I don't own Harry Potter. Heck I don't even own this story. This story is what I can find of the third part of an HP fanfic written by Sin of Existance. If Sin of Existance asks me to remove it I will lickity split.

Part 1 is Cold as Ice by Sin of Existance.

Part 2 is Colder than Ice by Sin of Existance.

Part 3 is Absolute Zero by Sin of Existance.

Part 1 and 2 can already be found on this site so I won't be posting them.

On to the story.

Absolute Zero by Sin of Existance

All those reading, be afraid. For I have brought a hurricane with me, and it's rarin' to go.

And for all those asking if I own Harry Potter, then, OMG, how have you even survived long enough to learn how to read at that level of intelligence? For all those horribly impaired mentally, I'll repeat it. I. Don't. Own. Harry Potter. This is the only time I'll say it, mmkay?

"Magic is infinite. With magic, the impossible is made possible, and dreams, made reality. All you must do is reach out and grasp it."

-Merlin, Father of Magic.

The magical world was brisk with the winds of dissent and coming battle. Every person, every wizard or witch, could feel it. The nagging sense in the back of their mind. The glance behind them, when no one was there. Each could sense it, yet none could place it.

If they had been able to place where it started, where it originated, where it all centered upon, they would have been pointing to France.

In France, lay a small, yet extravagant manor. It was somewhat odd, in design, considering it the center of the manor, lay a tall, immaculate white tower, reaching up unto the heavens.

A tall white wall rose around the manor, strong and unyielding. The black porticullis stood firm and proud, easily opened when needed by the two trolls trained and paid for the task.

Around the manor, lay sprawling forest, green like a sea, and when the winds blew, the sea of leaves rippled like water and played a soft symphony of rustling.

Near the manor, lay a lake, a rather large one, crescent shaped. It curled against a mountain like a protective blanket, stemming from several waterfalls on the mountain, and tapering to a river, that went all the way out of sight, even when one looked from the tower itself.

The manor lay nestled in a small valley, against a hard ridge of mountains, which sloped up gracefully from the manor's view, but on the other side, turned harsh and steep, completely unpassable by foot, as if someone had sliced off half the mountain roughly and stolen it.

The manor was small, but inviting. There were three stories in sight, the third only a single room leading to the tower. There were clear glass windows, giving light to a rather large study and library. There were emblems on tapestries hanging from a single balcony on top of the large mahogany entrance, each detailing a white heron, which clutched a scale, the symbol of justice and honor, in one claw, a sword in the other, and a bag, clutched in it's beak, which sagged open slightly, reveiling gold, which dropped and fell onto a field of green.

There were several smaller buildings inside the walls, such as a wide white hut, which bellowed smoke from a overly large chimney. Another was a large greenhouse, rectangular and sectioned. There was also a large, roofed stable, which held creatures of many variaties, only the very least of which was horses.

And finally, if one looked hard enough, they would see a good sized beaten ring, fenced and surrounded by many barrels, holding swords, spears, and other weapons who's names would most likely escape the vocabularies of most average viewers.

And from within that ring, rang and flashed the signs of combat.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Faster, boy! If an old codger like me can keep up with you, how the hell do you think you're going to face Death Eaters? Ossum Oblido!" Snarled the older man. His one, electric blue replacement magical eye stayed trained straight on the younger, whose both eyes were milky blue.

The younger man twisted narrowly around the bonebreaking curse, and stayed miraculously on his feet, through sheer good balance.

"Who's keeping up, Moody? Not you, that's for sure. Ossum Abeo!" A screaming gray hex leapt from the young man's white wand.

Moody cackled, and batted the dangerous hex aside with a Dueler's Shield, affixed on his twisted staff. "A bone vanishing hex! Very clever! Usually leaves the target immobilized, but not dead. Very good, but much too tame! Try again, Harry!"

"Try this then, Shimiru!" Harry growled, waving his wand in a uppercut, just as he had seen Voldemort do so.

Bamboo spikes leapt from the ground, heading at a alarming rate towards the older Auror, who was laughing insanely.

"Good, good, improvisation, ruthlessness, excellent! Sectumsempra!"

Suddenly, all of the bamboo heads were lopped off, and Harry threw himself flat to avoid the invisible magical blade, that would have gouged Harry rather alarmingly in the chest had it connected.

Harry made to get up, but was nailed in the back by several rapid Stunners, and went completely limp. His view of the ground was eventually filled with a large, worn boot, before a growled voice muttered, "Renervate." And Harry found all of his limbs working once more.

He got up, dusting his robes off, and met the grumpy face of Mad-Eye Moody without a hint of a flinch, something very few could claim to have done.

"Boy, you were doing well until you damn near bared your ass to me with that dodge. What did I tell you?" He asked. Harry shifted his feet, ever so slightly.

"Don't fall, always keep on your feet. If you're going to dodge, then move sideways, up, anywhere but on your stomach." Harry repeated.

"Yes, because then your mobility is halved! You've got to take a second to get on your feet, catch your balance, right your center of gravity! And that's only if you're quick!" Moody growled, jabbing Harry rather roughly in the stomach with his twisted stave, making him grunt, ever so slightly. "One second is all it takes to cast most spells! And wordless ones only take half a second, a quarter of a second! Every second, every ounce of time wasted, is given to the enemy!"

"I know." Harry replied, slightly annoyed. Moody responded by punching him in the stomach, rather hard. Harry wheezed and fell to his knees, his wand already straight pointed at Moody's stomach.

"Obviously you DON'T!" Moody growled. "Don't get coy with me, brat! You didn't even expect me to attack, even if you got your wand up after! I've done this before, and told you this before. A good chance at survival requires CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Moody roared, right in Harry's face. Harry tried not to grimace at the flecks of spittle that flew from his lips and attached themselves onto Harry's skin. "Or do you want to become like your half-wit brother?" Moody asked, his voice a delightful leering tone.

If gazes could pierce, Moody would have been impaled. "I'm not like Henry!" Harry hissed, his eyes twin blue lasers set on Moodys. A bit of frost began to form on Moody's scraggly hair, and he grinned maniacally.

"Good." Moody straightened from his crouch, and started stumping away. He stopped for a moment. "You did better today." He admitted grudgingly. "Get yourself cleaned up and get some R and R. Your lesson with Mailloche begins in a hour, and you've got a match in a couple of days. I expect you to win." He finished shortly, before stumping away, probably for a good meal.

Harry remained on his knees a moment longer, before groaning and getting up, before heading inside the manor.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

His days at Cooke Manor, were, for lack of a better word, like torture.

Each day, Moody would take his confidence, his pride, anything he could use against Harry, and twist it up, and strangle him with it. His methods bordered on insanity. His training was like authorized mutilization. But Harry was getting better. He was constantly alert, especially since Moody also liked to set traps at regular intervals, just to keep Harry on his toes.

Proof of this was when Harry walked inside, he had to dispel several charms on suits of armor, to make sure they didn't leap up and try to attack him, along with a tripping charm on the long, embroidered rug.

Moody seemed a paradox. He stressed ruthlessness, and using any methods neccesary to defeat the enemy, such as sneak attacks and kicking people while they're down. However, he criticised same methods when used by people he deemed 'cowards'.

"It's all in the intent, Harry." He would say. "Are you fighting because this is the only way you think you can beat them, or because you know this is the best way to get them? If you are a coward, you can only win by treachery. If you're a fighter, you're winning by taking the initiative, even though you have other routes of attack."

This logic seemed convoluted, twisted even, yet no one had ever accused 'Mad-Eye' Moody of complete sensibility, and since it obviously worked for the legendry Auror, Harry decided to try to understand it.

Jean-Claude Mailloche was much the same, if gentler. He taught Harry the sign of a weakened opponent, how to recognize flaws in technique, and exploit them without mercy. He taught Harry how to play with a person's mind, psychologically twist them and tear them until they are no longer sure what is right or wrong.

Strangely enough, he also taught Harry chivalry, how to accept an opponent's surrender, how to lose gracefully, how to win gracefully. Naturally he also taught Harry standard European duelling rules, but he also explained the concept behind each rule, and why it was made, instead of just telling Harry to obey it. Hearing the common sense and circumstances behind the rules made it much easier to accept them, in Harry's opinion.

A strange house elf wandered out of the doorway ahead of Harry, and he sighed in relief. The elf was clad in a long(well, long for a elf) robe, with many hidden pockets from what Harry had seen, with lots of small vials, and the Cooke emblem emblazoned on the black robe. He even had two small vials as earrings.

"Rabidus!" Harry called ahead. David Cooke's chief helper and head elf turned, and grinned ferally. Harry repressed a shiver.

This little nutter was crazy. Sure, he helped , but seriously, he had a rather unhealthy obsession with explosives. It was downright creepy when the crazy bugger offered to make Harry 'go boom and fly all the red around' when he first saw him. He was still creepy now, when he had stopped.

had personally confided that he was slightly afraid to get rid of the elf, since he might go insane and start setting off some of his more dangerous concoctions.

"Young Master's friend...how nice to see you, even though you are not kaboomed..." Rabidus let out a high pitched giggle, which sent goosebumps up Harry's spine. "What may I be kablaming for you today?"

"Nothing, preferably, but I'd appreciate some water and...hmm...say, a piece of pumpkin pie?" Harry replied flatly. The elf pouted, disappearing with a crack, before reappearing with Harry's pie and a glass of water. "Thanks." Harry replied, taking the forementioned refreshments, and left the elf to his mutterings about styrofoam and petroleum, heading down the hallway, to David's library, where he always went to relax.

Harry pushed open the door, and was surprised to find Matt there, relaxing with a phone in his ear and a piece of paper on his lap. He gave Harry a little wave, and held up one finger.

"No. No, that's fine. No, 600 sounds reasonable. Right. Thanks. I'll have my elves get to work on it right away. Okay. You too. Goodbye." Matt clicked a button on the phone and hung up, and Harry raised a eyebrow.

"That a buyer?" Harry asked. Matt nodded.

Matt, coming true to his Cooke blood, had come up with an ingenius new buisness plan.

He was releasing the Enchanting the Soul, Volume 5.

Not the real one, of course. Matt was quite cleverly keeping all the good enchants out of it. Since he had the only example, he could arbitrarily decide what he put in his published version.

Harry had been truly shocked about the uproar when Matt announced that he had 'found' the fifth volume in a secret chamber in Hogwarts. It wasn't that far from the truth, true, but Harry hadn't expected the sheer amount of publishing offers Matt had recieved.

Matt had then turned very sly, and declined them all, forcing each enchanter to have to call him and individually offer him money. This ensured that he could set the price, and that any future enchanters who wanted to have any chance of surviving the others would have to go through him.

Even though there were roughly five hundred certified enchanters in Europe, and nearly twice in Asia, Harry would eat his wand if every single one of them hadn't called Matt yet, or at least was going to. It was a bit sad how dependant they had become on other wizard's achievements.

That was another thing Harry had been disturbed by.

He was now Harold James Omnisluctus. He had somehow been picked by Azarath Omnisluctus, author of Enchanting the Soul, over a thousand years ago. No, great Merlin, he was Lord Harold James Omnisluctus.

"Yep." Matt bobbed his head. "Some guy named Wulfgang. That's German, right? He sounded German."

"Yeah." Harry nodded. "So that's...what? How rich are you again?" Harry asked jokingly.

"Fucking rich, let me tell you. I broke a hundred thousand Galleons yesterday. I could quit and never work again, if I felt like it." Matt replied jokingly.

It was true. Even though it wasn't rich, like the Potter family, who had somewhere around a hundred million Galleons, or the Malfoys, who had somewhere around half that, if Matt bought a modest home, and didn't go buying a dragon or some shit like that, he would be set.

But Matt wasn't like that.

"As if, you money whore." Harry shot right back. Even though it was a Cooke family tradition, there was no reason not to poke fun at it.

"What can I say?" Matt asked.

And that was the thing. Matt had another two whole volumes to release. That meant even if a hundred thousand was all he was going to get for this one, which was completely impossible, since Matt still had another hundred or so clients who were going to call in the next couple of hours, he was going to be fucking rich no matter what he did.

"Nothing at all. Just remember, you're not the only money bag in this house. I, or shall I say, your dad finally just sold the sword of Slytherin yesterday." Harry replied smugly.

Harry had completely cleaned out the top floor of Slytherin's library. Dumbledore truly had no bullshit filter installed sometimes, because he had bought the lie so completely and utterly it was funny when he found the Headmaster quietly cursing Tom under his breath after Harry told him it.

He couldn't obviously start selling them himself, so David had graciously come up with the excuse that some of his foraging teams had 'chanced upon' a old tomb, with a bunch of Slytherin's artifacts in it.

He had agreed to sell them for Harry, with a small commission to himself, of course. David got twenty percent of the profit. He was, after all, a buisnessman, and it was small potatoes compared to the whopping eighty Harry had.

Matt's jaw dropped open. "Get out. That thing, he priced it at a hundred ten thousand Galleons! That was just the starting price!"

"Fuck yeah he did. And fuck yeah, I am currently eighty eight thousand Galleons richer." Harry replied smugly.

"Who the fuck...?" Matt's question was obvious.

"Dumbledore, funny enough." Harry replied. "Who knew the man had that kind of cash squirrelled away? 'Course, it was probably just to keep it from Voldy, but who cares?"

"Amen to that. By the way, have you seen Amandine?" Matt asked.

Amandine Confier was Matt's old nanny. Well, not looks wise, anyway. She was the only other human on the ranch besides David. David steadfastly maintained that he enjoyed the company, but Matt confided that he was pretty sure that he fancied her. Matt's mother was dead.

Well, human was a mistake. Amandine was half-Veela.

A warm rushing feeling was all the warning Harry got, and the sound of the door creaking, was all the warning Harry got, before a bright, warm voice announced her presence.

"Mattheau? You need me?" She asked. Matt looked into her viridian green eyes without a hint of lust or unnatural affection.

"Yeah, could you handle these calls for me? I've got to go; I've got a job, now!" Matt chuckled.

"Of course, what was the last buy?" She asked. Her voice held only the slightest tint of of lilting French accent, a courtesy of having spent a great deal of time around regular English and away from France.

"Six hundred Galleons." Matt replied, handing her the phone and notepad. Harry noticed a lot of names, amounts, and locations, written on the pad. "If they ask for a advance order and offer five thousand or more, agree, and put a star next to their name. If not, turn them down." Matt informed her. She nodded, and took a seat, just as the phone rang.

"Where you workin'?" Harry asked, taking a sprawl in one of the plush armchairs.

Matt tossed him a mischevious grin. "Did you know that the French magical school system gets out in autumn instead of summer?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fleur sighed, and brushed one lock of blonde hair behind one of her ears.

The Tri-Wizard had been fun, yes, but Morgana, couldn't school just end after it? At least for her? She was the champion, honestly! Anything to stave this boredom off.

How could anyone not find Potions a utter drag after fighting with undead and trading fireballs at genies scarcely a month ago?

Professeur Brassez was a good teacher, certainly, but there were some things a polite attitude and rather attractive perm could not fix!

"Ah yes, one more thing, girls." He mentioned, as if a afterthought. "I have taken on a assistant professor. I am sure you will all remember him, though he seems to be a tad late today..."

As if magically summoned, Matthew Cooke burst through the door, sweating slightly. He gave a cool little half wave to the class, panting slightly.

"Sorry I'm late." He apologized, smiling slightly. "I got caught up with a little buisness."

Fleur hoped desperately that her jaw wasn't hanging too far down her face. And from the way that his eye was sparkling with mischief, and the amused glance he tossed her, she wasn't doing too well.

"Girls, this is Matteau Cuisiner, my new assistant. Matteau, do not let it happen again." Brassez ordered him sternly. Matt gave him a mock salute, to which he sighed. "Today, we'll be working on the Felix Felicitis, since you did not do very well last time. Your NEWTS are coming up, and you do not want to do badly on those, non?"

The complete lack of groans and sighs was testamount to how much impact the newcomer had made. Most of the girls were whispering among themselves, or sending appreciative, and more often than not, smoky looks at the good looking younger boy. Matt seemed totally oblivious, whistling some unknown tune as he tugged on his dragonskin gloves.

Brassez seemed to notice this, and kneaded his temples in irritation. "Very well, you may begin. The ingredients are on the board, and the instructions are in your textbook. You may ask me or Matteau for help, if you feel you need it."

He tapped a hourglass affixed to his table, a signal for them to start. The Beauxbatons girls immediately set themselves on their task. If you hadn't guessed, it wasn't finishing the luck potion.

Just as Fleur predicted, after not too long, one of the girls signalled for Matt's help. Somewhere along the way, she had unbuttoned the top of her uniform blouse, letting some impressive cleavage into view. She shamelessly clasped her hands together, producing even more cleavage, and bringing attention to her bosom at the same time, and whined cutely that she couldn't figure it out. That it was much too hard.

And Fleur most definately caught the emphasis on 'hard', and the way she drew it out.

This is going to get very tricky with all this competition. Fleur mentally mused. Then, she caught herself.

Wait, competition?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry walked down the street of the Sentier Lumineux, or the Bright Path, France's equivalent of Diagon Alley. Harry, personally, much preferred it to the dingy paths of the Alley, each stone being very meticulously cleaned every night to keep them the shining white that was their namesake.

Harry did not know French, so he was blissfully immune to the many offers and prices hawked by the vendors. He had one destination, and that was the French branch of Gringotts.

This Omnisluctus problem had been bugging him ever since he had gotten the name. It had since then become a itch, a nagging sensation that demanded to be solved.

Harry, obviously, could translate the Latin of the name. What kind of name was All Mourning? Or Ever Mourning. It was rather morbid, and for such a old name, it would be much more probable to have something glorious, like Gryffindor, which was nearly as old, being eight hundred and fifty years old.

And secondly, there were only, and had only ever been, two members in the family. Azarath Omnisluctus, and his father, Emrys.

It did not make any sense. And Harry was determined to get to the bottom of it.

The Gringotts branch here seemed just the same as the one in Diagon, from the architecture to the two large troll guards that now stood at the entrance, a sign that the threat of Voldemort was getting to them. They fortunately did not stop him as he stepped inside.

Seeing a open teller, Harry immediately headed towards him.

"Excuse me, I want to open my account." Harry requested politely.

"Neme?" The goblin grunted. Okay, here was a change. He had a horribly thick French accent. "End key?"

"Omnisluctus." Harry replied. The goblin stood straight upright in his seat. "I don't have a key, but-"

"Pleeze repeat ze neme. Ze neme, Monsieur!" The goblin repeated, almost fervently. If it were possible for a goblin to go white, this one was.

Harry looked at him with wide, slightly freaked out eyes. "Err...I have to verify my status as Lord Harold James Omnisluctus." Harry repeated, very, very slowly. Perhaps the goblin hadn't heard. Wait, no, he had most certainly heard, from that disturbing shiver he just had when he heard the name again. "Can you please lead me to a heritage room, or something, please?"

The goblin said absolutely nothing. Harry was beginning to think about leaving and maybe just calling in instead, when a wide, creepy grin split the goblin's face. Harry did not like that smile. It seemed almost insidious.

"Non, non, theure weel be neu need." He replied, slowly chewing each word. "Howeiver, yeau weel need to uease un of our Floos, for the vault yeau seek lies in the eenglieesh branche of our bank."

Harry could barely understand the damn creature. Harry struggled to translate the words to comprehensible speech.

"Why? Aren't the vaults accesable from anywhere?" Harry asked curiously.

The goblin shook his head. "Not thees one. For yeau are going to Vault Zero."

END! FIRST CHAPTA!

Mysteries, romance, Death Eaters! What will I think of next?