Harry Potter:Raised by Wolves

"They are still there, Mr. Potter. They are merely inaccessible to you. Can I assume you were unaware of any blocks or limitations placed on your magical core?"

"I had no idea. Who—Voldemort?" He'd said the block had been placed when he was a baby. Could it have come from the attack?

"Unlikely," Gorrak replied. "The ritual required for this sort of block takes several hours to complete. From what I understand of your… history, the Dark Lord Voldemort would not have had the time for such magic."

Harry felt sick. Someone he trusted—someone his parents had trusted enough to leave their baby with for several hours—had placed a block on his magic.

"Am I in danger? Will it hurt me?" he asked, voice unsteady.

"At present, it is causing you no issue other than a slight drain on your magical core. You have an impressively strong core for someone so young, Mr. Potter, so it is likely you have not noticed the difference. However, as the heir to the Potter line—among others—should you come of age while still under the influence of this block, you will be unable to claim your rightful seats on the Wizengamot or access any of your inherited properties.

"Additionally, when your magical core fully matures, the block's restrictions will prevent it from expanding naturally. The resulting backlash could be extremely dangerous."

"I have seats on the Wizengamot?" Harry spluttered, eyes wide. Wasn't that the wizarding government? How could he possibly have access to that?

"Not yet, Mr. Potter, but you will once you come of age. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter has held a seat on the Wizengamot since its inception—it is your birthright.

"You may also hold other seats. In recent decades, several ancient houses have lost their immediate heirs, forcing their titles to seek the next eligible descendant in the family tree. I do not yet know how many bloodlines you are inheriting magic from, but if that is the case, this block could be restricting a truly astounding amount of magic within you.

"The backlash upon your coming of age would likely be severe—and explosive."

Harry sat in stunned silence, letting the goblin's words sink in. It all felt like some kind of nightmare.

Eventually, Gorrak cleared his throat. "Mr. Potter, if you consent, I would like to check for any other spells or enchantments placed upon you. This may not be the only thing that has been done to you."

"There could be more?" Harry scoffed, running a hand through his hair.

"Right. Of course. This is me we're talking about—there's always more." He let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "I consent. If there's anything on or in me that shouldn't be there, I want to know about it."

His skin crawled, as if he could feel invisible hands gripping his magical core, twisting it.

"Please empty your pockets, remove your glasses, and set aside any enchanted items you may possess," Gorrak instructed.

Harry took a moment to do as he was asked, then stood somewhat awkwardly with his hands at his sides. He had never even had a medical check-up, let alone a magical one. What was he supposed to do?

"Keep still. This will only take a moment."

Gorrak murmured something in a language Harry didn't recognize—Gobbledegook, probably—and a strange prickling sensation washed over Harry from head to toe. He resisted the urge to flinch away.

The goblin muttered another phrase, this time sharper. From Farlig's reaction in the corner, it was probably an expletive.

"Someone has done you a great wrong, Mr. Potter," Gorrak declared gravely.

Harry's heart sank.

"Am I dying?" he asked flatly. It would be just his luck if, after everything he'd survived with Voldemort, he was destined to die from some slow-acting curse.

Gorrak let out a barking laugh.

"No faster than the average wizard," he assured. "However, the block is not the only magic acting against you. There is another spell—one I have never seen before. It appears more recent, placed perhaps two or three years ago, and it carries the same magical signature as the block on your family magic."

Slowly, pieces started falling into place in Harry's mind, dread twisting in his stomach.

"And what does this spell do?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

"I cannot say with absolute certainty, Mr. Potter," Gorrak admitted. "But if I had to guess, I would say it affects your behavior. It seems designed to encourage impulsiveness—or limit rational thinking. Something along those lines. Perhaps with the side effect of making you more suggestible, more easily influenced.

"Whoever placed this spell wanted you to trust without reason and act without thinking—likely so you would leap headfirst into all the dangerous situations you are known for.

"It is an incredibly powerful compulsion spell, Mr. Potter. Frankly, I am amazed you have managed to retain any self-restraint whatsoever."

Harry could think of only one person with both the means and the opportunity to have placed both the magic block and the compulsion spell.

And the realization made his heart clench.

Dumbledore.

His parents would have trusted the headmaster with their baby—trusted him alone for several hours if necessary. And even if they hadn't, there had still been the time after their deaths—before Aunt Petunia had found him on her doorstep.

He couldn't have been there all night. He would have frozen to death.

Dumbledore was more than powerful enough to have placed the compulsion spell on him when he started at Hogwarts, too. He had always seemed to be pulling strings, gently nudging Harry in certain directions, playing everyone around him like puppets.

Making him impulsive, easily influenced…

But why?

What did Dumbledore stand to gain from blocking his family magic?

He didn't want to believe it.

But it was the only thing that made sense.

"I'm afraid that's not all," Gorrak continued, as if Harry wasn't already struggling under the weight of everything.

"Though this may come as less of a surprise—there is heavy residue of dark magic surrounding your scar."

Harry's breath hitched, but Gorrak shook his head.

"This magic is unfamiliar to me. I suspect it is related to the curse you survived as a child. Unfortunately, neither wizards nor goblins have studied the Killing Curse in any great depth—after all, no one has ever survived it before.

"I can assemble a team to research it if you wish, and with any luck, they may find a way to remove it. However, as it stands, it does not appear to be harming you."

Relief flooded Harry.

That one, at least, was less worrying. He had always assumed there was something strange about his scar—it had never truly healed. If it was simply curse residue, that made sense.

If it wasn't hurting him now, there was no need to rush into anything.

"But what about the block? And the spell?" Harry asked tentatively, dread curling in his gut.

Could they be removed?

Or was he going to be forced to live with this ticking time bomb inside him?

Seventeen still felt far away—but it wasn't.

And the idea of waiting, knowing what was coming…

It terrified him.

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