Title: The Last Mission
Author: Pheo
Summary: This was it. It all came down to what would happen today. Written for the January rt challenge (prompt 2, lyrics below).

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The ice age is coming, the sun is zooming in
Engines stop running, the wheat is growing thin
A nuclear error, but I have no fear
'Cause London is drowning and I, I live by the river
- London Calling, The Clash

"Tonks."

She looked up from her perch on the window seat, the bayed glass already fogging from where her breaths had touched the pane. Even with the woolen layers beneath her robes, her body felt as if her blood itself were frozen.

"Wotcher." Her smile was strained, even if aimed at the one person who could always make her produce one.

Remus' face, though always lined, was particularly strained, and his scars seemed more pronounced against his almost-white face. The past few months had rendered his fading hair more gray than brown, and if he grew any thinner, his trousers would likely fall off—belt or no belt.

Despite Molly's efforts, they'd all lost a bit of meat this year. Between dueling, dementor patrols, and especially the recent werewolf riots, nobody had much of an appetite. Even at Christmas, when Kingsley had surprised them all with his culinary skills and made a dinner fit for the entire Ministry, nobody could manage to consume much; after Scrimgeour's kidnapping, the Death Eaters had made sure no one had any holiday spirit. Within the Order itself, heavy losses struck deeply—particularly through the death of Mad-Eye Moody.

The majority had a loss of some kind—Charlie Weasley now sported a magic leg after a brutal battle with a giant, and the destruction of Hestia Jones' mind through a Cruciatus Curse was performed by none other than Bellatrix Lestrange. Even Remus sported a fresh scar that ran even more deeply than the others across his body—a jagged slash down the side of his throat from a badly-aimed hex from Wormtail—whom Remus had killed himself, wandlessly.

Tonks absently rubbed her left knee as she stared at him now. If not for magic, she surely wouldn't be an Auror any longer—let alone even have her leg in tact itself. She had been in St. Mungo's recovering from a nasty new curse that had been developed; it had already eaten part of the bone in her knee before they could stop it. Once she had been released, she had been greeted by a bloody, haggard Remus, holding a chain that belonged to his old Maraudering friend. They hadn't the time to offer comfort or commiseration; both were back to fighting that night.

But Death Eater ranks had fallen even more quickly; with the Ministry working against them, more Aurors were put to the task of their capture. But after the last war, the "take no prisoner" creed seemed to be the code lived by and more Death Eaters were destroyed than detained—along with countless other creatures, including werewolves whom Remus had met during his time underground. Tonks knew that if a day came when they could dwell upon such things, the guilt he would undoubtedly feel from that would consume him.

"Time to go." Remus held a hand out to her, and she accepted it. She knew he had to be scared, too; she was terrified. But his eyes still held that fight, that battle cry, the same that filled her own heart still. No matter the losses, no matter the hardships, she knew they were on the side of good—and even if something happened, good would still prevail.

It had to.

Her morphing abilities had suffered but were nonetheless still present, and it was time for what might be their very last mission together. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had found the very last Horcrux, and a decoy was needed if they were to infiltrate Voldemort's den.

The two Apparated to downtown London, where Kingsley Shacklebolt was hiding with two flasks of Polyjuice Potion. One was for himself—and one was for Remus. The decoy would have to be timely and quick; Harry would have mere seconds on his side if Voldemort even remotely fell for the trick. But the Order had to do whatever it could to help him destroy the Dark Lord—and sacrifices would have to be made.

As the wizards drank down their potions, coughing as quietly as they could—Remus managed to down his a bit more easily than Kingsley—Tonks took out the picture of Hermione from her robes and concentrated very, very hard. As she watched the red hair sprout on top of Kingsley's bald head, and the scars across Remus' face disappear only to be replaced with a single, lightning-bolt shaped one upon his forehead, she felt herself shorten, and bushy, blond-brown curls whispered past her ears.

The fog pushed itself around them, and even as it hid their bodies, it hid much more sinister shapes moving about in the night. Though the sun was beginning to rise, its light had yet to reach the streets of London.

"We have three minutes," Kinglsey's booming voice sounded almost comical coming from Ron Weasley's mouth.

Remus stared at her from Harry Potter's face, and Tonks leaned in to brush her lips across his.

"That is so wrong," Kingsley said dryly.

"Whatever happens," Remus rasped.

Tonks shook her head. "This is what we're fighting for, Remus." She pressed her forehead to his.

"You are always what I fight for, Nympahdora." He kissed her temple, and closed his eyes.

Kingsley turned his head away, clearing his throat. His watch flashed red. "It's time."