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 undertaken 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 time for such magic."

Harry felt sick. Someone he trusted — someone his parents had trusted, enough to leave their baby with them for several hours — had placed a block on his magic. "Is it— am I in danger? Will it hurt me?"

"Currently, it is causing you no issue but a slight drain on your magical core. You have an impressively strong core for someone so young, Mr Potter, so it's likely you haven't noticed the difference. However, as the heir to the Potter line among others, should you come of age while still under the influence of the block, you will be unable to claim your rightful seats on the Wizengamot, or any of your inherited properties. You would also come to harm when your magical core fully matures, as the block required to restrain your family magic also does not allow your magical core to expand in any way." "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 been part of the Wizengamot since its inception, and it is your birthright. You may also hold other seats — with the political climate in the last few decades, several ancient houses have lost their immediate heir, and the title has had to find other avenues in the family tree. I am unsure just how many families you are inheriting magic from, but with that in mind, 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."

For several moments, Harry sat in silence, letting the goblin's words sink in. It all felt like some sort of nightmare.

Eventually, Gorrak cleared his throat. "Mr Potter, if you would consent, I would like to check you for any other spells or enchantments on your person. This may not be the only thing 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 shook his head with a derisive snort. "I consent. If there's any magic on or in me that isn't mine, I want to know about it." His skin crawled like he could feel unfamiliar hands touching him, gripping his magical core and twisting.

"Please empty your pockets and remove your glasses, and any other enchanted items you may possess," Gorrak requested. Harry took a few moments to do as asked, then stood somewhat awkwardly with his hands at his sides. He'd never had so much as 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 recognise Gobbledegook, probably — and a strange prickling feeling washed over Harry from head to toe. He resisted the urge to flinch away. Gorrak said something again in his language, but from Farlig's reaction in the corner it was probably an expletive of some kind. "Someone has done you a great wrong, Mr Potter," Gorrak declared. Harry's heart sank.

"Am I dying?" he asked flatly. It would be just his luck if after all his run-ins with Voldemort, he was due to die from some slow-acting curse or something. Gorrak barked out a laugh.

"No faster than the average wizard," he assured. "However, the block is not the only magic acting against you. There's some kind of spell, I've never seen it before but it looks more recent, perhaps two or three years old, and it's familiar. The same magic that belongs to whoever blocked your family magics." Slowly, pieces started to come together in Harry's mind, dread gathering in his belly. "And what does this spell do?"

"I can't be entirely positive, Mr Potter. If I were to guess, I would say it is something to do with your behaviour. It appears to encourage impulsiveness — or limit rational thinking. Something along those lines. Perhaps with the side-effect of making you more suggestible, easily influenced. Whoever cursed you wanted you to trust without reason, and act without thinking, no doubt to leap head-first into all those dangerous situations I've heard rumour of. It's an incredibly powerful compulsion spell, Mr Potter; I'm amazed you have any sort of self-restraint whatsoever."

Harry could only think of one person who would have means and opportunity to perform both the magic block and the compulsion spell, and the answer made his heart clench.

Dumbledore.

His parents would have trusted the headmaster with their baby, even alone for several hours. And even if they hadn't, there was the time after their death, before Aunt Petunia found Harry on her doorstep — he couldn't have been there all night, he would've frozen to death. Dumbledore was easily powerful enough to put the compulsion spell on Harry when he started at Hogwarts, too. He always seemed to be up to something gently nudging Harry in certain directions, playing everyone around him like puppets and alway seeming to know more than he should. Making Harry impulsive and easily influenced was one thing, but what did Dumbledore stand to gain from limiting 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 the only thing," Gorrak continued, as if Harry wasn't suffering enough. "Though this is probably less of a surprise. There's heavy residue of dark magic, situated around your scar. Unfortunately, this is not familiar to me, though I can have a team research it if you wish, and with any luck they will figure out how to remove it. No one has survived the killing curse until you, Mr Potter — that magic is foreign to both wizards and goblins. I cannot remove it, and am reluctant to attempt such in case it harms you. As it stands, it does not seem to be doing you any damage."

Relief flooded Harry — that one was less worrying. He had always assumed there was something strange about his scar, since it never truly healed. Curse residue would make sense. If it wasn't hurting now, they might as well leave it alone.

"But what about the block, and the spell? Can they be removed?" he asked tentatively, his gut churning at the prospect of having to live with the limit on his magic forever, like some sort of ticking time bomb. Seventeen felt like ages away, but it wouldn't be far off.

"They can," Gorrak confirmed. Harry sighed in relief, shoulders slumping. "Farlig, please guard the door." The lock clicked, and Farlig stood in front of the door with his shoulders squared, his jaw set. "Mr Potter, if you wouldn't mind standing."