Time had made a fool of me once again. I didn't want to believe that at some point there would be a horrid amount of funerals held.

Sometimes, when you believe in something too much, you're met with a resolution that disappoints you. It makes your belief crushed by a piano on fire, falling from the sky at one hundred miles an hour, like in the movies.

Don't stop believing, though. Journeys famous lyrics...

Anyway, I was wearing a black dress that reached down to my knees. It was simple; it had spaghetti straps. With skin color nylons, my black boots made my feet stick out. My finger nails were painted black; my make-up was natural.

With my curly hair up in a bun (it took me forever to actually tame my ringlets and put it in a bun), I wanted to think that I looked fancy.

I had my wand in my boot; Alex Russo from Wizards of Waverly Place would be proud of me.

My legs shook like a building during a small earthquake as I walked down into the kitchen. Grabbing George's hand, the two of us twisted on the spot.

The sudden feeling of being shrunk in a slim tube came to me. My intestines became shoe laces and knotted up. My face was stretching apart as we went; my skin was rubber.

The feeling descended as George and I appeared at the foot of a tombstone.

The tombstone was grey; it had been there for a bit. Maybe sixteen years or so. I looked at the words to see whom it belonged to.

In Script Font, it displayed the names of Harry's parents.

The last enemy to be destroyed is Death.

I scoffed.

Death is not an enemy, and it will never be destroyed. There would too many people in the world than there already is. There would be no history to be made; after all, history is often what those who are dead had a chance to live through.

Death isn't an enemy; it's more like an old friend.

When I die, I will greet Death like an old friend.

•••

My teeth pinched my lip as I tried to make no sound what so ever. I couldn't cry.

Remember...

Conceal. Don't feel. Put on a show. One wrong move and everyone will know...

Nymphadora Tonks' casket was open, and I stood in front of it. Salty tears made my vision blurry as I took my very last look at her.

Her ever-changing hair (which was usually either bubblegum pink or violet) was now a stringy and dull brown color; it would be that way permanently.

Her eyes were closed. Her skin was a little gaunt in a way. She was still. Nothing could ever bring her back. You can't bring back the dead.

I was dragged to a seat up front, next to Aunt Andromeda and Teddy. Near us sat Aunt Cissy and Draco; Lucius was nowhere in sight.

George's eyes caught mine. He and his family, along with Harry and Hermione, sat on the middle of the
enclosed area.

I had been told that I would be speaking; I'd be giving an eulogy.

I was shaking as I made my way up to the podium.

"Uh... I didn't prepare for this, so I'm winging it here," I spoke into the microphone attached to the podium.

"Nymphadora Tonks Lupin. She was my cousin, and basically was one of my best friends in the whole Google Plex.

"Hilarious. Caustic. Amazing. Cool. Jerk at times. Creative. Joyful. Brave. Courageous. Shy. Perky. A metamorphagus. Of course, there's a lot of words that I could use to describe her. Those are just some. I can't say a lot of them, because they're kinda rude and inappropriate. We were each others bitches.

"So, she had a son named Teddy about two months ago with a man whom she loved dearly, Remus Lupin. He was a brave man and lucky to be blessed with the ability of having Tonks. Like my bestie, Teddy is a metamorphagus.

"She died, I mean, that is why we're here, after all. But she died fighting against evil. Against the evil that could make her son have a horrible life in the future.

"Tonks knew the risks that she took. But I honestly believe that she is grateful to be dead. She's grateful to know that she died fighting for a cause that she believed in. Fighting on the good, not for the bad.

"Grateful is another word I could use to describe her.

"I just wish that she could hear me right now. I want her to hear me say that I'm grateful for her. I'm grateful that she and I got along. I'm also grateful that she was always there for me, and knew me better than almost anybody. I'm grateful that she existed.

"I'm also kinda grateful that she's dead. She doesn't have to deal with all of the loss and the pain that every single one of us that we're in the battle feel. She just feels bliss. She's somewhere in oblivion, I guess.

"Over all, Nymphadora Tonks... I miss you. I... I..."

That's when I burst into tears. Releasing all of the feels within me felt good, but embarrassing at the same time.

Tears washed down my face like raindrops rolling down a car window.

I hiccuped.

"I love you, Tonks," I managed to cough out, taking unsteady breaths in between each word.

I went back to my seat, not even bothering to wipe away the tears that this whole war has brought.

•••

The most awkward funeral that I went to was probably the one for Percy Weasley.

I didn't know him at all, and for me that was what made it very awkward. I felt almost as if I should not be here, but I knew that George wanted me here with him.

The one who gave an euology was actually Charlie.

Charlie Weasley was a few years older than Percy; he had the same red hair as his family. I know, surprise, surprise.
He had blue eyes like his father.

Today he wore a black dress robe (everybody was wearing this dark color, and I was waiting for somebody to pop in wearing some sort of neon yellow or such). As he stood at the wooden podium, I could clearly see his blistered hands as he gripped the sides of it.

I didn't really pay attention to his speech; I was too busy staring at the ground.

Despite what my mother had been like, and how she treated me- like I was a rotten piece of a dead fishes flesh- I would still like to see perhaps a tombstone.

That was the emotion I felt deep down, in the very bottom pit of my beating heart.

I didn't know what happen to my father, but I knew he was dead. Years later, I would find that he was in Azkaban.

Excellent. If he deserves anything, he deserves to rot. To become a zombie and decompose.

Be soulless. Oh, wait.

Him and mother were soulless when they were children; when they were little anklebiters.

Anyway, when the funeral was over, I held my boyfriends hand to help him get through this.

I lay my head on his shoulder as they lowered the casket of Percy Weasley into the ground.