Disclaimer: I don not own Harry Potter, so my name is not J.K. Rowling. Hmmm...how did you guess?

A/N: Hi there. I was in a real writing mood. My fingers were typing demons! Sweet! But my hands are still cold...

You know, you would think that I wouldn't even flinch at ripping off a Band-Aid, since I've endured countless Cruciatus Curses.

You would think that, after seeing a man's body blown to bloody smithereens by a Reductor Curse and not flinching I would be able to do something other than crouch around the toilet, too disgusted to move, when I have a stomach bug.

You would think that hurting someone's feelings is nothing to me, now that I've killed Voldemort.

You would think that it's easy for me to forgive, now that I've forgiven Severus Snape for maintaining his appearance as a Death Eater, by killing Dumbledore.

But then, you would think that I find a simple, home-cooked meal disgusting after eating at the Feasts of Hogwarts.

All of these assumptions are wrong. I'm just a normal man. Those events of the past have faded into mere memory, stored in a Pensieve. Sometimes, yes, sometimes, they come back to me as fresh and raw as when they were first produced. But those too fade again into the outer reaches of my mind.

The only reminder I have of those times now is my missing hand.

I am old now. Yes, happy. Happy and respected, revered even. There is no one left of my original friends, though. They are gone. They have succumbed to time and death.

Red-headed Ron, lanky, tall, sometimes thick. He was in love with Hermione for so long, so long. Until they finally got married ten years after the defeat of Voldemort, may that evil thing rot in his grave.

Hermione. The hair comes to mind first, the bushy brown hair. Then the mind underneath it appears in my memories. The most brilliant witch I have ever seen, even to this day.

Neville. Lionheart, he was called in the end. He did not die of time. He was taken by a troupe of Death Eaters, standing between them and a scared huddle of muggle children.

Luna Lovegood, Loony Lovegood. Our staunchest ally.

Ginny.

Ginny is the one I miss most, beautiful Ginny, with her red hair whipping around her when she gets angry.

My Ginny. My love.

I'll be joining them all soon. Everybody I've loved in the beginning have died. At least I have my great-great-grandchildren.

Little tykes with red hair and green eyes, all of them. At least, the girls. All the boys have messy black hair and brown eyes.

It will be sad to leave them. But when I do, they'll be freer to get on without the shadow of the famous Harry Potter hanging over them.

I know that my time has come, is coming swiftly. So I take pleasure in worldly things: the grass under bare feet, cool breezes on a hot day, a simple home-cooked meal, the healthy pain of ripping off a scab.

My time is coming. I have evaded it too long, for one excuse after another. I have to put the Ministry back together. My grand-daughter is having her first child. I need to teach another generation wandless magic, so they may pass it on.

But now…now I rest in my bed as I write this, catching glimpses of the far green shores that await me. Those shores call out to me, and soon I will go. My children, my grandchildren, descendants—whoever reads this once I am gone—I am not happy to go, but go I must, and I will be happy to arrive at those shores.

For on that green grass, I see Ginny waiting, waving at me. I see her holding little Baby Fred, who never made it past birth. I will be happy to arrive, and be at peace.

Farewell.

My life has been good. May yours be too.

A/N (#2!): Wow, I'm cool. I hope that this wasn't too cheesy. Bye.