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Driving the motorbike through a rainstorm was annoying enough, but Sirius could have actually driven it through the café’s large bay window in a fit of rage when he saw the tiny, hand printed sign on the door.
“‘Closed due to inclement weather,’” he sneered, ripping the scrap of parchment down and crumpling it in his hand. The rainwater from his sodden glove seeped into the paper, making the ink bleed. Sirius gave a guttural snarl and launched the paper ball into the street, where it skittered to a stop in front of a pair of well-worn boots.
“That wasn’t the kindest, Padfoot,” said a voice that had more laugh in it than scold. “Now how is anyone else to know they’re closed?”
“Look in a window?” Sirius retorted, striding over to stand with Remus underneath the eaves of the shop opposite. “If they know the difference between lights that are on and lights that are off, I’ll think they’ll be well sorted. But if they’re anything like me, they’ll just be annoyed to have to find a cuppa somewhere else.”
“If they’re anything like you,” Remus grinned, “then they won’t have anyone to blame for being out in this weather, instead of having tea at home like sensible people.”
Sirius glanced around at the empty street before stepping in closer and wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist.
“If they’re anything like me,” he said, a bit wolfishly, “they’ll have a very good person to blame for being out in this weather. But then, I don’t really want them being anything like me.”