The tall, stately woman walked up to the front of the gathering, head held high in pride and solemn grief, tears evident in her eyes, even though not one fell.

"My darling Nymphadora," she began, "there is so much I want to say about her that I do not know where to begin. I still remember the day she was born. There she was, this wrinkly little baby with brown hair, and the moment she saw me, her hair immediately changed to match mine. That was the moment I knew that she was more special than even I could imagine.

Throughout her life, Dora took my breath away. She grew into a better, stronger woman than I could have ever hoped for. We had our share of difference, like any mother and daughter. I remember being particularly against her decision to join the Aurors, but we always knew that we could count on our love for each other.

When Dora came and told me that she had fallen in love with and was going to marry Remus Lupin, I must admit that I was not very happy about it. She was my baby, and I could not imagine seeing her married to a man who I had seen grow from child to adult, a man who was not only thirteen years older than her, but a werewolf with no monetary prospects for giving my baby a comfortable life. Indeed, there was a part of me that hated him for having stolen her heart. As far as I was concerned, she deserved better. Much better. She deserved a man who could lay the riches of the world in her lap. But she loved him, and so I stayed quiet. Rightly so, as it turned out. Despite my misgivings, the two of them were a beautiful couple, deeply in love and utterly devoted to each other.

My daughter was only twenty-five when she died. Her son was barely a few weeks old. She should not have been taken from us so early. She had her whole life in front of her when the woman who was once my sister cut her down without mercy. Over and over people tell me that the only way to let go of my anger over my daughter's death is find a way to forgive Bellatrix Lestrange, but I will never be able to. Maybe it will mean that I will suffer for the rest of my life, but forgiving the person who stole my pride and joy away from me will be something I will never be capable of.

Dora would have disagreed, of course. She was always the more kind-hearted of the two of us. But I cannot –"

Here Andromeda Tonks was unable to continue, and after staying strong for so long as she gave the eulogies for both her husband and son-in-law along with that of her daughter, finally broke down.

At that moment, Molly Weasley, another mother whose heart had been broken by the war, hurried to the front to take the woman into her arms, returning with her to their seats.

As Andromeda left, the old, tufty haired little wizard who was conducting the last rites appeared at the podium once again.

"Thank you, Mrs. Tonks," he began, speaking to the quiet sea of mourners, "for those words in the memory of a life snatched away from us too soon. It is now time to release the sprits of our loved ones from our hearts so that they might find peace in knowing that our grief at their loss is lighter."

Turning to face the biers of the lost heroes, he flicked his wand and murmured as spell under his breath.

As the silent audience watched, not a dry eye in the house, the long line of biers caught fire simultaneously, burning with the greenish glow usually seen in the funeral pyres of dying phoenixes.

And as the flames reached their highest, the fire started to take a visible form. Slowly, ever so slowly, a majestic phoenix was clearly visible to anyone looking upon the inferno, the crackling and dancing of the flames making it seem as though it was alive.

It was booth a symbol of those they had lost in the war, along with being a reminder that even though their grief was profound, that grief would someday pass. And just like the phoenix is always reborn, staying alive until it chose its death itself, the memory of the dead would always remain with them, both in hearts of those who had loved them, and the faces of the generation that would come after them, the brothers, sisters, children, nieces and nephews of the men and women who gave their lives for freedom. The dead would always remain with them as long as they were given a place in the hearts of those who were still alive.

For:

The Big Sis/Lil'Sis Competition

The If You Dare Challenge, Prompt 647. Door of the Dead

Weasley-Potter-Prewitt Challenge, George Weasley

Colors Competition, White (positive)