Harry Potter:Raised by Wolves

"They can," Gorrak confirmed.

Harry sighed in relief, his shoulders slumping.

"Farlig, guard the door."

The lock clicked, and Farlig stepped in front of the door, squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw.

"Mr. Potter, if you wouldn't mind standing."

Harry stood, and with a snap of Gorrak's fingers, the chair he had just been sitting in transformed into a low examination table, like the kind found in a doctor's office.

"Please lie down on your back."

Heart racing, Harry obeyed. Letting a goblin he had only just met perform magic on him made his survival instincts snarl, but he refused to live any longer with a block on his magic. Besides, what was he supposed to do? Write to Dumbledore about it?

Not after everything he had learned today.

"This may hurt, Mr. Potter."

That was all the warning Gorrak gave before he began chanting. The words were in an unfamiliar language, and as soon as the chant started, Harry's body began to glow white. His skin grew warm, then hot. He gripped the edges of the bed, forcing himself to keep his eyes open even when the sensation turned sharp.

A cry escaped his lips—it felt almost like something was sucking at him.

No, biting.

Like a creature had sunk its teeth in and refused to let go, while Gorrak was pulling it out of his body.

Above his heart, the glow darkened, and Harry watched in horror as a ball of black magic began to form in the air above him.

It grew bigger and bigger, sweat glistening on Gorrak's forehead as he chanted and moved his hands, fighting against the foreign magic embedded in Harry's core.

Harry couldn't have said how long he lay there, body trembling, but eventually, Gorrak's chanting grew louder. With a final, forceful wrench, he flung his hands high—sending the ball of black magic hurtling across the room.

It slammed into a crystal on the desk, which immediately turned from white to black. The glow around Harry faded.

"You may sit up, Mr. Potter," Gorrak declared, breathless.

Harry pushed himself up, his head spinning. Across from him, Gorrak sank into a chair, leaning heavily on one elbow.

"Whoever placed those curses certainly did not want to give up without a fight," the goblin muttered, rubbing his temples. "But it is done. I took the liberty of retaining samples of the magic—should you ever choose to press charges, this can be used to compare magical signatures and prove guilt."

Gorrak met his gaze, and it was clear the goblin had a very good idea of who had placed the spells.

Harry grimaced. So did he.

"…Thank you." He didn't know if he would ever use it, but it was good to have the option.

"How will I know if the spells are replaced? Or if someone puts something new on me?" he asked after a moment.

"Wizard magic is different from goblin magic. Most wizarding detection spells wouldn't catch something like that," Gorrak informed him. "However, I believe there are books explaining how to recognize your own magic and detect any signs of tampering.

"In the future, should you ever have concerns, any Gringotts goblin would be happy to perform another scan.

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter—your family magics are strong and healthy, despite their previous tampering."

Harry closed his eyes, taking a slow breath.

Maybe it was just his imagination, but if he concentrated, he felt… lighter.

Like he had been wearing weights all his life, and suddenly, they were gone. His magic buzzed faintly under his skin, itching to be used.

"If I were you," Gorrak continued, "I would be very careful with magic over the next few months while your body adjusts to having access to its full reserve.

"You may find new spells come easier, and old spells… a little more forceful for a while."

"Right," Harry murmured, nodding. He would have to test that once he got back to Hogwarts. The last thing he needed was to accidentally blow something up.

Especially with Dumbledore watching.

"While you are here, Mr. Potter, might you be interested in taking a Line Test?"

Farlig spoke from his place at the door.

"As we explained earlier, some family lines have died out, and heirs are appearing in unexpected places. Most purebloods take the test before they begin schooling—you may wish to know the full scope of your inheritance before you come of age."

Harry blinked. He hadn't realized that family inheritance was such a big deal in the wizarding world, but then…

He thought about the Malfoys, and the way some Slytherins spoke about their families.

Even the way people spoke about the Weasleys.

To purebloods, a family name seemed to mean everything.

Maybe there was more to it than just tradition and prejudice.

"What do I have to do?" he asked warily.

Farlig strode across the room and rifled through a drawer, pulling out a pale purple parchment.

"Just three drops of blood, Mr. Potter," he explained. "The results are entirely confidential."

That didn't sound so bad.

Harry stepped forward, accepting the small knife from Farlig's hand. With a quick prick to his finger, he let three drops of blood fall onto the parchment.

It began to glow.

Farlig snapped his fingers, sealing the small cut. He offered Harry a toothy smile.

At the top of the parchment, words began to appear in black ink.

Harry James Potter

Parents: James Charlus Potter, Lily Juliette Evans-Potter

Harry's breath hitched.

He hadn't known either of his parents' middle names.

His heart clenched.

After everything today, this was the first thing that felt like solid ground—like an anchor.

At least this part of his life wasn't a lie.

He was truly the son of Lily and James Potter.

There was a pause. Then, more words appeared.

Blood Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter

Again, not a surprise.

He had expected that to be the end of it.

But then—

The parchment kept going.

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