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When that damn flower shop had gone in next door to his tattoo parlor, Fenrir had been annoyed. It was much too sweet and too girly and it didn't really fit in with the ambiance he had going at his own shop. The flower shop was all sunshine, sugar, and roses and he was more black leather, spice and motorcycles.
The flower shop had an equally annoying flower shop girl owner, who irritated him just as much. She was puny compared to his size, and did everything she could to shrink away from attention, except do something about that wild hair of hers that was impossible not to notice. It didn't take a whole lot to realize that she was terrified of him, based on the way that her body leaned away from him, always. It was as if she were afraid he would brush up against her, dirtying her very soul.
Fenrir hated that.
That was until the day that the owner made an appointment to come get a tattoo. Now, he'd seen flower shop girl every morning for the past six months seeing as they both opened their shops at the same time of day, and closed around the same time too, and Miss Priss was the last person he could have imagined coming to get a tattoo from him.
Still, she'd come through his doors that day — on her lunch break she'd nervously told him — and asked for a consultation. He wasn't entirely sure why he agreed to it, knowing that it was just going to take him time and energy to draw up whatever silly design she wanted, only to have her chicken out from getting the actual tattoo.
She'd nibbled her lip, pulling down the sleeves of her ratty old cardigan which was at least two sizes too big for her while she sat in the chair through her consultation. Hermione — her name was Hermione, he'd learned — told him that she wanted a few flowers across the inside of her wrist, and he'd tried to talk her out of it, thinking it would be more painful than she could handle. He knew girls like her, who just wanted something cute, only to panic when the pain was too great, but the ink was already under their skin.
"No, you don't understand," she's said, pushing her sleeve up and shoving her hand in his larger one, completely unphased by his touching her for once.
He almost didn't realize what he was looking at at first, but everything quickly came into focus. There, plain as day, was a silvery scar standing out from her skin. Fenrir rubbed his fingertips over the word carved into her impossibly small wrist. "Mudblood? What does that mean?" he asked.
She didn't shrink back from him, instead squaring her shoulders. "Just a little souvenir from my ex-boyfriend's family…they wanted me to remember that I would always just be working class...mud compared to them."
Fenrir was sure that his face was horrified at the thought of someone, anyone, harming this woman. "Was he worth it?" he found himself asking. He looked down at the colorful inks he'd gathered, horrified at his asking such an impertinent question.
To his surprise, she just laughed, a bitter little laugh. "No, Draco was...well, he was useless, really. He just stood there watching me, while his aunt pinned me down and carved into me with this knife," Hermione whispered. "We broke up not long after that, when I realized I'd never be able to trust him...feel safe around him again."
He nodded. "I don't blame you." He looked up at her, his breath caught in his throat at the sight of light brown irises observing his every move with interest. She was really quite pretty, he thought, though she tried to cover it up. What intrigued him more was her strength.
She hissed at the first sting of the needle penetrating her skin, but she quickly relaxed under his gentle touch. "You make me feel safe," said, so quietly, Fenrir almost thought that he'd imagined it. "I hardly know you, but I feel like...nothing bad will happen to me with you around."
He wasn't sure what to say to that, so he kept his eyes on her wrist. At that moment, Fenrir realized that Hermione Granger was so much stronger than he'd ever given her credit for. And she wasn't all sunshine, sugar, and roses either. She was trying to move on with her life, taking control of it once again.
A few hours later, with no tears, her scar was hidden amongst the yellow and white centers of some brilliant blue pansies. Three of them. It was really one of the most beautiful pieces he'd ever done. He was almost shocked that he had been able to create something so pure with his large hands, more designed to cause pain than to erase it.
Now that he was done with the tattoo, though, he found he didn't want to let go of her hand just yet. "So…you did say ex-boyfriend, right?" he asked, not feeling like the big tough guy he was. For some reason, he wanted to show her that he was more than just a tattoo artist, too.
Hermione bit her lower lip, trying to hide a smile from him. "Yes."
"Would you like to get a drink later tonight?" he asked tentatively, knowing that their shops closed at similar times. He couldn't remember feeling so nervous about asking a girl on a date, but there was something about the flower shop girl that was different.
"I would love that," she agreed, eager to learn more about the man that Fenrir Greyback was, even if it meant putting herself out on the dating scene for the first time in over six months. Somehow, she thought that Fenrir wasn't really into the typical dating scene, though.
"Great, I'll swing by after close then," he said, actually feeling eager to walk by that damn floral shop for a change.