Her touch is so soft, so gentle, that when she tugs him toward the breakfast bar he's barely aware of it. Snape nods him toward a seat, which he takes, as he himself leans casually against the bar. She is so gracious and graceful that he could very easily forget that she is not a witch. "Lucius," she says kindly, "would you like a drink or something to eat?" Her hand slips from his and as she walks around Snape to go into her kitchen, he forces himself not to look at his hand. Not because he actually believes she is filth, but because he is now faced with the possibility that what he has spent his life believing, that physical contact with a non-Magical was an abomination, may be a most grievous fallacy.
It's a little like a wealthy plantation owner suddenly realizing that his slaves are actually human beings with minds and souls, and Gods-given natural rights.
"Yes," Snape says, "he'll have something." He smirks, almost as if he is aware of Malfoy's inner turmoil, and moves into the kitchen to help her take out the glasses and the utensils for the meat and cheese. "What would you like?" She smiles sweetly at Malfoy and he feels like his tongue is no more than dead leather. "Ah," he shrugs slightly and asks, "what have you?" Snape opens the two huge doors of the cupboard above what should be a stove, then steps aside to the fridge. He takes out the cheese and meat, sits them on the breakfast bar, then closes the fridge door and leans against it, his arms folded and an almost mischievous grin plays out across his lips.
"Well," she says as she stretches to indicate the bottles on the top shelf, "I have Asbach Uralt, if German brandy is to your taste, and Rémy Martin, which is I think the finest cognac." She taps the middle shelf and says, "if you like schnapps, I have butterscotch, peppermint, cinnamon, and pomegranet, all Hiram Walker, and all very yummy." She looks back at Malfoy and he feels a little heat in his cheeks; something about the way she says yummy makes him feel a little...funny. He clears his throat and asks Snape, "wasn't Hiram Walker a-" Snape nods and she finishes for him, "wizard? Oh yes. Hiram was a truly gifted herbologist who specialized in fruiting plants. His brewing skills were legendary."
She taps the bottom shelf and says, "I have hard Americans; Jack Daniel's, Johnny Walker, Jim Beam, Captain Morgan and their kind. I have gin, vermouth, Baileys Irish Cream, kaluha, galliano, three different varieties of tequila and two different vodkas...there's juice in the fridge if you would like a mixed drink." She takes two bottles from the very back of the bottom shelf and smiles widely as Snape turns the glasses upright. "These are our favorites. They're specialties. This one," she says as she pours blood-red liquid into the first glass, "is wine distilled from the juice of blood-oranges. I get it for Severus from a private distiller in Egypt."
He takes the glass, salutes her, then drinks slowly, savoring it as he does. He nods his approval and says, "his best yet." She's clearly very pleased, and as she picks up the second bottle, Snape takes it away from her. "Are you still upset with me?" He frowns and she looks at Malfoy, who's gazing at them both quizzically. Sighing, she shrugs slightly and says, "I made a mistake while brewing my own, and-" Snape hisses, "mistake! You nearly died, Elsbet." She drops her gaze and Malfoy looks away, around the room, at the ceiling...anywhere but at Snape. "I added too much wormwood," she says softly and Malfoy looks back at her.
"Ah, that's Absinthe then, isn't it?" She nods. "Vile concoction," Snape says, then sighs as he unwraps the cap and opens the brand new bottle. "This is the first he's let me have in six months." He looks up quickly at Snape, who is frowning mightily as he smells the lovely green liquor. He realizes suddenly that Snape is very angry; as Elsbet gently pats his arm he closes his eyes tightly. "But this is directly from Neuchâtel, Severus, they followed your directions implicitly." But he looks down at her sharply and says, "there is still wormwood in it." She cocks her head and fidgets almost like a child, saying, "yes, but only a just little...it's not right if there's no wormwood." She is so bright and innocent, he is so stern and protective, that if Malfoy had not come here for the reason he had, he would find this quite humorous.
But he has begun to understand...
It's a little like a wealthy plantation owner suddenly realizing that his slaves are actually human beings with minds and souls, and Gods-given natural rights.
"Yes," Snape says, "he'll have something." He smirks, almost as if he is aware of Malfoy's inner turmoil, and moves into the kitchen to help her take out the glasses and the utensils for the meat and cheese. "What would you like?" She smiles sweetly at Malfoy and he feels like his tongue is no more than dead leather. "Ah," he shrugs slightly and asks, "what have you?" Snape opens the two huge doors of the cupboard above what should be a stove, then steps aside to the fridge. He takes out the cheese and meat, sits them on the breakfast bar, then closes the fridge door and leans against it, his arms folded and an almost mischievous grin plays out across his lips.
"Well," she says as she stretches to indicate the bottles on the top shelf, "I have Asbach Uralt, if German brandy is to your taste, and Rémy Martin, which is I think the finest cognac." She taps the middle shelf and says, "if you like schnapps, I have butterscotch, peppermint, cinnamon, and pomegranet, all Hiram Walker, and all very yummy." She looks back at Malfoy and he feels a little heat in his cheeks; something about the way she says yummy makes him feel a little...funny. He clears his throat and asks Snape, "wasn't Hiram Walker a-" Snape nods and she finishes for him, "wizard? Oh yes. Hiram was a truly gifted herbologist who specialized in fruiting plants. His brewing skills were legendary."
She taps the bottom shelf and says, "I have hard Americans; Jack Daniel's, Johnny Walker, Jim Beam, Captain Morgan and their kind. I have gin, vermouth, Baileys Irish Cream, kaluha, galliano, three different varieties of tequila and two different vodkas...there's juice in the fridge if you would like a mixed drink." She takes two bottles from the very back of the bottom shelf and smiles widely as Snape turns the glasses upright. "These are our favorites. They're specialties. This one," she says as she pours blood-red liquid into the first glass, "is wine distilled from the juice of blood-oranges. I get it for Severus from a private distiller in Egypt."
He takes the glass, salutes her, then drinks slowly, savoring it as he does. He nods his approval and says, "his best yet." She's clearly very pleased, and as she picks up the second bottle, Snape takes it away from her. "Are you still upset with me?" He frowns and she looks at Malfoy, who's gazing at them both quizzically. Sighing, she shrugs slightly and says, "I made a mistake while brewing my own, and-" Snape hisses, "mistake! You nearly died, Elsbet." She drops her gaze and Malfoy looks away, around the room, at the ceiling...anywhere but at Snape. "I added too much wormwood," she says softly and Malfoy looks back at her.
"Ah, that's Absinthe then, isn't it?" She nods. "Vile concoction," Snape says, then sighs as he unwraps the cap and opens the brand new bottle. "This is the first he's let me have in six months." He looks up quickly at Snape, who is frowning mightily as he smells the lovely green liquor. He realizes suddenly that Snape is very angry; as Elsbet gently pats his arm he closes his eyes tightly. "But this is directly from Neuchâtel, Severus, they followed your directions implicitly." But he looks down at her sharply and says, "there is still wormwood in it." She cocks her head and fidgets almost like a child, saying, "yes, but only a just little...it's not right if there's no wormwood." She is so bright and innocent, he is so stern and protective, that if Malfoy had not come here for the reason he had, he would find this quite humorous.
But he has begun to understand...
