Harry Potter:Raised by Wolves

Harry kept reading the description. Each holster had built-in invisibility charms and an anti-summoning ward once bonded with its owner. It claimed to keep the wand safe and accessible at all times—apparently, they were what Aurors used on the job. Harry grinned to himself. That sounded pretty cool, if he was honest.

His grin faltered when he checked the price tag and glanced inside his rapidly diminishing coin purse. He muttered a curse under his breath.

"Why did I buy that stupid quill?" he hissed quietly, scowling.

Turning away from the wand holsters with slumped shoulders, Harry suddenly froze. He was in Diagon Alley—Gringotts was right around the corner. He had heaps of gold that his parents had left him. He just had to go get it!

He left the shop with a spring in his step, making a beeline for the enormous white building at the end of the street. One of the desks was open when he arrived, and the goblin manning it glanced down his long, crooked nose at Harry.

"How may I be of assistance?" he asked in a low, slightly croaky voice.

"I'd, uh, like to withdraw some money from my vault, please," Harry requested, refusing to let his nerves get the better of him. He wondered if it was like a Muggle bank account, where you could just withdraw the money without having to go to the vault itself. He didn't fancy going on one of those mine carts right now. Every other time, someone else had withdrawn money for him.

"Oh, uh, Harry Potter. The Potter vaults," he added belatedly.

The goblin's eyes flicked up to his forehead, as people's often did when he said his name.

"Vault key?" the goblin asked.

Harry's spirits fell. He didn't have his key! Mrs. Weasley had been the last person to use it, he thought, but he was pretty sure she had given it back to Dumbledore afterward.

"Oh. I, um, don't have my key on me. Is that… a problem?"

"We can confirm your identity in other ways," the goblin assured him. "But it requires your consent for a scan of your magic."

Harry hesitated for a second. A scan sounded fairly harmless. People probably did it all the time—surely they didn't carry their vault keys with them everywhere?

"Okay, that sounds fine. I consent."

The goblin nodded, then snapped his fingers and waved his hand toward Harry. His eyes narrowed behind his glasses, and he hummed, frowning. He snapped and waved a second time, his frown deepening.

Harry's stomach churned. "Is there something wrong?"

"May I speak to you privately, Mr. Potter?" the goblin asked, leaning back in his chair and pursing his lips. "There is a matter I wish to bring to your attention."

Immediately, Harry's brain conjured the worst-case scenarios—something was wrong with his magic, he wasn't actually Harry Potter, or the goblins were refusing to let him access his vault. He nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets to stop them from shaking as he followed the goblin across the bank and into a corridor. Eventually, he was led into a small private room, where the goblin gestured to a chair.

"Please wait a moment."

The goblin left Harry alone in the room, but only for a couple of minutes. Those minutes felt like a lifetime as he sat there, his mind running through every possible scenario, each one more dire than the last.

When the goblin returned, he was accompanied by a second goblin, who looked older, with wispy white hair and a deeply lined face.

"This is Gorrak, Mr. Potter. He is one of our senior staff and specializes in inheritance claims and family magic."

Harry wondered if goblins shook hands. When none was offered, he merely nodded, twisting his fingers anxiously in the hem of his t-shirt.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Gorrak. Can I ask… why am I here?"

"Do you consent to a scan of your magic?" Gorrak asked, bypassing any pleasantries.

Harry blinked.

"I—yes, I consent." If the goblins were planning to hurt him, they probably wouldn't ask for consent first.

Gorrak raised his hands, and his fingertips glowed with a faint silver light as he moved them through the air a foot in front of Harry. If Harry concentrated, he could feel a sort of… tingle, faint on his skin, making the hair on his arms stand on end.

Gorrak lowered his arms, scowling.

"Wizards." He spat the word like a curse, exchanging an unreadable look with his colleague.

"Farlig, did Mr. Potter have anyone with him when he spoke to you?"

"No, sir," the other goblin, Farlig, replied promptly. "He was alone."

Harry's cheeks flushed as both goblins turned to look at him. "What's the matter?" he interrupted. "Something's wrong. Am I okay? Is my magic okay?"

Gorrak eyed him speculatively.

"Mr. Potter, can you recall any time in which you have been the recipient of long-term enchantments or ritual magic?"

Harry frowned.

"Ritual magic?" he repeated, bewildered. "No, not that I know of. Why?"

Had someone cursed him?

"I expected as much. The block is so deeply ingrained, you were probably just a baby when it was set."

Gorrak's muttered words were more to himself than to Harry, but Harry caught them anyway, and froze.

"Block?" he repeated, his pulse pounding in his ears. "Are you—am I—? I don't understand."

Gorrak met his gaze unflinchingly.

"Mr. Potter, I regret to inform you that there is a rather severe block on your magical core, completely restricting your access to your family magics."

The words echoed in Harry's head.

"Family magics? What does that mean?" He had never heard of such a thing.

Gorrak took the seat opposite him, his expression grave.

"Family magics, Mr. Potter, are the magics passed down through wizarding families for generations. They are tied to your individual magical core but exist as a separate part of it—they pass down certain gifts or talents through family lines, and every wizarding parent will pass on some level of family magics to their children. Even Muggle-born parents.

"In your case, however, the magics come from one of the oldest bloodlines in wizarding Europe. They are an enormous part of your magical core, and without them, you will be refused any inheritance or heirships, as well as any family gifts you may naturally possess."

Harry blinked, struggling to grasp the meaning of Gorrak's words.

"So they're just… gone?" he asked, panic rising in his gut.

Gorrak shook his head.

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