The photo album
Harry Potter spent a lot of his summer exploring the attic. He had not much else he could do. Hermione was on holiday with her parents in France, Ron was visiting Charlie in Romania with his family. Neville was around, but Harry honestly didn't know him well enough to visit him, and he lived too far away for it to be worth it. And Malfoy was... Malfoy. Couldn't meet him if he wanted to. So when his dad was called in to work, Harry explored the attic. His dad had inherited all of his parents belongings, and they'd all been stored here, along with most of anything his mum had owned. The attic was so chock-full of stuff, Harry had spent a whole week in there already and still probably was no where near halfway through.
Harry loved the attic, it was one of his favourite rooms in the house. Sure it was dusty and dirty, but it had such a comforting atmosphere he couldn't help but love it. The warm light that seeped in through many skylights in the slanted ceiling, the smell of old books and cardboard and wood, how quiet and calm it was - as if it was its own world. He loved it all. Today, he was rummaging through some old boxes labelled 'Hogwarts Stuff'. This was what he'd been looking for: the motherlode. He'd been looking for his dad's old school stuff for ages, and began opening up the boxes. A cloud of dust came up with the box, the smell of old paper and cloth hitting Harry like a comforting hug of memories.
The first box was full of old school clothes: his dad's uniform mostly. There were all sorts in there, most too small for Harry. Further digging revealed his dad's old quidditch kit, the red and gold uniform much different to Harry's, though it was decades old and had probably been scrapped by the school. Harry tried on one quidditch jumper that looked about his size, though it was still a bit too wide in the shoulders and a bit too long, it was like wearing a hug. Harry peeked back into the now empty box, checking if there was anything in there he'd missed. He had. There were a few socks, empty wrappers, Gryffindor ties and, strangely, the green and sliver of a Slytherin tie curled up in the corner. Harry picked it up, running it between his fingers. Why would his dad have a Slytherin tie in his old stuff? How would he? Harry put it back in the box, and folded the clothes he'd taken out, placing them back on top of it. He'd ask his dad about the tie later. He kept the quidditch jumper on as he moved the box aside, opening another.
The next few boxes weren't that interesting. Old school supplies, tests and letters from school, nothing worth getting excited over. Until, at the bottom of the last box, Harry found an old, leather-bound photo album, the case absolutely covered with stickers and writing. Harry sat down on the dusty floor, and opened it up. The first page was a photo of his dad standing on platform 9 3/4, trolley in hand, grinning hugely, waving at the camera. His dad was a spitting image of himself, but there were some differences. James was taller, broader and stockier than Harry had been at his age. His eyes were a brownish hazel, shining out of his face, and his wide grin revealed a glint of metal on his teeth. His hair was just as messy as Harry's, sticking up in all the wrong places, and his dark skin was almost the same shade as Harry's. His mother, Harry's grandmother, was stood next to him, her arm around him, grinning just as widely. She looked like James and Harry too, though her skin darker and was much slimmer than James, looking more like Harry in that regard. Streaks of grey permeated her mass of dark hair, tied in a knot at the back of her head. She would occasionally pat down James's hair, in a futile attempt to make it stay flat. Harry had never met his grandparents, he wondered what they would think of him.
Harry turned the pages of the album slowly, more faces jumping out at him as he read. His Uncle Moony and Uncle Padfoot, smiling next to his dad in multiple photos. There was a fourth guy in most of the photos, who Harry assumed was Peter Pettigrew, the traitor. He wasn't really allowed to talk or ask about him. He saw the face of a small red-haired girl, with vivid green eyes that he'd only ever seen when he looked in the mirror. His mum. She was in a handful of photos, scattered throughout the years that passed whenever Harry turned the pages. Christmases in the great hall and summers in the grounds. He watched his dad and his friends grow up with every flick of the page. He watched his Uncle Padfoot's hair get longer, and more tattoos painted on his skin, and his Uncle Moony's scars growing in size and number.
By the time he'd reached about 3/4 of the way through the book, everyone looked so different. They looked a lot more like the people he knew now, rather than their past versions. They all looked more around Harry's age: at the end of their fifth and the beginning of their sixth years at Hogwarts. He flicked to a picture of what looked like the craziest party Harry had seen. The Gryffindor common room had been trashed, empty bottles and streamers an confetti and cigarette butts were scattered everywhere, and someone had charmed a disco ball to glow bright colours, sending spinning flickers of light across the otherwise dark room. Harry studied the picture more closely, beginning to pick out faces.
His Uncles were right in the centre, their arms around each other, dancing to music Harry couldn't hear. Sirius was shirtless with his tie tied around his forehead, Remus had a lit cigarette in his mouth and was sending puffs of smoke at Sirius. The entire room seemed to be filled with smoke, several people were gathered around bongs, smoking various drugs. He recognized his dad's friend Marlene gathered around one, he'd seen pictures of her too. He recognized several people at the party, most seeming very drunk or high. It was a whole world away from what he expected of his dad and his friends, though honestly judging by his uncles' general behavior now... yeah it kinda checked out.
Harry finally spotted his dad in the very corner of the photo. He was sat on a table at the very back of the room, but Harry could only recognize him by his hair, because his dad was blocked by someone. Harry recoiled in disgust as he realized his dad was kissing the person. Ewwwwwww. He could see his dad's hands wrapped around the person's neck, the person's hands holding the table as they leaned onto James. Harry couldn't tell who it was, but it definitely wasn't his mother. This person had short dark hair that hung in curly waves, and skin so pale it looked white, contrasting with the dark tone of his dad's.
They broke away for a second, turning to watch the rest of the party, laughing about something, and Harry caught a glimpse of the person's face. Their pale, thin face was barely visible in the flickering light, but Harry couldn't help but think he'd seen them somewhere. Their face seemed really familiar, and for a split second Harry might've thought it was Sirius if Sirius wasn't clearly elsewhere in the photo: they looked really similar to him. They had the same nose and eyes and shade of skin, though the person's face was a lot softer and rounder than Sirius's. Where had he seen them before- Oh. Oh. It dawned on Harry where he'd seen them before. The person in the photo, now kissing his dad again, was Regulus Black.