A/N: Long-time fan, first-time writer.
Anyways, the story- it's a plotless drabble that basically retells key points from the series in a funny format, but at least it's something. I hardly ever write nowadays.
Disclaimer: Lucius Malfoy is my bitch. And Voldemort's. And Narcissa's. Lucius is everyone's bitch.
Windows
When a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle examines his flawlessly conjured false window in the Slytherin dungeons, he is cold and clinical in his observations. Notes are made on the few minute technical imperfections in the charm, any beauty and grace in the natural landscape ignored. Tom also dully notes the window is still opaque, the realistic image merely superimposed onto the preexisting brick wall of the common room if one squints.
Tom does not need to note the scene in the window will always be fake, no matter how flawlessly cast it is.
When Severus Snape feels the frigid, unrelenting burn of the Dark Lord's wand tracing the permanent embellishment into his forearm, the faintest of doubts flit through his mind. Severus wonders what Lily would think- but the matter is irrelevant. The girls he once loved named Lily, the exemplary muggleborn student who would read obscure muggle literature atop the window-sills gazing onto the quidditch pitch despite her burning hatred for the sport, is gone. The mudblood called Evans is of no consequence, and Severus repeats this to himself as the Dark Lord releases his arm, now welcoming him as his servant in that chilling serpentine caress of a voice.
Severus bows, kisses the hem of his Lord's robes, then retreats to stand amongst the other faceless robed figures.
Alice Longbottom sees a lot of windows. Nowadays she's always in a painfully plain, vividly white room with a white bed that she sleeps in and large, clear windows leading to nowhere. She'd wonder where the other colors went in the world, but her mind does not focus long enough on a single thought to make it coherent.
Alice does not remember how she got to the white world or why she is still there or who she is or where she came from, but she misses Neville all the same. Most of the time she has never heard of a 'Neville' in her life, but some days her erratic memory functions again and she thinks for a split second that she might know him. No matter when, though, she misses her little Neville.
Neville dutifully visits his parents, even when they do not recognize him and only press useless, crumpled candy wrappers into his hand. He still visits them and tells them of his skepticism over his own magic, tells them of the visits from his aunts and uncles, and tells them of his unexpected penchant for gardening.
He keeps the candy wrappers in a wooden locked box by the window.
Harry Potter gazes yearningly out the little barred window on the door of his cupboard at the dinner leftovers the Dursleys have left on the table, the three now lounging lazily in the living room in front of the telly.
He soon forces his freakish stare from the sight of the proper family and forces nonchalance. No good, wasteful freaks are not allowed to wish for such things.
Ron Weasley watches through the window as Errol flies off with Harry's twelfth birthday present and finds himself pondering his enigmatic friend. Harry Potter had been completely different from the Boy-Who-Lived that Ron had expected- but in a good way. He fancies himself Harry's closest friend, yet suddenly the realization strikes the preteen that he really knows nothing of the scrawny soon-to-be-second year at all. And for the first time in his life, Ron Weasley finds himself thinking on behalf of someone other than himself. He wonders what Harry thinks of his status in the wizarding world. He wonders is Harry feels like he fits into the magical society. He wonders if Harry knows of all the things, good and not so good, the magical world says about him.
He wonders if Harry is having a twelfth birthday party right now.
When Sirius Black stares unseeingly through the bleak, tiny window hole at the top of his meager Azkaban prison cell, his only discernable thought is Wormtailwormtailwormtailkillhimkillhimkillhim. Wormtail must die. The rat is alive. Sirius Black will kill him. He'll do anything to kill him, to avenge his friend, for vengeance-
Sometimes, when the dementors' presences are not quite to strong, Sirius thinks briefly of other things, too. Vague whisper-memories of a time long ago, a bright image with a mischievous friend named James and a scholarly werewolf named Remus and a pudgy, endearing boy named Peter. But James is dead and Remus is alone and Peter is gone.
Wormtail killed them. Sirius would break out of Azkaban Prison to kill Wormtail.
Peter Pettigrew fixes the wards on a window in his Master's manor and finds himself musing over things that will never happen. For reasons he does not know, he wonders what his life would've been like if he had never sought out the Dark Lord. Would he really be dead? But what if James and Lily and Sirius and Remus had protected him, kept him from the Dark? Would Peter be the adored 'Uncle Wormtail' to a healthier, happier Harry Potter? Would James and Lily be alive, would Sirius have never gone to prison and fallen through the Veil, would Remus be with the Marauders' company each full moon?
Peter doubtfully reminds himself that he would most certainly have died in the First War had he not sought out the 'right' side. Then he grabs his left forearm and hisses in pain as his Master calls for him, and he decides he picked the right side of the war after all.
Draco Malfoy is certain he is not doing the right thing.
Draco has had his doubts since the Dark Mark had been burned forever into his skin just months prior. He has doubts every time his hands shake and he fumbles with the charms on the Vanishing Cabinet, as he does now. But he must serve the Dark Lord as his father and grandfather did before him, and if the Dark Lord's reign lasts long enough, as his own son will after him. He cannot risk death and he cannot risk his family to the wrath of the Dark Lord. For that, he must kill Albus Dumbledore.
A tiny part of Draco still can't help but hope Harry Potter actually defeats the Dark Lord and frees them all. A larger part of Draco, the part ruled by the ebony burn mark on his arm, tells him to shut up.
Albus Dumbledore sees the approaching Death Eaters first through the one-way window on his office door. He knows who let them in, he'd known they'd inevitably come, and he rises from his desk one final time, looking every one of his one-hundred and fifteen years.
Albus knows the bloodiest war the Wizarding War will ever see has truly begun. He mindlessly runs a finger over his charred, cursed arm and wonders who will survive.
The Death Eater named Antonin Dolohov grins madly under his mask in the midst of the battle. The mutt is dead, the werewolf is dead- the Boy-Who-Lived will soon be dead as well. His Lord's victory is assured. Unlike Snape and Malfoy, the traitors, Dolohov knows he is serving the right side of the war. Unlike them, he will do anything to serve his Lord, and he knows he is doing the right thing.
Dolohov can sense the war is almost over.
Albus Severus Potter presses his forehead against the window pane on the accelerating Hogwarts Express, his eager breath fogging the glass as he waves an enthusiastic goodbye to his parents and sister at the platform. Across from him, his new friend Scorpius Malfoy calmly watches his own retreating parents' collected forms. When the platform is finally out of sight, Al turns back to his friend and offers a Chocolate Frog.
The war has been over for almost two decades. Scorpius Malfoy accepts the candy and casually muses out loud whether 'a Death Muncher ever tried to get Voldemort onto a Card'. Al laughs and shrugs, opening his own Chocolate Frog.
The Dark Lord's name has not been taboo for nineteen years, and all is well.
Thanks for reading!