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Sirius is walking along the wet cobblestone streets, hands dug into his pockets, hood pulled over his head, when he spots the crooked sign: Café Fortuna —You weren’t looking, but we were waiting.
He’s heard of it, of course.
Everyone had a story about it. A friend of a friend had wandered in during a storm and met their future wife. Someone’s cousin had been in a two year dry streak, walked in, and left holding someone’s hand. Someone’s grandfather met their grandmother there and proposed that same night. A man swore that for an entire year, everyday it rained he walked past its door until one day, he walked in, met his future partner, and never saw the café again.
All the stories are the same: If you meet someone at Café Fortuna on a rainy day, you’ll fall in love.
Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. And yet, Sirius can’t help but be a bit mesmerized by the narrow brick-lined storefront.
The front window glows like a match just struck. Sirius tries to peer through it from where he stands on the cobbles, but the window is fogged over. Sirius can only make out the dark silhouettes of the patrons inside, black against the amber golden light, but nothing more.
It’s sitting between a pawn shop and a used bookstore. It shouldn’t be there. It certainly wasn’t there yesterday.
But that’s supposed to be part of the magic; The café doesn't have a permanent address, it shows up only on rainy days, and in different neighborhoods— Soho, Camden, Hampstead, Bloomsbury, and sometimes even Diagon Alley.
The bell above the door rings as a man and a woman walk out, the man holding the door open for the lady. The woman laughs as she grabs hold of the man’s arm while he pops open an umbrella. When the man looks back up, he catches Sirius’ eye, nodding once before winking and walking away.
Sirius watches them leave, the woman letting her head rest against the man’s shoulder, while the man turns his head to whisper something into her ear and then they turn a corner and they’re gone.
Sirius turns to look back at the café. The sign above the door has changed. He blinks, rubbing his eye. But the sign is still different— it now reads: Café Fortuna —What are you waiting for?
Sirius looks around. The street is empty.
When he looks back, the sign has changed again. Well? it reads.
Sirius bites the inside of his cheek. This is ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. And, yet, he walks in.
It smells of cardamom and bergamot. There’s music playing low— muggle jazz on scratchy vinyl. The walls are adorned with lanterns with mismatched sconces that flicker lazily. And it’s warm, not stifling so, but warm, like he’s standing next to a fireplace. Sirius looks around, there's a few couples sitting together, heads bent towards each other, and there’s a few people sitting off by themselves.
Sirius turns to face the counter. The barista greets him with a smile.
Sirius clears his throat. “Uh, hi. Can I get a…” Sirius trails off, eyes looking around for a menu.
“Ginger tea and an orange scone?” the barista says.
Sirius blinks. “Uh, yeah, that’s… I’ll have that.”
The barista smiles softly at him and then tilts her head to the side. Sirius tracks the movement and finds a mug of tea and a scone waiting for him at the counter, in front of an empty bar stool.
“We were waiting for you to come in. Had it ready,” the barista says, and then she walks away.
Sirius looks around, but no one is paying him any mind. No one else seems to find the interaction odd.
Hesitantly, Sirius sits down. The tea is still hot, and made just how he likes— with just a dash of milk.
The scone tastes like heaven, but admittedly, Sirius spends more time watching the door than he does eating or drinking his tea. He had spent some time people watching but after catching sight of a couple in the corner kissing, he had stopped watching, heat running up the side of his neck. Now, he just watches the door.
The bell above the door always rings before it’s touched, sometimes even a minute or two before the door is actually pushed open and someone walks in. And every time it rings, the barista looks up, smiles faintly, and begins making tea— without taking any order. And always it seems to be just what the person who comes in next wants.
It’s after the fourth time it’s rung, when a man walks in, drenched from the rain, a now wet book tucked under his arm. His small reading glasses, perched on his nose, are fogged up. He pulls them off, frowning as he wipes them off and then places them in the front pocket of his flannel. Then he shrugs off his wet coat and hangs it on the coat rack by the door, stuffing his book into the coat pocket.
He’s quite tall and quite handsome, Sirius thinks, with his brown curls weighed down by the rain and his nose slightly too big for his face and the freckles spread across his cheeks.
The man doesn’t notice Sirius watching him as he steps up to the counter.
“Can I get a green tea?” he asks, a Welsh lit in his voice.
The barista smiles at him and then places a mug of already made tea onto the counter, in front of the empty stool next to Sirius. Sirius gulps.
“Oh, uh, cheers,” the man says, brows knit. And then, as the barista starts walking away: “And sugar?”
“Two cubes,” she says, over her shoulder, “already stirred in. Enjoy.”
The man glances down at his mug of tea and then at Sirius and then at the rest of the empty stools lining the bar counter.
He picks up the mug and makes to move. “I, uh, well, I guess I’ll…” he trails off awkwardly.
“No, you don’t have to, I mean, you can sit here, I don’t mind,” Sirius says.
The man bites his lip. “Alright,” he says and then he sits down.
Sirius sips his tea, it’s been thirty minutes but it’s still just as warm as it was when he came in.
“I’m Remus,” the man says.
“Sirius,” Sirius says, needlessly pointing at himself. He lets his hand fall awkwardly to the counter.
Remus smiles at him and then he turns to look up as the barista walks by. She sets a slice of almond cake in front of him and then walks away.
“Oh, I didn’t order this,” he calls after her, but the barista doesn’t even so much as look back.
“This place is quite strange, isn’t it?” Remus says.
Sirius hums. He fidgets awkwardly with his mug.
“Have a seat. Someone might be waiting,” Remus says like he’s rattling it off by memory. “Whatever that means.”
Sirius blinks. He assumes that’s what the sign read for Remus.
“Have you been here before?” Remus asks.
“I don’t think you can come back a second time,” Sirius says.
Remus looks at him strangely.
“Or, well, that’s what I’ve heard.”
Remus turns around, scanning the café. “Those two are getting on, huh?” he says, amused.
Sirius follows Remus’ gaze, at the couple in the corner. They’re snogging again.
“They do say, if you meet someone here on a rainy day, you’ll fall in love,” Sirius says, light as a joke.
Remus turns back to Sirius. “What?”
Sirius looks over at Remus, confused by Remus’ confusion. “...Surely you’ve heard of Café Fortuna before?”
Remus’ lips part like he’s about to speak and then his cheeks turn pink and he looks away, his hand coming up to scratch awkwardly at his neck. “I’ve heard some creative lines, but ‘the café summoned you to fall in love with me’ —that might be the most original,” he says.
Sirius blinks. “What?” And then it’s his turn to flush pink. “Oh, okay, I realize how that must sound now. But I’m not, I mean I’m not trying to chat you up or get in your pants, I just, that’s what they say, about this place, I mean. It only shows up when it rains, never in the same place, and if two strangers meet, they’re destined to fall in love.”
“Oh, ” Remus says. A pause, then: “Is that why you’re here, then?”
“Well, no. I just— it was raining, so I came in.”
Remus hums. He bites the inside of his cheek.
“It’s all ridiculous, really. It’s just a story,” Sirius says.
“Well that’s too bad,” Remus says. He looks embarrassed as soon as the words leave his mouth, his cheeks and his neck turning a lovely pink again.
A ghost of a smile flickers across Sirius’ face. Something in his stomach buzzes, pleased. “Now who’s chatting up who?” he says.
Remus coughs awkwardly. “Please say something else.”
Sirius glances down at the counter, at Remus’ plate.
“Fan of almond cake, are you?”
“Yes, not sure how they knew. Weird, isn't it?”
“It is weird,” Sirius agrees. “I’m pretty sure the only people who like almond cake are 85 year old nans named Myrtle."
Remus barks a laugh. “Suppose I walked into that,” he says.
They start talking.
About the weather. Remus likes rainy days because everything feels quieter and slower. About books. Remus had been reading This Side of Paradise before it had begun to rain . The fact that neither of them can manage cooking much more than toast. Remus has very strong feelings about which jam goes with which type of bread. About places they want to travel to. Sirius keeps a map pinned above his desk, marked with all the places he wants to explore.
Sirius notices that Remus laughs loudest when he’s genuinely surprised. He does so when Sirius tells him about how he always chooses the wonkiest-looking fruit at the grocery because ‘someone has to.’ Remus notices that Sirius tucks his sleeves up when he’s thinking hard. He watches him do it when he asks Sirius to tell him more about his best friend, James.
Time passes without them noticing; couples leaving and more singles walking in.
At one point, Sirius forgets about the whole thing. The legend, the magic, the supposed destiny of it all.
He just thinks: I like this man.
He thinks: I don’t want this to end.
Later, after the rain clears, they leave together.
Neither says anything about love. Not yet.
But as they walk down the cobblestone street, their hands find each other and they don’t let go.