Chapter Text
Twitching a hand haphazardly to pick at the hem of his shirt, Grant sat silently at the kitchen table, reading over the electric bill for the record shop. He dragged his index finger, aching with the sting of a papercut, along the page as he meticulously scanned every word for discrepancies. Literacy is a sham, Grant thought, all that comes of words on paper are bills and papercuts.
Well.
So do newspapers, and foster care papers, and letters, and-
Maybe it isn’t such a sham, Grant conceded. But he still cursed it all as he stood to walk to the bathroom to grab a plaster.
Shit. They were out, and no sad, old cardboard boxes of forgotten plasters were found strewn in the back of any cupboards, nor was any ointment. Grant berated himself; a house full of children and no plasters? A recipe for imminent disaster. Too quickly to push it down, a memory surfaced of when Grant’s bathroom was full of bandages and ointment and gauze, ready to clean and wrap Remus’s wounds, ready to gently pick the blood and grime and dirt out of his hair and push him into the shower to wash it all off.
Now, Grant sharply shut the cabinet and went to grab his wallet and keys, scribbling down a quick note to whoever would wonder where he was off to and left, shutting the creaking door gently behind him.
He picked up what he needed at the pharmacy, but also grabbed two chocolate bars: one for him and one for Marcus.
Deciding to take a detour that would give him some much-needed peace of mind, Grant skipped the turn that led to home and continued on until he arrived at the record shop, shooting a loving glance at the weather-worn sign that hung above the doorway.
The shop was bustling, people chattering about the space, dragging their feet on the rough carpet as they slowly perused the stacks of records. The sounds of conversations, the shuffling of records, and the soft but persistent beat of whatever music was playing at the moment filled the crowded space, engulfing Grant with a sense of pride at what he and Marcus were able to do with the shop. The atmosphere instantly brightened his mood and he walked over to the backroom, greeting Marcus with a quick kiss and a shining smile.
“Hiya, love.”
“Hi. You good? What are you doing here?”
“Just thought I’d pop in for a moment, give you a glimpse of my ugly mug to better your day.”
“More like ruin my day by distracting me with your gorgeous face, you little shit,” Marcus grinned, poking Grant in his dimple.
“Whatever you say, love, I’m a blessing.”
“That you are,” Marcus smiled. “That you really are.”
Grant reached out and ruffled his hair, playfully pulling at a strand as Marcus swatted him off and gave him a soft push towards the door.
“There was someone asking for you a few minutes ago, go see if she’s still there. Blonde hair, real pretty and all. You expecting her?”
Grant shook his head, confused, but nevertheless left the room and went to seek out this mystery woman. He went behind the counter and waited, scanning the room for a peek of blonde hair when suddenly a rush of it came walking up to him, briskly stepping across the creaky floor.
“Mr. Chapman?” the woman asked.
“Yeah, love, how can I help you?” Grant smiled warily, still a little caught off guard.
“Teddy told me you’d be here. I’ve been looking for you, Mr. Chapman,” she said, wringing her hands together.
Grant’s eyes widened. “Teddy sent you?”
“Yes, but I- but I’ve been trying to find you since…” she trailed off, looking awkwardly at Grant, as if she had imagined this encounter many times before but was lost past the initial greeting.
Suddenly, Grant understood. He saw the weight of old pain in the girl’s eyes, the slump of her shoulders, the faint scars on her skin.
“Teddy isn’t the first Lupin to tell you about me, is he?” Grant asked carefully, reaching out his hand to rest it on the counter palm-up, offering the calloused hold it to the woman.
She grasped his hand and nodded, her willowy fingers pressing into the sharper edges of his bones.
“Was he your...teacher?” Grant asked, not sure how to go about it all and reluctant to assume the lady’s age.
“Yes,” she looked grateful for the prompt. “He was my professor in my second year. And he was my first friend.”
“Mine, too.”
They shared a smile.
Then it clicked, and Grant remembered.
“Well shit, you’re Luna Lovegood, aren’t you?” he cringed slightly at his outburst, but Luna lit up, her demeanor changing entirely.
“He told you about me?” she asked, beaming. “He told me all about you, Mr. Chapman, er, Grant.”
“All good things, I hope,” smirked Grant, squeezing Luna’s hand for a beat in comfort.
“Only good, Mr. Chapman, only ever good,” she paused. “I saw a few of his letters and just how… how he spoke of you… he loved you. So, so much.”
Grant’s eyes watered.
“I know, love. I know. Thank you.” His throat ached with the familiar burning pain that filled it. “He adored you, Luna.”
She laughed, the sound choked by her teared-up state. “I know. Me too, I know.”
They sat silently for a moment, just taking each other in, putting a name and face to the memories and stories.
“So, Teddy? You’ve helped look after the lad, then?”
“Of course. He’s wonderful, isn’t he?”
“He is. I’m glad he told you where to find me, Luna, you really are welcome here anytime, please pop in once in a while, just to put a smile on this old man’s face,” Grant winked, friendly.
“Grant!” Luna admonished, laughing. “I’d be most happy to. Teddy did just get me a record player, so I’d reckon we’d have much to talk about besides our shared.. history.”
“Oh, if you’re as clueless as that Sirius was about Muggle music, then I’m sure we have hours of conversation that awaits us, Ms. Lovegood. Your first record is free, on me. Friends and family discount.”
Luna beamed and loosened her grip on Grant’s hand as she reached into her brightly colored bag. “Speaking of gifts for new friends, Mr. Chapman, I have something for you.”
“Oh?”
She pulled out a pair of eccentric, pink glasses with strangely shiny lenses and protruding squiggles on the frames and said, “For you. The shop could have a wrackspurt infestation and you’d never be the wiser. Always good to be prepared.”
“Why of course,” Grant drawled. “I could never risk a… wrackspurt infestation.”
A pause.
“Wrackspurt?”
Luna explained, “Tiny creatures, float in through one’s ears. The infected becomes confused and loses focus.”
“Nasty little buggers, eh?” Grant proudly put the glasses on. “Thanks, love. How do I look?” He posed, grinning.
“Lovely,” said Luna.
“Brilliant,” replied Grant. He grabbed a scrap of paper from the counter and scribbled out his address. “Come find me, or write, or if you just need anything, Luna, you know where to look for me now.”
Luna took the paper and locked eyes with Grant, staring at him in an intense, but strangely calming manner.
“Thank you, Grant,” she sighed, finally, then pulled him into a sudden hug.
Grant melted into it, crooking his head into her shoulder.
They parted, and Luna walked towards the door.
“I’ll see you soon, promise!”
“Can’t wait, love!”
And with a final wave, she left.
Grant sat back down at the counter, overwhelmed. He took the glasses off, carefully putting them in a clean cloth bag and tucking them into his drawer. He picked up the pen he used to jot his address down and fiddled with it, accidentally bumping it against his forgotten papercut. Looking down at his finger, he noticed a small note by his hand. A written phone number and address, with Luna’s initials delicately outlined in a thin cursive.
He huffed out a small laugh. One more win in favor of words on paper.