A/N: This is the first thing I've ever posted, although definitely not the first thing I've written. I just kinda got fed up with myself and how I always hold myself back from posting anything so I thought "why not?" and decided to give it a shot.
This is a work in progress and to be honest I have no idea where this is going or even if this has a plot. Just going with the flow on this one. This fic is also completely unbetaed.
This work is cross posted on AO3. Please don't repost or take any of this fic without my permission.
Harry first saw a picture of his mother when he was seven years old.
Amongst the numerous pictures of the Dursleys, Dudley chief among them, was one frame tucked to the back on the mantle. Harry had technically seen it his whole life but had never been tall enough to get a good look at it. However, as he was now seven years old, he had been deemed old enough to be entrusted with the task of dusting the photo frames. It was still a bit of a stretch so little Harry dragged out his step stool he used for cooking into the living room from the kitchen and got to work.
When he reached the aforementioned frame, he first thought nothing of it. It was an older picture of two adults and two children, all strangers to Harry. As he looked harder though, he started to notice similarities between one of the children and his Aunt Petunia. The little girl in the photo stood tall before the two adults in a pretty yellow sundress. She had a long neck and mousy hair like the Petunia Harry knows but her smile was large and beaming in a way that he'd never seen on the older counterpart. Yet something about the image told Harry this was his Aunt. With that knowledge, he took more interest in the other three figures in the frame.
The adults were a man and a woman, looking happier than any posed posturing the Dursleys did for their many photo shoots. They stood relaxed, the man with his arm around the woman in a way that clearly showed they were a couple. Both had a hand on one of the children's shoulders in front of them, painting the image of a close family.
Harry finally looked at the last person in the picture. It was another little girl, one younger than the child Petunia, probably around Harry's age. She had fiery red hair that fell down in long waves over her bright green sundress, the vibrant colors making her stand out on the age-worn paper. As opposed to the other three people, she wasn't facing the camera. Instead, she was turned towards the others and was smiling up at her family with clear joy and admiration. Though Harry could only see half her face because of this, it was clear that this young girl was very beautiful.
This is Aunt Petunia's family, Harry thought as he took in the image. So this must be my family. His hungry eyes landed once more on the youngest person in the picture. This must be my mum. Time passed as Harry stood on his stool in front of the mantle, dusting forgotten as he stared at the photo of his long gone mother. He only came out of his revere as the sound of footsteps approaching the living room could be heard. Over time, dusting every Saturday would become Harry's favorite chore in the Dursley household. But on that first day, as Harry left to help his Aunt fix lunch for his relatives, he cast one last look over his shoulder at his mother on the mantle and thought I wish I knew her name.