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You first met her in the Order of the Phoenix. She was bubbly, amazingly bright, and unusual. But that was to be expected. After all, she was apprentice to Mad-Eye Moody.
When you were assigned on missions with her, you would engage in deep conversations about your lives. You felt a bit of shame and embarrassment when you admitted to your struggles due to your "furry little problem." You thought that she would outright reject you - not as a love interest or anything like that - but as a friend and as a person. You didn't even see yourself as much of a person. - Especially on nights of the full moon.
But she loved you anyway.
Her bubble-gum pink hair was sometimes long and curly. The strands bounced with every spring in her step. Oftentimes, her bubble-gum pink hair was a bob; as if to make herself appear older despite the youthful choice of colour and her own youthful demeanor. Other times, she had mousy brown hair, and you wondered what it meant.
One night after a mission, it became clear to you. She was in love with you just as much as you were unwilling to admit your love for her.
Because deep down, you knew that you were too old for her.
But she loved you anyway.
When you looked at the Weasleys at the dining table, you were happy for them. They may not have much, and they may always struggle in terms of finances, but they were always there for each other and somehow made ends meet.
However, despite being happy for them, deep down you were always envious of them. You wondered for brief moments about what would happen if Mr. Weasley lost his job for the use of magic in the muggle world. You wondered if Mrs. Weasley would leave him because of that.
For whatever godforsaken reason, you asked Mrs. Weasley about it one early night when everyone went off to bed. Your insomnia and Mrs. Weasley's need to clean the Order's hideout from top to bottom before she could 'rest easy' gave you the opportunity.
Mrs. Weasley's answer was what you had expected all along: She would fight tooth and nail to support her husband's case. And even if all else became lost, she would find more employment for herself.
She smiled a knowing smile at you and told you that when it came to love, even if there were great struggles, at least they were still together. Her loyalty and love was almost too much to bare.
Mrs. Weasley was very kind.
You wondered if Tonks was the same, even though you knew the answer to that question deep down, too.
You knew that you were too poor for Tonks.
But she loved you anyway.
It had never been easy during nights of the full moon. In your howling pain and fever dreams, you remembered the Shrieking Shack. The ground was hard and cold and stained with your very own blood and the blood of those poor sods who happened to be foolish enough to commit themselves to a dare.
Even years and years later, when you were much more older and much more poorer, nothing had really changed. You laid in your bedchambers, with sweat drenching your nightclothing. There was less blood because of the Wolfsbane potions you had ordered from Severus. Although very costly, the potions made it all a little bit better. You had more control of your mind because of them.
However, when you could no longer afford the Wolfsbane potions, Severus had no reason to produce them for you. He didn't owe you a single thing, and you knew that he would never aid you out of the goodness of his heart. -If there was goodness in his heart with which to begin.
You endured the pain without the potions. You took deep breathes to calm your own mind and bloodlust. Yet eventually, you lost yourself - just like so many months and years prior - to the fever dreams.
In one of those dreams, you thrashed on the wooden floor of your bedchamber. You had a death-grip on the floor boards as if to prevent yourself from lashing out on whoever was at the door.
When you managed to turn and face the person, she had mousy brown hair and a look of worry - not fear - on her face.
You struggled to speak as she approached you in your wolf-like form. You tried so, so desperately to tell her as she placed a pacifying hand upon your forehead and down your back. You shivered - either from the fever or from her touch, you did not know. You continued to struggle and struggle and struggle. You had to tell her.
Because you knew that you were too dangerous for her.
But she loved you anyway.
It was the night of the final battle, and you intended to go without her.
When she appeared before you, her mousy brown hair blowing in the wind of battle and as beautiful and deadly and breathtaking as it always was despite no longer being bubble-gum pink, her words were, "It's you who needs me tonight."
And you realized that the meaning went both ways. You had always needed her, as she needed you.
She fought fiercely, unrelentingly, passionately. For it was a cause in which she believed.
Engaged in combat, side by side, you fight the darkness together for a chance of brighter future.
You had always known that you were too old, too poor, and too dangerous for her.
But she loved you anyway.
And you loved her just as much.