It also held a significant meaning. This was the room where the Mirror of Erised once sat. That mirror had shown him his parents for the first time, and even though he knew it was only a mirage of hope and desire... he'd give anything to be able to see it again.
He remember the first time he had found it, he sat for hours.. staring at the image of a raven-haired man and a beautiful green-eyed woman with red hair that could only be his mother. He had wanted them to be real. He still wanted them to be real. But they never could be. They were gone. The most only way he'd ever see them again was through photographs.
At that thought he reached over and grabbed the dusty leather albumn that sat beside him. He hadn't looked at it since 5th year. He wasn't sure why. He hadn't even touched it since then.. well, until now that is. He lifted it up slowly. Carefully. Brushing off the cover a little. He rested it in his lap and slid a finger between two of the sleak pages. He wasn't sure he wanted to open it. He knew what it was.. but, he just couldn't explain it.
Taking a deep breath he eased the book open, eyes drifting almost immediately to the fading images of his parents, how despite their lack of luster still waved from within their framed pasts. His breath hitched a little and he shook his head, looking around the room for a brief second before focusing back down. As he flipped the pages back and forth, he thought of the things Remus had told him. The escapades with his friends. The lengths he went to for his mother.
It struck him a little odd that he never really asked about his mother. Hardly anyone ever mentioned her either, except in the comment "but he has his mother's eyes." It made him feel a little guilty. Maybe he only wanted to know about his father because, well because that was who he was always compared too. He wanted to know just how alike they really were. Though, from what he heard it was hardly at all aside from appearance. Perhaps if the war hadn't happened, they'd have more. Or, perhaps if he just hadn't died. He never had anyone to tell him good pranks or jokes. And even if he already knew, he had nobody to share it with. He was just an awkward kid, ridiculed for his 'freak' behavior and odd appearance.
He sniffled and looked up toward the ceiling, closing the album and his eyes simaltaneously, taking several deep breaths. Things were different now though. He had friends and people to care for and who cared for him. Even.. even some people who considered him family. But there would always be those who pushed away any thought that he had emotions, and looked at him as 'the boy who lived and 'Harry Potter'. He knew those people weren't worth bothering with but it still hurt. To think some people looked at him as nothing more then a zoo exhibit. He wondered for a moment if Dumbledore had ever felt like that but decided against it. Dumbledore had a great deal of respect attached to his name. Harry was just a kid. He didn't quite understand that, but the people were always right, weren't they?
He sighed and lowered his head, once more returning to his silent position, turning over the various thoughts in his head and giving a whispered wish for some sort of escape.