the pages. He had memorized the few charms inscribed to keep his wand up to tiptop shape, and replace it if it got damaged, and such.

Harry had been very sternly reprimanded by Madam Pomfrey after he got back to the Hospital Wing. And by reprimanded, he meant grabbed, and bound to the bed using Conjured ropes.

The bed, incidentally, had been where he recieved the letter from his father, informing him in no uncertain terms that he had been disowned.

If Harry had to guess, it was probably because James was mad that Henry didn't win the Cup. He honestly didn't give a damn at the moment. He was free, damnit, fucking FREE!

Or, at least until Harry recieved the Ministry summons.

So that was why Harry was currently sitting in a Ministry office, with a rather bored looking middle aged man. Dumbledore had given him time off, considering there was only a day left before the end of term anyway.

"Why am I here again?" Harry asked, in a tone of equal doldrum.

"Everyone's got t' have a family name. You're t' get one too." The man informed him. Harry peered over at his shirt. A namecard, stenciling out the name 'Jones', was on it.

"Why can't I just pick a name and send you a letter?" Harry asked, drumming his fingers along the man's desk.

"Cuz it's got to be a minor family name, off of one of th' dead Potter branches." Jones replied in a monotone. "Y' see, some of th' sons never marry, right? Their mother's maiden names get tacked onto their last name, instead of their family name, as a sign of shame fr' not makin' any heirs. They get added t' a roster that's connected to the family, so any person who gets disowned r' banished, like you, is still connected t' the family in some way, a sign of their domin'nce over you."

"So basically, I have to degrade myself by making my name subserviant to the Potter family." Harry stated flatly.

A growly chuckle rose from Jones's throat, the first sign of real emotion since they started. "Yup! It's shit, shit world out there, and just when you think you seen all of it, you slip in some more and land face first in a fresh new pile! Hahahahaha!" This saying seemed to amuse the man.

Harry sighed. "Right, what do I have to pick from?" Harry asked, in tones of disgust and resignment.

The man pushed away from his desk, and over to a blackboard looking thing in the back of the room. He tapped it twice with his wand.

Instantly, names began appearing. Harry spotted 'Evans' shining as one of them, recognizing it clearly as his own mother's maiden name.

"Right, take yer-" Jones began, only to be cut off, as a soft whine emmited from the machine, and a new name appeared at the top, outlined in golden letters. All the other names disappeared quickly.

"Well, that's curious. Very curious." Jones muttered, before going back to his desk, and pulling out several papers, and a large book.

Harry sat, pierced by the sight of a name both familiar and strange to him. His eyes narrowed.

"What's happening? Why are all the other names gone?" Harry asked. And what the fuck is That name doing on the board? He mentally added.

"Well, it seems you've been asked for by some other family. Rules are, you're basically up for grabs fr' anyone who really wants you. The really curious thing is that there are no listed members of this particular family. Not alive, anyway. So the must have either predicted your birth, name, and disownment, which is slim to none, since they'd 'ave to have one 'ell of a seer in their family. Or, they put preset conditions on for any disowned fellows."

"Preset conditions?" He asked curiously. "Like what?" Jones spread his hands helplessly.

"Oh, anythin' under the sun. Might be yer birthday, might be your hair color, who knows? They're confidential, so only the family head who put the conditions down knows. And from the records, e's been dead a long, long time."

"How long?" Harry asked. The man laughed uproarously.

"Try a thousand years, laddie! Old...lessee...Az chap here ain't gonna have even dust and bones left nowhere! Well, this is all irrelevant." Jones muttered.

He pulled out a sheet, and a quill began working on it of it's own accord. "You've got, let's see, one bank vault in Gringotts, which apparantly has no money in it, only a coupla unspecified items. They'll have the family ring waitin' for you next visit."

The quill stopped, and he raised a large stamp, and smashed it down upon the paper. A white swirl of magic floated around in the air, before Harry felt it hit his chest.

Power cascaded through his every pore, before he slumped back in his seat. Jones was grinning, before handing him a copy of the piece of paper.

"Been a while since I've seen a Naming. Well, here you go." Jones let off one last chuckle, and leaned back in his seat. "Congratulations, Lord Harold James Omnisluctus."

Matt was a bit nervous.

Well, maybe a little more than a bit...

Fleur Delacour had dragged him into the gardens, away from a rather prestigious sounding French Potions teacher, who had been very impressed with his skills, and wanted Matt to be his assistant teacher. It sounded like it had good pay, but most especially, plenty of off time, since all he would be doing would be mostly watching. That meant plenty of time to perfect his enchanting skills.

After all, Harry had just told him that he had gotten a idea from Matt's enchanting, and would be working on something he had dramatically dubbed, 'Project 'ATRONAI''.

Matt, of course, had no idea what this would be, so naturally, he would have to come up with something to top off whatever Harry had cooked up.

Fleur finally stopped, and sat on one of the many stone benches. She had that impossibly cute, heisitant look on her face.

"Pleaze seet." She asked, nodding towards the place right next to her.

"Er, okay." Matt responded, taking a spot a respectful distance from her, far enough not to be intruding, but close enough to tell her he didn't find her disgusting or did not hate her.

She bit her bottom lip nervously. Damn, did she have any idea how sexy that looked, or was it unconcious?

"I...I wanted...weeshed to eenform-" She let out a soft growl of frustration, and switched to French. Matt resisted the urge to chuckle at the way she mangled the English language.

"I wanted to tell you...that I am thankful to you. That, to you, I owe a great debt, one that I can never truly repay. So, if there is anything you need." Sexy bite lip. "Anything you need, be it my money, my resources, my knowledge, my..." Her voice hitched. "My body, then it is yours, without asking."

Matt truly was blown away. This really sexy-

No, scratch that, really, really sexy girl was offering to do anything he wanted.

Immediately, various sexual acts and favors leapt to mind, before being banished just as promptly by his fierce mental scolding. Honestly, did his fucking hormones rule his body? No. Because he wouldn't let them.

Matt sat for one more moment.

"Okay, I know what I want." He announced finally. Fleur looked on with surprise, and from what he saw, a tiny bit of fear.

"...What is it?" She asked.

Matt did not speak for a moment.

"I want to know...What happened to you?" Matt finally asked softly. Fleur hunched down in her seat. She knew what he was asking about, even if he hadn't specified.

Fleur herself was silent for a moment, before she spoke.

"I was twelve. I had just passed puberty, in Veela standards, and could not yet rein in my aura. I fell in love, or at least I thought I did, with a boy. He was a couple of years older than me. I didn't think it strange that he started to find interest in me now, when he had never before, or that he always wanted to go faster, jump ahead, in our relationship. Mama and Papa warned me, but I did not listen. I was...besotted."

Matt listened solemnly, as Fleur continued, stony faced. She was a tough girl, and Matt respected that.

"So when he wanted to make our relationship more...physical, I did not object. After all, I was in love, and he was too, right?" Fleur's voice was indescribably bitter. "We had sex. Mama was furious. I did not like it. He was not gentle. I decided to weather it. He was my love, and he would get better, right? He didn't the second time, either. I did not want to have sex with him the third time. He got...violent. It was rape." She finished dully. "Or it would have been, at least, if I did not access my fire through my fear, and get away."

"The boy was from a influencial family. He managed to escape the death penalty. I had a restraining order made, and swore off letting men take advantage of me ever again." Fleur finished, in a flat tone of voice. "Is there anything else you wanted?"

"Two more things." He returned.

"Yes?" She asked, trying to shake off the misery and dejection she felt even now, remembering those dark days. And after all, this man had done for her more than any of the others.

She would not reject him if he asked for the same as Him. She did, after all, owe him her life, and her happiness. Since now, for the first time in many years, she did not flinch or stiffen when he approached, like she did when most men did. And it felt like a great weight was off of her shoulders, after finally telling someone about what had happened other than her parents. He was physically attractive. Those scars across his face only looked rather dashing now, and the eyepatch topping it off made it look dangerous, which was also quite alluring. Fleur was pretty sure he looked like the gentle type.

But then again, so had He...

"Your digits." He replied just as flatly.

Fleur was thrown for a loop. "My what?" She asked in confusion.

"Your number." He repeated, with a trace of amusement and exhasperation.

"My number for what?" Fleur asked. "My account at Gringotts?"

Matt sighed with annoyance, and a slight smile. "No. Your telephone number."

Okay, now she was really confused. "That's it? My phone number?"

"Yep." Matt replied nonchalantly.

Fleur was looking at him like he had just sprouted a third arm. "But you could have-"

"Yes, I could." Matt cut her off, not really wanting to hear exactly what she would offer. "But all I want, Fleur, is your phone number. Or Floo Address. Either one works."

"Um..." She started, staring at him with wide eyes, as he rolled up his sleeve.

"I've got a quill here somewhere, I know it...Ah!" Matt exclaimed, presenting her with the quill, and baring his arm. "Here, put it right there." He chirped cheerfully.

Fleur, still somewhat out of it, put both, right in ink, on his forearm. He blew on the ink until it dried,and rolled his sleeve back up.

"Thanks, I'll see you around." He replied, before moving to get up. Fleur frowned suddenly.

"Wait, didn't you say three things?" Fleur asked, in a slightly heisitant voice.

Matt turned back, a slight smile. "That's right, I DID say something about that, didn't I?"

Fleur hardly had time to protest, before he closed the distance and pressed his lips softly against hers. She felt every nerve in her body light up with electricity, and her toes curled up in her shoes. Her eyes lidded, and she reached up to wrap her arms around him and bring him closer-

...Which was when he promptly stopped, letting her drop with a squeak to the bench. She looked at him with shock, as he gave her a little half wave.

"That's the third. Our debt's cleared. See ya!" He smiled, before stuffing his hands in his pockets, and starting down the bend of the shrubbery.

It took Fleur about thirty seconds to recover, regain control of her nerves(and another thirty to make her toes uncurl), and start up her coherent thought again.

How...how dare he?

How dare he leave her like this? Make her all excited and then drop her? And more importantly, how dare he be that good a kisser? It wasn't right! And she was French, for Morgana's sake!

That was it. She would definately have to make sure to punish him the next time she saw him.

She didn't even notice the smile that had bloomed on her bee-stung lips.

Around the corner, Matt whistled a jaunty tune. He had lost a eye, but gotten a hot girl's digits and made out with her. Yep, sounded like a good trade to him!

Now, he only had one more stop to make.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hagrid, despite being a complete loony, still took good care of Magical Creatures. If a person took away everything else, it would still be impossible to deny this irrefutable fact.

This being said, he didn't have very good locks on his cages.

Matt had found the Sphinx's cage in a matter of seconds. It was near the front of the train, so most nosy students couldn't get to it.

The woman's face of the sphinx curled into a thin smile.

"I remember you. You and the girl, from the maze." The sphinx folded her paws across eachother calmly.

Matt felt a cold sweat break out on his temple. "I Issue you the Challenge. Your three hardest riddles. I lose, you can do whatever you want with me."

A throaty laugh came forth from the sphinx's throat, and she looked at him with definate curiosity. "And if I lose? What do you wish of me? My pelt? My claws?"

"Your eye." Matt replied, slightly hoarse. He reached upwards, and flicked off his eyepatch.

The problem with magical medicine, was that it still hadn't learned how to replace limbs. Mad-Eye's peg leg and magical eye were proof of this.

Matt would have loved to get a magical eye like Moody's, if not for the fact that they were simply not available. Part of Alastor Moody's legend, was that he went out, and hunted the Lethifold himself, and plucked the eye out of it's cooling corpse, having killed it singlehandedly, something that was completely and utterly unprecedented, considering all other Lethifolds had been killed by groups of at least twenty hunters, just a bare minimum that.

Harry's replacement of his arm had given him this idea. After all, there was no sense in leaving a vacancy that could be filled, right?

So, unless Matt felt like hunting the world's third most dangerous magical creature himself, he was down to one option, and that was in a tiny footnote he found in a book of the rarest magical creatures, Bestialis Arcanum, in Slytherin's library.

Her mouth curled into a feline grin. "I accept."

Matt unlocked the cage, and stepped inside. He tried not to swallow, as the sphinx rose from her seated position with inhuman grace, and began prowling around in a circle around Matt. He kept his gaze firmly forward.

And then it began.

"Moutains will crumble and temples will fall, and no man can survive it's endless call. What is it?" The sphinx asked, cleaning one of her claws idly. Her totally white eyes looked extremely creepy, without any pupil or iris, just plain white, in Matt's opinion.

Matt swallowed, and spoke the answer he knew was right.

"Time." He replied.

There was a feminine sigh from the sphinx. "Correct."

The next one was much quicker. "What grows in only one direction?"

This one was a terrible conundrum. "Err...How much time do I get?" Matt asked nervously. The sphinx said nothing, only letting a little bit of fang slide out of her mouth. Matt's eyes widened. "right."

Matt sat down, deciding that if he was going to die, he might as well do it comfortably.

Just as one, clear razor sharp nail slid slowly out of her paw, he snapped his fingers. "Got it." Matt grinned at her. "Experience. Experience only goes up!"

"Very good." She replied demurely. "Now, for the final one. In the morning, it walks on four legs. In the afternoon, two. At evening, it walks on three legs. What is it?"

"Oh, come on." Matt scoffed. "Humanity. In the start, they're a baby, and crawl on all fours. In the middle of their life, or 'day'" Matt added air quotations. "They're a adult, so they walk, on two legs. At night, they're a old man, so they use their legs and a cane. That one's a classic."

The Sphinx laughed, a throaty purr. "Corrrect." She stressed the 'r' rather Hispanically, in Matt's opinion.

"I win." Matt replied. "One eye. That's the deal. Right here." Matt pointed to his empty and scarred socket.

"As you wish." The Sphinx replied idly, her woman's face seemingly on the edge of mirth.

Then, without preamble, she prowled over, put one heavy, dangerous claw on his chest, and forced him to the straw of the cage. Matt tried not to let the pounding in his ears or the rapid thudding of his heart show, as she gazed expressionlessly into his face.

Then, suddenly, her right eye, lined up his left, missing one, blasted him in the face, right in his empty, gaping socket.

"OW!" Matt yelled, clapping his hand to his eye. "Ah...ah that FUCKING STINGS!"

"It is to be expected." The Sphinx replied.

Matt let his hand drop to his side, and his new eye, his Sphinx eye, faintly steaming white vapor, stared into the eye of the woman's face, and he saw...

He saw...

He saw everything.

He saw how she would live to be rather old, for a Sphinx, killing many enemies and outriddling many humans. She would never lose her other eye. She would migrate to Egypt, where she would mate with a younger Sphinx and produce a litter to be proud of. Then, after a few years, a coven of hunters would track her into the deep desert, where she would be killed, and stripped of her pelt, claws, and remaining eye.

Matt saw this, as if he were there, standing beside her.

The vision faded as he closed his eyelid, revealing only her face, and background of the cage, and her toothy, vicious smile.

"Heed my words well, enchanter of souls, son of a brewer, amaranthine chronicler, ceaseless paramour!" The Sphinx hissed. "You are the first to be imbued with the gift of a Sphinx eye since the Oracle of Delphi. Whenever your eye is uncovered, it will show the future of whereever you are looking, while steadily sapping your strength. The farther you look, the more it will drain you. And take care, and look not into the eyes of your loved ones. For the gift of prophecy..." She smiled ferally. "Is no gift, but a curse."

Matt gulped faintly and shook his head furiously in what he hoped she interperted as nodding. She let her paw up, and he scrambled out of the cage, pushing his eyepatch over the new eye as he fleed, her words burned like fire into his memory.

She settled back into her cage, smiling at the boy's naivity and innocence.

And at it's immenent destruction.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry hoisted his trunk out of the trolly, and put Hedwig softly on top of the trunk, unrolling the wheels. She hooted softly, perhaps sensing Harry's dismay at the noticable loss of Ico's regular banter and weight atop the traveling gear.

"I miss him too, girl." Harry replied quietly, sticking one finger through the cage bars to rub the feathers on the top of her head, just like she liked it. "He'd be calling us both huge pussies right now, and I miss that." Harry stroked the feathers, and Hedwig cooed softly.

"Hey, prick!" Called the one voice Harry really, really didn't feel like dealing with right now. Harry Omnisluctus, formerly Potter, turned around, and met Henry Potter stare for stare.

Henry had grown, bulked up. Harry guessed that Dumbledore had stopped fucking around and started putting Henry through an actual training regiment after Voldemort had damn near flicked him aside like a fly, never mind stealing him right from under his crookedy nose.

The thought of Henry's whines and the screaming hissy he must have thrown when forced into actual excercise brought a sardonic smirk to Harry's lips.

"What do you want, Henry? I have an appointment, I have to get to, and have no time to play with you." Harry stated flatly. It was true. The duelling sponser said they had sent someone, so Harry was looking for a Monseiur Mailloche, if he remembered correctly.

"Just because Dad kicked you out of the family, doesn't mean we're through. We've got a score to settle, you and me. I should have won that Cup, and you know it, not that American poof." Henry accentuated his point, by poking Harry rather hard in his chest with his meaty finger every time he finished a sentence.

A vein in Harry's eyelid pulsed in annoyance. "Do not touch me, Henry, unless you do not care very much about the appendage you use, and are rather open-minded about losing it." Harry stated frostily.

"Oh really?" Henry sneered. His finger raised again. "And what are you going to-ah, ah-ah-ah!" Henry yelped.

This high pitched yelping was produced by the way Harry's silver arm, now covered by a white glove to avoid attention, had whipped upwards and snatched the hand in a vice grip, and how he had placed one metal thumb on the offending index finger, and was steadily pushing it backwards.

"Do you know how much effort it would cost me to break your finger?" Harry asked innocently. "Really, you want to know? About the same as lifting a fork. Would you also happen to know the precise amount of regret and remorse I would feel after doing so?" Harry smiled wolfishly. "None at all."

"Alright, alright, I get it! Let it go! Let it go!" Henry yelped. Harry let him squirm a minute more, before letting the offending hand drop. Almost immediately, his other hand started shot towards his wand, and drew it with impressive speed. "Bastard, you'll pay for that!" Henry growled.

Does he really think he could get away with cursing me right outside the Hogwarts Express? Harry thoughtfully questioned no one in particular.

Harry was totally and completely unworried by the wand wanking him in the face. "My, my, you are indeed a slow learner."

"Shut up, you-argh!" Henry was cut off, by another wand pushing itself right up his left nostril rather rudely. He moved to get away, but a gnarled hand grabbed his robes and growly voice cut him off.

"Don't even think about it, Potter, unless you like the idea of a hex up your conk." Growled Alastor Moody, who had seemingly appeared out of the crowd. "There's two types of people I can't stand in this world, Death Eaters, and cowards. You're a coward Henry Potter, and very, very lucky that you have Dumbledore's protection, or I'd curse you 'till Lily Potter herself couldn't recognize you!" Moody growled. He seemed to be very seriously considering doing it anyway, and from the terrified look on Henry's face, he could see it.

"I'd prefer you not, Monsieur Moody." A soft, calm voice interrupted them, with a distinct French accent. The trio in conflict turned, to see a aristocratic looking man with salt and pepper hair styled in a neat perm approaching. "Extricating my new student from the Aurors would be quite dreary and troublesome."

"And who might you be?" Moody growled. The man bowed his head slightly.

"Jean-Claude Mailloche, Magister Duelling coach. I've been sent to pick up Harold and escort him to Monsieur Cuisiner's private estate, in France. I am to be his trainer and match organizer."

Moody shot a impressed look at Harry with his one eye, and Henry a jealous one. Magister Duelling was the leading duel organization and sponserer of competitions and young talent in Europe. Their screening and picking was extremely selective, and invitation only. Prodigies like Filius Flitwick and James Potter(loath as Harry was to admit it, his father was rather renowned and skilled), had recieved training there, along with others, like Minerva McGonnagall, and Kingley Shacklebolt. Albus Dumbledore had supposedly recieved a invitation, but declined. Gellert Grindelwald and Tom Riddle had trained with them, and black stain upon their reputation as it was, it irrefutably proved that they were some of the best trainers in the magical world.

Moody apparently realized he still had his wand up Henry's conk. Giving it a sharp jab, which a elicited a squeal of pain from the Potter heir, he removed it, giving Henry a harsh shove, wiping his wand on his robes with no small amount of disgust.

"Get out of here, you little squeak, or I vow, I'll-" Moody cut off, realizing Henry had already beat a hasty retreat. "Gutless jellyfish, this whole generation..." He muttered in disgust. He offered his wrinkly hand to Harry's duelling coach. "Alastor Moody. I'm here to train the lad too. Personal favor, to Albus Dumbledore." Moody lied smoothly. Harry supposed the Order was a secret society for a reason.

"Of course." Mailloche accepted easily. "It will be a pleasure working with you. Come, Harold. Our portkey awaits us." He waved a beckoning hand at Harry, before setting off at a steady, but fast pace. Moody caught up quickly, his staff stumping on the stone. Harry could hear him faintly bickering with Jean-Claude about some training tip or another.

Harry stood in the crowded train station a moment longer, gazing at the passing magical folk, before grabbing his trunk, and beginning to wheel it out, a new sense of determination and purpose filling him.

This world was stale. The magical world was outdated, and was in desperate need of reform. And Harry was the only one who would be able to do it.

And he would, to. Because his respect for this current state of affair, for it's government, for it's politics, for it's very beliefs-

Had dropped.

To absolute zero.