Harry Potter: The Chronicles of Black.

It was difficult because Harry was already a teenager, and it had now emerged that he had been neglected and abused as well, to what extent he didn't know yet, but such a thing disgusted him and he would sort this out for his adoptive son. Things would have been much easier if this had been done a decade before when Harry was still a small boy, but he had been shaped by abuse and manipulation and as a result of that, he was damaged and angry and he naturally lashed out.

Lucius sighed as he filed away the invoice from Ellerby and Spudmore into a file that he had created just for Harry. It was getting quite full already and it had only been four months since he had adopted the boy. But, of course, between the actual adoption papers, the betrothal contract, the healer's papers on his fertility and bearing abilities, the documentation of the neglect by his previous magical guardian, all of the relevant paperwork, like Harry's birth certificate and his healers notes on his vaccinations (that he had been appalled to see hadn't been completed, which he would rectify as soon as possible) as well as the case that he had built up against Umbridge and the case he would now build against his former relatives, the file was getting very full.

He would help Harry with his anger issues, he would help him with anything that he needed and now that they were all on the same side, there didn't need to be any animosity between them, they could make this work. He and Narcissa could have the second child that they had always wanted, as well as a sibling for Draco, and Harry could have the family and structure that he so obviously needed. They could be good together, they could be a family until such a time that he handed Harry over to Rabastan as a husband. That day would be sooner rather than later as well if all the signs and indications had been read correctly, he just hoped that Rabastan was ready to handle Harry when the time came.

Harry grinned as he thought about his new, private, rooms, which were more like a small apartment. He had four rooms all to himself. A living room cum kitchenette, a bedroom, a bathroom and a study room that was the smallest room, but had three bookshelves and a study desk where he could do his homework.

Dumbledore hadn't wanted to let him have it, not at all, but the governors had bullied him into it and had insisted that it was necessary for his own protection due to the hostility shown to him by his own dormmates'. They had insisted that they couldn't allow him to remain in a dorm room where he was in constant danger of being attacked, so they had forced Dumbledore to remove him from the Gryffindor dorm rooms and he now had his own rooms on the fourth floor.

Draco and Blaise were both very jealous and they spent a lot of time over the next few days coming around to his rooms where they would often spend their free time doing their homework at his coffee table with drinks and snacks from his stocked kitchenette, which the house-elves stocked every day for him with fresh food, fruit, tea, and juice. It was enough for snacks, but he didn't really have anything in the way of making a full meal for himself, so he couldn't avoid going to the Great Hall for mealtimes, but outside of that and his lessons, then he spent most of his time in his new rooms.

His Firebolt had been returned to him better than brand new in record time, thanks to Lucius' influence and the knowledge that it was Harry Potter's broomstick that was being worked on, and he'd been assured that the handle hadn't been touched, except for the high-quality varnish and polish that it had been given after the re-engraving of his personal license number. It was so polished that it gleamed and Harry was so happy, knowing that this handle was the same one that Sirius had touched with his own hands. The first Quidditch game of the season was rapidly approaching and Harry was so excited as he tested out his broom on his own to make sure that it worked as well as he remembered. He sped up and down the Quidditch pitch, pushing the broom as hard as he could, urging it to go faster and faster, turning at the last moment on a hairpin. It reacted to him just as he remembered, as if the broom was reading his thoughts instead of his body movements it was that sensitive and he flew around the Quidditch pitch for hours, just reconnecting with the broom that he hadn't been able to fly for the last month and a half. He practised his diving and all of his manoeuvres and he felt so much better.

The icy anger that had plagued him for the last several weeks had left him up here in the air, in the clouds, and he felt relaxed and happy and able to think again. He touched back down gently and shouldered his broom and he headed back to the castle when he started feeling a little chilled. It was November after all and it was getting late, dark, and cold.

He made it to his rooms and he collapsed onto his settee with a groan, broomstick in hand. He couldn't bring himself to let it go just yet. The quiet of his rooms relaxed him and he closed his eyes to savour it, at least until Hedwig joined him and nibbled on his ear.

"Hey girl, how are you?" He asked her as he stroked her head and beautiful plumage. "It's been a while since we had a moment to ourselves."

Hedwig clicked her beak at him and Harry smiled, relieving her of her burden and grinning widely as she walked along the chair to perch on his leg. She clicked insistently at him and he chucked as he resumed his grooming of her soft feathers. He put his broomstick beside him and opened the letter one-handed. There were three other envelopes in the first and he looked at them excitedly, knowing that one of them had to be from Rabastan. He was right, he recognised the shaky letters on the second envelope caused by Rabastan's weakened muscles and his cramps and he dived on it immediately.

He opened this letter quickly, taking his hand away from Hedwig before shaking the parchment out and letting his hand fall back to her feathers as he quickly read the letter that had been sent to him. He could see that Rabastan had really tried when writing this letter, but it was immediately apparent where Rabastan's arm had jerked out of his control and he had scored the parchment with his quill, leaving long lines of stark, black ink.

Harry still read the letter and he couldn't help grinning like a loon, a warm feeling filling up his insides as he read it through several times. He liked hearing that Rabastan was missing him and that he had loved the cuff links that Harry had gifted to him and how he couldn't wait until they could spend more time together during the winter holidays.

He hated that Rabastan had apologised for his shaky, often illegible, cursive and the jerked lines through the writing. He'd definitely have to sort that out once he went home for the holidays, he wouldn't have Rabastan apologising for the damage done to him by Azkaban, it wasn't his fault and he couldn't control it. He was already doing everything that he could to rectify the damage done, he was on a very strict dietary plan, he was taking all sorts of potions, and doing all sorts of strengthening exercises to help himself. He was doing everything that he possibly could to heal himself and Harry would not have him apologising for anything because he knew it was going to take years for the damage to heal, it wouldn't happen over days, weeks, or even months, but years and it was all thanks to Azkaban.

He hated that fucking prison with a furious passion, it was unnatural and inhumane and there was no going back if an innocent person was put in that hellhole like Sirius had been. They came out just as fucking damaged and no amount of Galleons thrown at them in the form of 'compensation' helped the years' worth of recovery and therapy that was needed to try and rectify the damage that had been done. That prison really needed to be sorted out and those damn Dementors needed to be cleaned out. Azkaban had ruined two people that he cared about greatly, three if Rodolphus was counted as well, as he got on well with his future brother-in-law, not to mention how badly the Dementors affected him personally. He could only imagine Azkaban as hell on Earth and it needed to be addressed and sorted out.

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