Not epilogue complaint.
Disclaimer: HP is not mine.
The Living Memory
Prologue
Sirius Abraxas Malfoy was beyond bored. The manor was silent, his father was at work, and even the house elves had the day off. He could have fire called his cousins but they were all out at Diagon Alley, shopping for Hogwarts. He had to admit, he was rather envious. Sirius didn't get to go to Hogwarts for a whole other year. Sighing, he rolled over onto his back, staring at the canopy above his bed. He brushed pale messy bangs out of his grey eyes and frowned.
There wasn't much to do on one's own. Sirius wasn't much of a reader. He enjoyed a good science fiction book, given to him by his Aunt Hermione, every once in a while, but more often then not he would rather play quidditch. He glanced outside the window, but a sound above him, causes his eyes to drift upward once again. . And not for the first time he wondered what was in the attic.
His father always promised that they would go up there together and explore one day, but that day hadn't come yet. Surely, Father wouldn't mind if he went and investigated himself, would he? Sirius contemplated the pros and cons of his possible adventure. On one hand he would probably be grounded and confined to his room. On the other that wasn't much different than what he was doing now. It was decided then. Sirius rolled over and jumped off his bed. To the attic! But first.. Supplies!
And so it was, fifteen minutes later that Sirius was armed with a flashlight, a satchel to place any finds in, and a pair of peanut butter sandwiches that he was climbing the stairs to the attic door. He swallowed heavily as he pushed the door open and pulled himself inside. It was dark but there was a pull near by that turned on the lights. It was obvious there were no self cleaning charms on the attic, nor that any house elves ever visited this part of the manor. There was dust everywhere, and as he walked across the wooden planks, he made footprints in his wake. Still, it was every little boys dream. There were things covered with drapes, boxes, and trunks, and all manner of things that he could look into. It didn't occur to him that there might be a reason that he wasn't to go wandering on his own, and that in one of the various objects there might be some danger.
Luckily for him though there would be no need for him to worry, as his eyes were irresistibly drawn to one corner of the large space. A flash of gold, there! It sparkled in the light that was cast through the slats in the window to one end, letting in a limited amount of sunlight through the grimy panes. He pulled his satchel strap over his other shoulder so that it could hang across his back, and made his way over to the bit of gold.
It was a snitch! But why would it be up here? Sirius had been begging for a practice snitch forever, but his father had refused to buy him one. It was one of the few things he was actually refused. His father was often away and when he came back it seemed he tried to assuage his guilt with material things. As he reached out to touch it, the wings gave a flutter, causing him to jump back. In turn the snitch rose and shot off.
"Oh no!" Sirius cried, racing after it. "Come back!" Father was going to kill him. He couldn't have a snitch running about the attic, bouncing into things, and making noise. Father would investigate, and would see his footprints and he would know.
His running stirred up the dust around him, causing his eyes to water, and a few sneezes. And caused the accident that would bring a new meaning to his life. As he tried to rub at his eyes while running, he missed the trunk sitting in front of him. He went over it, heads over heels, his shins smarting. He turned and kicked childishly at the thing, but only succeeded in hurting his foot. Bringing the appendage closer, he rubbed it, glaring at the wooden object. At least, he glared until he caught site of what was engraved upon it.
"H J P" he whispered out loud and there was a fluttering in his chest, like that of the snitch's wings he had just attempted to catch. His body felt cold and his hands trembled as small fingers ran over the grooves. Those were his Dad's initials. He didn't remember him, he had died when he was very young, but sometimes Sirius dreamed about him, or believed he remembered the things that people said about him. Like the color of his eyes, sometimes Sirius wished his eyes were green, but he had been told numerous times that the had his Dad's smile. He supposed he would have to, his Father didn't smile very often at all.
When he was younger he would like to pick out green objects, such as a vase, a leaf, or a piece of clothing, and ask if that was the kind of green that his Dad's eyes were like. His Father's mask, as Sirius liked to call it, would appear and he would shake his head.
After one such round of questioning, his Father had finally stopped him with a sharp word that had caused tears to come to his eyes. Sirius had apologized and promised he wouldn't ask anymore questions about his Dad again. This seemed to crack his Father's mask for he had pulled Sirius into a hug and told him that he should never stop asking, and that he had something special to give him. That evening he was given a photo album and he finally found out the reason why his Father could never answer what kind of green his dad's eyes were. There was no comparison to be made that would describe them.
He had stared at the pictures for what seemed like hours. There weren't many, his father explained that his dad was camera shy, and what pictures there were, were taken by a Colin Creevey, who had died during the war, or a self timed camera. Any other pictures, his Father had explained, were of picture Harry trying to escape into the edges of the photograph.
Sirius, personally, loved to have his picture taken and would often times pose for them too. His Grandpa Arthur often laughed at him for it and said that he had definitely got that from his Father, before he would look a little worried and ask him to please not repeat that he had said that.
Sirius smoothed his hands over the top of the trunk, brushing the dust away from it, revealing the warm wood color below. He took a deep breath, his small chest rising and falling, though it felt there was a great weight upon it, and he opened it slowly and carefully, though all he wished to do was fling it open in one go. He was actually afraid to open it, afraid that it would hold nothing, that whatever might be in there would not be his Dad's but rather the trunk was just used for storage of menial things.
He gathered his courage, and pushed the lid open and his breath caught in his throat at what was held inside. It wasn't empty after all.
-------------------------------------------
Please let me know what you think! Would very much appreciate your input!
