Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read, comment, favourite and/or review the story. It means a lot to me to get feedback from the readers. I would also like to thank ElDani, my Beta-reader for all his help and the amazing work he does in making the story readable.

I have gotten certain reviews concerning technical aspects of the story and have answered them through private messaging though I would like to share one of such conversations with you as it might help clarify the issue of Harry's money that a few people have asked about.

Some readers found the amount of money at Harry's disposal as well as the fact that he had no heirlooms from his family strange. I'm inclined to agree that is the case as I didn't elaborate on Harry's financial status with a lot of detail. So here's my explanation: In this fanfiction, Harry's family isn't rich, therefore, no books, weapons or items passed down from his parents or family. As for the amount of money in Harry's vault, I've had a lot of questions about the 2500 galleon stipend since J.K. Rowling states Harry has piles of coins in his trust vault. Here is my response: If we do the math, theres 29 knuts to a sickle and 17 sickles to a knut so 2500 galleons equates to 1 232 500 knuts or 42 500 sickles. evenly distributed amongst coin tpes, 2500 galleons is roughly 40 000 coins. Thats a big pile of money.

Thank you to dogsby for pointing out that I should explain Harry's monetary issues in further detail to clarify the story. As such, expect further clarification in later chapters.

"Speech"

'Thought'

"Legilimecy"

Chapter 4

Harry sat slack-jawed on his bed, one idea going round and round in his mind: 'Dumbledore cast the wards. Why would he cast dark magic on me?'

Harry couldn't make heads or tails of Dumbledore's reasoning; true, blood wards were absolutely impenetrable as the following paragraph in the book had stated, but casting them would diminish the magical power of the one it was cast on/upon by a ratioof two-to-one. The stronger the wards, the more they took from the wizard. Which meant that approximately a quarter of Harry's magic was drained to power the wards during the summer and had to replenish itself over the school year where he had to use it extensively so it obviously had never been at full capacity.

He had never accessed the totality of his magical power which was working overtime to replenish itself since he had been a year old.

The compendium clearly stated that magic was not a muscle; using it would not make the reserve larger, but it would make it slightly more potent. Since Harry's current magical power hovered around normal, he surmised that his actual magical potential was somewhere between above average and gifted, but no-where near Dumbledore and Voldemort's level. The potency of his magic also made more sense: How else could a patronus repel hundreds of dementors?

All the information he had amassed since the previous day was jumbled in Harry's mind. With a sigh, Harry began to think.

'Alright, First off there's the fact that I've never received fan-mail. Then comes all the murder attempts and the life-and-death scenarios that I miraculously survived a weakened magical core and a total lack of help and information from anyone who knows important things about me and my life, namely Dumbledore. It's almost as if…'

"MOTHER FUCKER!" Harry screamed, jumping to his feet, his book falling onto the floor. He began to pace furiously, his head full of half formed ideas.

'Dumbledore is behind all of it! It's almost as if Dumbledore…wants to test me or push me towards something… Like he wants to keep me away from society and keep me weak... But why? What does he get from stunting me like this? From putting me in life-or-death situations every year? I need answers and I need them fast.'

Harry stayed up for the vast majority of the night, puzzling over the odd actions made by the Headmaster of Hogwarts, eventually falling into a fitful sleep.

The following morning, Harry made his way back to Knockturn Alley, returning to The Gilded Parchment. Stepping inside the small shop for the second time in as many days, Harry called out for Mr. Fleet.

"Who's there?" The same gruff voice Harry recalled from the previous day called from the back of the shop, hidden behind many racks full of old and odd-looking books and knick-knacks.

Walking to the towards the sound of Harry's voice, Fleet came forward with a purple leather-bound book under his arm. His wand in hand hanging by his thigh.

"Ah, it's you again. Back so soon?" The elderly man spoke, his odd eyes piercing as he stared Harry down.

"It would appear that I am in need of some more of your time and discretion, Mr. Fleet."

"Very well. Given the money you gave me yesterday, I'll wave any fees for today, the cost of anything you buy notwithstanding."

Harry nodded graciously, surprised by the old shopkeeper's generosity.

"What'll it be today sir?" Fleet asked, his brow raising quizzically as he did so.

"I need information on how to disable blood wards, magical contracts and I need comprehensive books on arithmantic theory and application."

The shopkeeper's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. Fleet let out a low whistle, scratching at his beard and looking up in thought.

"Well, off the top of my head, I know I can get you the information on magical contracts and I have a few tomes on applied arithmancy that are the industry standard for spell-creators, but what you're looking for with all this blood ward business is over my head."

Harry sighed and looking around, pondered aloud: "Is there anywhere or anyone you might know of that could have access to information on blood wards?"

"My best guess would be that the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries would know more about the subject than just about anyone else, but getting the to tell you anything about their work is damn near impossible." Fleet respond as he walked off to fetch the books he had for Harry.

"What exactly are Unspeakables? And for that matter, what is the Department of Mysteries?" Harry asked, recognising the name from the vision he had had of Voldemort. The Death Eater Rookwood was supposed to do something in the Department of Mysteries at Voldemort's bidding.

"Unspeakables are the most secretive organisation in Wizarding Britain and yet its worst guarded secret." Fleet began as he walked from one stack of books to the other, skimming the spines with his finger as he read their titles, looking for the books Harry had asked for. "Not much is known about them and even less is known about what they do. The only sure fact is that down in The Department of Mysteries - which is a branch of the Ministry for Magic reserved for Unspeakables - they study aspects of magic and magical artefacts that are too dangerous for the general population."

Harry Pondered Fleet's words for a moment and then asked: "Is there any way to contact the unspeakables?"

Fleet froze, his hand hovering over a book, his eyes far off into the distance. "It's best to not disturb them, and considering who you are and what you're looking for, it might be best not to attract unwanted attention from the Ministry of Magic, especially considering what's being said about you Mr. Potter."

Fleet plucked the book his hand had hovered over and brought it forward along with one other slightly smaller tome and set them down on the counter.

"One copy of Heraclitus Arcadian's Principles of Arithmancy and Magical laws and contracts by Oberon Fullsworth. That will be 65 galleons and 12 sickles Mr. Potter."

Harry pulled out the requested fee from his money pouch, having noticed the strange look in Fleet's eyes as he spoke of the Unspeakables. One thing was sure: Fleet knew more than he let on.

Stopping for food at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry skimmed through his book on magical laws and contracts over his sandwich, looking for the specific chapter he needed.

'Time to find out what constitutes a magically binding contract.' Harry thought to himself as he reached the intended page.

"A magically binding contract is created when a being of a magical nature engages his or her magical core to the promise of an intended goal or service. Only the being itself can create a magical contract as no other can force one's magical core to bind itself to a cause without its consent. In the event that someone is forced into creating a magically binding contract, their magic will inherently decide the veracity of what the contract entails; should the person being forced into the contract desire the intended outcome of the contract, his magic will bind itself to the cause. However, if he or she does not desire the intended outcome of said contract, their magic will not bind itself to the promise mad and will renege."

'Well fuck me sideways.' Harry thought as he angrily chewed through his meal. 'I didn't even have to compete and fight a fucking dragon! But then why did Crouch say the tournament was magically binding in nature? Maybe he assumed it was because my name was in the goblet? He didn't take into account that it wasn't me who wrote my name…None of them did. None of them believed me.'

Letting out a breath, Harry once again regretted not asking the tournament officials to submit him to veritaserum last year.

Walking into Gringotts, Harry made a bee-line to the information desk.

"I'm here to see Mr. Snarltooth." Harry said to the goblin sitting I front of him.

"One moment sir." The Goblin said as it hopped down and walked into Snarltooths office.

A few moments later, Harry was escorted into his account manager's office.

"Hello again Mr. Potter." Snarltooth began with a diplomatic smile. "How may we at Gringotts be of service to you today?"

"It has come to my attention that I have been the victim of a grievous crime and would like to take the matter before the Wizengamot."

Snarltooths demeanour immediately became one of seriousness and grim concentration. He called out in Gobbledygook. Almost immediately, a smaller and younger looking Goblin raced into the room and stood at attention before Snarltooth. The Elder Goblin began speaking rapidly in his native tongue, the younger goblin writing down furiously on a small notepad he held in his hand.

Dismissing the smaller goblin with a wave of his clawed hand, Snarltooth turned to face Harry.

"Very well Mr. Potter, of what grievance do you speak?"

"It has come to my attention that illegal wards have been placed around Number 4 Privet Drive that has been using my magical core against my will. The ward in question being a blood ward."

At these wards, Snarltooth did a double-take.

"I beg your pardon?" Snarltooth said, leaning forward and hoping he had not heard what he thought he had.

"Blood wards mister Snarltooth. Using my Magical core as an anchor to the property."

Snarltooth began writing on his stationary, taking down all the details Harry could give him about the subject.

Harry then came to a decision. He wasn't going to let the Tri-Wizard tournament slide either.

"I also want to take legal recourse for compensation after having been forced unwillingly into a tournament that I was not legally able to enter, having been erroneously told I had entered into a magical contract."

Snarltooth rubbed his forehead and sighed as he began pulling out the necessary paperwork.

"Very well Mr. Potter, I will begin making all the necessary legal actions to bring your cause before the Wizengamot. Though you must realize that as a minor, you cannot represent yourself. Would you like Gringotts to arrange a barrister for you?"

"That would be perfect." Harry replied as he left to leave the room.

"Oh, and one more thing Mr. Potter." Snarltooth said as he raised his eyes from his paperwork. "Do you know who cast the wards around yourself and number 4 Privet drive?"

"Albus Dumbledore."

Snarltooth froze.

Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of his time, sat in his office reading the Daily Prophet, the paper having slandered his name once again. Sighing, the headmaster popped a lemon candy into his mouth. He was slowly losing his influence over both the Wizengamot and Fudge. This bade ill for the upcoming war against Tom and his minions. Sighing, he stood and began to pace.

All his years of planning were finally coming into effect. He had to keep a clear head and act at the opportune moment or the future of the Wizarding world would be darkened by a mad man with a fetish for killing innocents. He had to keep control.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dumbledore saw an owl approaching his window. He let it in and relieved it of its courier, which he began to read.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore is hereby summoned to represent himself directly or by intermission of a barrister in the legal recourse of Harry Potter vs. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore before the totality of the Wizengamot.

Failure to comply will result in the fining of the offending party and swift legal action.

Your reply is awaited within a span of fifteen business days.

Director of Potter accounts,

Snarltooth"

Throwing the letter down onto his desk, Dumbledore grabbed some floo powder and made his way to his fireplace. Tossing the powder onto the fire, He stepped in and announced:

"Number 34, Wisteria Walk."

Striding out of a fireplace in a small living room overrun by cats, Dumbledore spoke to the only occupant of the room.

"Sorry to disturb you Arabella, but I have pressing matters to attend to."

Never once stopping or slowing his stride, the headmaster walked directly to the door of number 4 Privet drive and rang the bell. Waiting patiently, he spun around when he heard the door open.

"Hello Petunia. I would very much like a word with Harry please."