Disclaimer- I don't Harry Potter, I'm just obsessed with it.

Warning: If you have not read beyond the fifth book then there are major spoilers! So if you haven't read it yet, but you do continue well don't get mad but go read the book!

Summary: This take places during the summer that approaches Harry's sixth year. As he and Remus are cleaning out the attic, Harry comes across his father's journal. It's not just something he'll read, but something he'll see. The journal has the same abilities as a pensieve, so what exactly will he see? Fights, tears, and of course love couldn't change Harry's perception towards his parents, right?

Author's Note: Please review and tell me what you honestly think. It will tell me whether I should bother to continue or not. Thanks to Jaine for beta-reading! I like constructive criticism, not flaming.

Chapter One

"Harry," Remus began pushing a few cardboard boxes out of the way, "you really don't need to do this if you don't want to." He brushed his robes off, and then turned his attention back to Harry who was simply jus sat there silently.

"No Remus, I want to," Harry assured him sitting on the nearby stool.

"Well, I must warn you that we may well come across things that well-"

"That involves the past? I thought so considering we are in Sirius's attic," Harry replied a bit nasty. He bit his lip and turned his body to Remus who was staring blankly back at him.

"Oh yes, I mean you do certainly do know a lot about the past anyway."

"Well yeah," Harry stammered trying not to sound irritated.

Remus, awkwardly looked down at his feet and then continued, "I bet we could get this done faster if I took that side and you took the other."

"Yes that would be a good idea," Harry replied getting to his feet and stumbled to the other side of the room where many other boxes were strewn about. Getting to his knees, Harry felt a sudden rush of sorrow through him. What he was bound to uncover was entirely up to what fate had in store. Knowing fate hadn't been on his side on in a while Harry stopped for a moment. Maybe he could just stop. If he didn't uncover anything that regarded his parents or Sirius then he wouldn't have to feel the woe all over again.

"Find anything yet?" asked a distanced Remus.

"No," he quickly replied hoping for a moment silence. "Remus, I don't know if I want to continue."

"Harry," he began coming a bit closer, "that's quite alright. I'll do it if you don't want to."

Harry bowed his head down in shame and muttered a few obscenities under his breath. Why did he have to be such a pansy about this? He already knew all about his parents. He knew that his mother deeply loathed his father before he finally showed her that he wasn't so arrogant. He already knew very well that Sirius had been quite lucky with the ladies. He knew all about his past or did he really? Did Harry really know exactly what lurked in his mysterious past? The past he never got to enjoy with his parents, because of Voldemort.

"No, no. Remus I'll do it, I'll be alright."

"Ah well okay. If you need me I'll be right over there," Remus responded with a slight tone of unease in his voice. He retreated back to his original spot on the other side of the musty attic. Harry slid his pale hand over the dusty cardboard box labeled 'Marauder Stuff'. He hid a few chuckles under his breath. He knew he was in for something strange as he opened that box.

Sliding his finger under the flap, dust flew throughout the air. He reached under and with force pulled the box apart. Harry was now covered in complete dust, although that was the least of his worries. Reaching his hand in he pulled out a black leather album. Engraved on the front were the words 'Marauder Memories". Harry slowly opened the front cover finding a picture of his father, Sirius, Remus, and Peter all laughing somewhere on the Hogwarts grounds. He could clearly tell they were having quite the time as it seemed Sirius was about to fall over. Remus couldn't help a small giggle that trailed from his mouth. Peter had a grin on his face, but wasn't quite laughing. Harry wanted to tear the picture apart. He couldn't bear to see Peter there as though he was actually their friend.

Flipping through a few more of the pages which were mostly filled with his father holding the Quidditch Cup or trips in Hogsmeade, Harry came across one that made his stomach lurch. He knew right away that he was indeed the baby in the woman's arms. She had long red hair and glimmering green eyes. Sitting to her right was a man who resembled Harry, only a few years older. He had his arm her as they were smiling and waving at the camera. Occasionally Lily would softly kiss Harry's cheek, making him squirm.

Harry brushed his hand over the picture. No matter how hard he tried or how much he desired to he couldn't remember much about them. He remembered how his mother often patted down his hair in hopes she could tame it, although it was quite obvious he inherited his father's untidiness. He remembered his father swinging him throw the air. He remembered all those things that didn't matter.

Skimming through the stained pages Harry could see how much his mother and father truly did care for each other. He'd love to have something like that. The whole thing Cho didn't seem to work out after she flipped out on him in Hogsmeade. Usually everything that came out of his mouth to a girl seemed to be wrong, according to Hermione.

He slowly closed the album and pushed it to the side of him, opposite the box. He threw his hand back in. Rummaging around for a few moments he pulled out a red and gold scarf which he assumed to be Sirius's. He always knew Sirius to be the black sheep of his family, the one who stood out. He was against the strict beliefs of the Black family which Harry truly admired about him. He placed it carefully on top of the album.

Harry got to his knees and bent his head into the book looking around for anything that was slightly intriguing. He caught a glimpse of a few more photos, one being his parents wedding. Along with that were a few Quidditch posters, and broomstick catalogs. Shoveling through a few more useless items a bright red, blinding item, caught Harry's attention. Almost immediately Harry seized the item. He grasped it looking for clues to what exactly it was.

He ran his finger upon the spine, almost as though it was the book Hagrid had assigned them third year. Concluding that it would not eat away at him he twiddled through his hands, closely examining it. A golden latch held a lock in place. Harry turned it over searching for the owner's name, while pondering the thought if it was inside. Not finding any clues to who it may belong to or what its purpose even was, Harry withdrew his wand from his back pocket. Pointing to the lock he quietly muttered in hopes Remus wouldn't hear, "Alohomora."

The lock did nothing but give a small twitch before returning to its solitary state. He touched the lock feeling the bitter cold transfer into him. The diary practically flew out of his hands from the jolt that he just encountered. Whoever this had belonged sure didn't want anyone to read it. The thought of who's it could be raced through Harry's mind debating. Sirius? No, he was far too proud to write down his feelings in some journal. Remus? Possibly, although it seemed unlikely he'd have anything to record about his life. Peter? No, Sirius wouldn't have anything of his in his attic. It would of most likely of been burned in a massive fire. James? It seemed quite implausible to think his father would document his daily life. What was there to even write about? How he chased around his mother, constantly? Well what about his mother?

It didn't seem a far fetched that Lily would express herself to a diary. She would have plenty to write about, concerning James and her studies. Feeling most confident that it was her Harry debated with his minds multiple ways to open it. The muggle way, he could force it open with his bare hands. It was the most stupid idea he had thought of though. Of course the enchantment on this diary would surely stand up to some cheap attempt to open it the muggle way. He could look through all the spells book Hermione owned for a spell that would make it surely crack. It would draw too much attention to a measly book, which was exactly what Harry did not want.

Or simply he could retrieve Remus and ask who wrote in it. Indubitably, he'd know. He didn't want to crawl to Remus though. Remus had his way of grieving and Harry had his own. Then it most certainly hit him, similar to Hermione's brilliant punch towards Malfoy. Grinning from reliving the memory of that glorious moment, Harry took his wand in his hand again. He firmly gripped it and pointed as straight as he could to the lock.

He softly spoke, almost whispering, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Instantly the lock unlatched, as a huge smiled plastered over Harry's face. He set his wand down beside him and looked across the room. Remus was folding robes and placing them on a nearby shelf. He slowly cracked the red book open uncovering the first page. It was deeply stained, as though someone had spilled butterbeer all over it. Apart from the stains that scattered the first couple of pages they were completely blank, not even a drop of ink. He slowly uncovered the next few pages having to pull them apart since they were stuck together.

On what seemed like the millionth page were the words in deep black ink, 'Prongs would like to welcome you to his journal. How you came across or how you even opened it is beyond my comprehension, but welcome. Anything that is in this journal is to stay in this journal unless you would enjoy being the next Snivelly'.

His father? This was his father's journal? The pieces just didn't fit together. It was like a puzzle that the pieces were forced to come together rather than gracefully. His father, James Potter, was a Quidditch hero and one of the most popular boys in school. And now he had a journal? Harry felt the sudden urge to race across the dusty attic to Remus and demand to know about if this was real.

It could in fact just be a joke to anyone who actually read it, but it didn't seem so. Why was the password the few words only his best mates would be able to put together? Still in utter confusion Harry took a deep breath and flipped onto the next page. It was blank. He skimmed through a few more, still covered in butterbeer stains, with occasional smudges of some other mysterious being.

It become a reality, this was indeed James Potter's journal. It was his journal that held Merlin knows what. It was the journal that seemed to be a ticket to all the questions that Harry had ever came up with.

Review and tell me what you think!! Is it worthy of continuing?