She saw him everyday, even though he didn't know.
Sometimes, she would be the cloaked old witch with spotted white-gray hair, shakily bent over a crooked oak cane as she toppled after him. Sometimes, she would be the unsuspecting customer in The Three Broomsticks, sitting in the table next to him, caressing his back with her eyes as she watched him gobble down what meager items he could afford. Still other times, she would be a new neighbour, a passerby, a beggar on the street… she always tried to see him at least once each day.
Her profession as a field Auror made it easy for her to move about the country. She was free to go anywhere within her assigned area. She chose to follow him.
Then one day, he was gone. Gone on some assignment for the Order, she was told, gone to persuade werewolves to join forces with the side of Light.
That night, she received a letter. It was full of phrases such as "too old for you" and "too poor to support you." But to her, the letter only repeated one line over and over: I love you.
She picked up her quill and wrote back.
She saw him everyday, and he knew it.
She'd been old, young, tall, short, fat, skinny… everything. But she was always there, by his side, at least once per day. It wasn't as if he couldn't call her out. She had been too intent on covering her natural scent that she forgot to conceal her other quirks. His sharp sense of smell may have been deceived, but his eyes knew a klutzy young witch when he saw one, white-hair or brown-haired, with or without facial warts.
Still, he pretended not to notice. He wasn't a good match for her; he would never be. But he was drawn—dare he say attracted?—to her. These daily anonymous encounters were perfect. It gave them the illusion of being together.
Illusion was the most a werewolf could ever hope for.
When Dumbledore sent him away as an ambassador to werewolf colonies, he realised that the illusion was over. He sent her an owl, thinking it would resolve everything. He didn't expect such a quick reply.
I don't care if you're too old, too poor, or too dangerous. I. Don't. Care. And when you come back from your mission, I'll tell you the same thing over and over again until you believe I mean what I say. Because you will come back safely from the mission, you will.
He placed the letter securely inside his robes. This was only the first day of his mission, and already, he wanted to go home.