Disclaimer: Don't own anything

Arthur's note: I wrote this when I was bored being stuck inside on a rainy day. One-shot.

Wounds

I saw an envelope sitting on a small table in the corner of the room. Picking it up I collapsed into an armchair in front of the fireplace. The envelope was made out of thick, slightly tattered parchment. On the back I saw a deep red blotch of wax acting like a seal. There was no stamp in the wax so it bore little identification. On the front in Indian black ink there were two words 'To Ginny'

I grinned sheepishly and ripped the seal open. I unfolded the thin piece of parchment and stared at the message.

 Dear Ginny,

No doubt, if you are reading this then the end has come for me. I can only hope it was for a good cause and it wasn't too lengthy. Believe me death is not as bad as it may seem.

War as a frightening thing, it breeds and thrives on the pain and suffering. For me the pain of my wounds is too deep, they would take decades to heal, if they do at all. Even then I will be left with scars deep, ugly, aching scars. Don't pity me. I had more then my share of that in my life.

Talking about life, mine has not been the longest, I am not Dumbledore after all. My time on this earth was short, but it was special. I largely owe that to you. I have never told you, I should have. There were times when I wanted to, but I could never gather my courage. I am sorry; you know I am a hopeless romantic. I do want you to know now; I always loved you, with all my heart.

But please, please Ginny. Don't bend your mind on what is gone and forget to live. I would loathe to see to see someone like you waste your youth mourning for me. I am only one person out of billions, I am dead also. You are a beautiful woman, you deserve to be loved and there are many people who you can turn to.

Look forward; don't look back,

Harry

Finishing reading I sighed, although I was tired I didn't feel like sleeping. Ginny would never have to read that letter. I scrunched up the parchment and threw it into the fire. No one had to know that Harry Potter was prepared to die; no one had to know he actually accepted his fate.

The last battle was not in Hogwarts as most predicted, but in a small Muggle town just outside of London. It ended in victory, but not without sacrifices. Even a week after the battle, there were wounded lying in hospitals all around the country, some of them would never recover. I couldn't remember who said 'There can be no victory without suffering', somehow I was sure it was a Muggleborn who was responsible. It was a pity to admit, every word was true.

As I quietly watched the fire dance, flowing smoothly from one colour to another, I realized I was drifting off. I had hardly slept for a month; the preparations for the battle took weeks. Strategies had to be made, spy reports had to be collected, troops had to be trained. A war was a bad dream for even a simple Auror, but it turned into pure torture for a person caught in the middle, actually in charge of human lives. No matter what the others assured me, I always felt responsible for every wound, every mortality.

As a child I had become caught up in the fight. As an adult I couldn't leave it, Voldemort seemed to rule my every thought. Somewhere along the line I stopped being an innocent and became the general who sent his men to death without a second thought.

In truth I was only a showcase with little real power, the Ministry and Hogwarts controlled most of my actions. The power hungry people who ate off the troubles of others and if anything went wrong none would admit would admit it was their fault. Sometimes I felt like a puppet being pushed around on invisible strings and neglected by his superiors. The public however assumed I was responsible.

I had to admit, if not for those few who ere the closest to me I would have cracked a long time ago. The constant violence, the frustration, the despair, it nearly killed me at times. Obviously, I wasn't the only one on a verge of a breakdown.

Now it was all over. Voldemort and most of his Death Eaters were dead. The few who remained alive were waiting their trials in Azkaban. My task was finished; I could finally get on with my own life. Fighting Darkness had little glamour in itself and was heavily overrated. I have found that out a long time ago, I had more then enough of it by now. But I did have the wonder if I could actually ever become a normal person. When I was younger I had dreamt of having a small, close nit family; a wife, two or three children. Now I knew precisely whom I wanted to share that fantasy with.

The future looked bright for Harry Potter, now all he had to do was to live it.

Arfean, 2004