Something short and slightly Christmas related. Beware of fluff. Unbeta-ed.

Photographs

Harry was wondering around Grimmauld Place. It was Christmas Eve and while the rest of the Weasleys, plus a few other Order members, were having a lively party downstairs, Harry did not feel up to socializing and forcing a smile. He pretended not to have noticed Mrs. Weasley attempting to fight off tears because neither Percy nor her husband were there, or the strange looks Lupin had been giving him all evening, but eventually, he decided all he wanted was to be alone, to have just a few moments to himself.

He climbed up to the topmost level of the ancient house to find Sirius' bedroom door open a jar. He had been wondering where Sirius was, since he was not with the party-goers downstairs.

"Sirius?" Harry knocked on the door as he entered.

Sirius looked up from an old piece of parchment, a small smile on his face. "Hello, Harry. Tired of the party?"

"A bit, yeah. Mind if I join you?" He took a tentative step forward. It was obvious to everyone Sirius was unhappy about living here, but Harry thought he knew a little better than others what Sirius was feeling, except for maybe Lupin. He shuddered to think about if he ever had to return to the Dursleys' to live indefinitely.

"Of course you can. I'm just looking at some old pictures and letters." Sirius moved a small stack so Harry could sit. "See this one, here?" He handed Harry a moving photograph of a much younger Sirius, with James, Lupin, and Wormtail splashing in a pond. "That was taken just before our fifth year. We were all staying at the Potters' for the last week of the summer. James pushed Peter into the pond, and the rest of us followed. You'll notice we still had our clothes on." He laughed lightly at what Harry assumed was some joke told long ago on that summer's day. Sirius was clearly not in the present.

Harry did not want to pull him back just yet, but he wanted to know more. He realized in all the time he spent here with Sirius over the summer, he had not asked for stories about James. Now that they were here, however, he was not going to miss his chance again.

He picked up another photograph of James and Sirius with broomsticks over their shoulders. "What about this one?"

"That was during the beginning of our second year. James was determined to play for Gryffindor and made me practice with him every chance we got until try-outs. Not that he needed it, of course. The only person I've ever seen fly as well as he did is you." He shot Harry a smile. "I saw you win that Cup in your third year, you know. You were brilliant."

Harry laughed as he remembered hoisting the cup into the air. "Thanks. Tell me more? About my dad, I mean."

And Sirius did. He showed Harry more photographs and a few letters, explaining inside jokes and telling of the Marauder's monthly adventures in their animal forms. He told Harry about ditching detentions, about common room parties and food fights. The longer he went on the happier he seemed to be. It was the first time in a while Harry had heard him laugh out loud. Eventually, there was just one photograph left. This one was of a small, dark-haired boy asleep on a rug, with a great black dog curled protectively around him.

"That's you, obviously. Lily hated it when I transformed around you; seemed to think I'd give you fleas or something. But you loved it. You were always asking for Pat since you couldn't say Padfoot yet. James thought it was hilarious. He started calling me Patty." The two of them laughed again before falling into their own thoughts; Sirius in his memories, and Harry replaying all the stories his godfather told him.

Sirius looked at him. "You should keep all these, Harry. I have memories of him; I don't need these pictures so much."

"Oh, I have plenty of pictures already. Hagrid gave me an entire album of my parents in my first year." He had a feeling Sirius really did not want to give up the pictures of James yet. "But, can I take this one?" He held up the one of Padfoot and his toddler self.

Sirius smiled again. "Of course you can." He looked at a clock. "It's getting late. You're all getting up early to go see Arthur. You should go to bed, or else Father Christmas might not come."

Harry chuckled, stood up, and stretched, feeling his back pop. "Wouldn't want to miss out on presents. Thanks, Sirius, for all this." He gestured to the piles.

"Never a problem, Harry. Now go to bed, or you'll be dead on your feet tomorrow."

Harry entered his own room to find Ron already asleep. As quietly as he could, he pulled his photo album out of his trunk and flipped through it a little before placing his newest picture in there. As he crawled into bed, he felt a little closer to his father, and much closer to his godfather.

Concrit welcome.