True love will fall into your lap.
Remus laughs, tucking the fortune into his pocket, and Kingsley looks up from his own Chinese food, cocking an impressive eyebrow.
"My fortune," Remus explains. "Apparently true love will fall right into my lap."
"And that's funny how?" the Auror asks, cracking open his own fortune cookie.
Remus gathers up his empty containers, setting them in a neat pile to save time while he thinks. "These fortunes are rubbish…when was the last time anything fell into my lap? And love?" He leaves it unfinished, assuming Shacklebolt will see how ludicrous the idea of a poor, werewolf like him finding love is.
Kingsley shrugs his shoulders, waving his wand and shooting their garbage into the rubbish bins.
"Does this mean I don't have a magnetic personality that attracts those of the opposite sex? How disappointing."
Remus forgets about his fortune until later that evening. After the Order meeting adjourns, a few of them (Kingsley, Molly, Arthur, Nymphadora among others) stay for supper.
They are crowded in the Grimmauld Place kitchen, a clutter of chairs around the long wooden table.
Kingsley is enlightening everyone on the glories on Chinese food (his first time eating it), when Nymphadora attempts to make her way through the mess, levitating a jug of pumpkin juice in front of her.
"It isn't rice and lo mein, but you should like it anyways," she teases to Kingsley. "I conjured it myself."
Just as she is about to set it gently down on the table, her foot connects solidly with a chair leg. The jug drops, crashing and breaking against the wood, frothy orange juice splattering everywhere. Nymphadora herself pitches forward, arms spiraling, and she lands squarely on Remus' lap.
His arms instinctively encircle her waist, catching and holding her until she regains some semblance of balance. "Sorry, Remus! Ta for the catch though," she exclaims, flushing pink and breathless.
Remus keeps a hold of her arms until she's standing again. When he notices Kingsley watching them with an oddly furtive look, he lets go in a hurry, dropping his hands and pressing his palms to his thighs.
"Molly," Kingsley booms, "would you describe my personality as magnetic?"
