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Dinner for Two

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He took the glass phial of memories and smashed them on the stone. As far as he was concerned, it had been the worst Valentine’s Day ever, and he wanted nothing to do with the memory of it. It had started out so wonderfully: dinner had been planned, candles had been lit, and there had been a nice bottle of red opened and let to breathe on the table. Well, it was breathing all over the table now, so it should be pretty damn good by now. He had been thinking of doing something kinky with the candle wax, too, but now all he wanted to do with them was use the flame to set that bloody man’s pubes on fire, and he would if the bastard weren’t careful.

It had started out innocently enough. He had invited Lucius to dinner, had stressed which night it was, and he had agreed, and said how much he was looking forward to it. When he’d seen Lucius the day before, and reminded him of the dinner, that it was in his own rooms, Lucius had nodded, and even looked a little relieved, and said that he’d see him at seven, precisely. And at seven, precisely, Lucius had turned up at the door, startlingly casually dressed for such an elegant man. That should have been his first clue that something was wrong, but Severus had been on a roll, and blew straight past that to warmly invite the other man in.

Lucius had been surprised by the way Severus had done the room up, that much was evident, as much as Severus had strived to ignore it. Everything had been tidied away, and all the furniture had been transformed into more comfortable variations, including a single two-seat couch set in front of the fire. Severus had dithered for hours over the propriety of covering it in red velvet rather than green. Red had the virtue of being appropriate to the day, and all that went with it, but had the distinct disadvantage of being such a Gryffindor colour. Green, on the other hand, while distinctly Slytherin, was not a very warm or sensual colour, and it left Severus uncomfortably unsettled. In the end, season appropriateness had won out over House solidarity, and the love-seat was covered in sumptuous red. Not that Lucius apparently cared.

Dinner had been a revelation. Severus had chosen all the finest foods he could think of that would induce an amorous atmosphere, but Lucius had looked at them, puzzled. When Severus had served oysters, Lucius had turned his nose up, saying they felt like swallowing snot. Asparagus and shaved almonds had been sneered at, while the beef fillet with foie gras and truffles was toyed with as Lucius attempted to rid the desired beef of its contaminants. Only the dessert of chocolate mousse tart and strawberries met with any kind of distinct approval, and it was quickly wolfed down by an eager Lucius, who had then sat back, belched, and complained idly about the menu for the evening.

Severus had just about had enough.

Severus idly mentioned the lovely evening (which it really wasn’t) and then suggested they might like a walk about the grounds, to which Lucius immediately objected. Apparently, Lucius had come to dinner expecting a blokey night in, away from the nagging spouse who, Severus now guessed, may have had rather similar plans to his own. And he was also beginning to suspect that he and she, both, were probably better off without the silver-haired idiot in front of him. So Severus bit the bullet, and asked Lucius if he even knew what day it was.

Mystified, Lucius looked at him. “Thursday?”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. “What date?”

“Oh, it’s, uh, the fourteenth?” Lucius offered. “Yes,” he nodded, “the fourteenth of February.”

“Do you know what that means?” Severus asked with awful sweetness.

Lucius blinked. “That it’s Thursday the fourteenth of February?” he asked, as if Severus had asked the most obvious question known to man and wizard.

Severus took a calming breath. “It’s St Valentine’s Day,” he informed Lucius. “Do you know what that means, you simpering idiot? By the painfully vacant look on your face, I would hazard that you do not. Even the little First Years know what today is, and know that if someone were to invite you to dinner on tonight of all nights, it is because they are sexually attracted to you, and want to fuck you through the bloody mattress.” He paused there, frowned, and corrected himself. “Well, the First Years might not know that bit, but they certainly understand that if someone were to invite another person to dinner, it wouldn’t be for a bit of blokey good cheer. Congratulations: you are more stupid than a First Year Gryffindor!”

Lucius, horrified, awkwardly sprang up from the table, upsetting Severus' carefully chosen bottle of red, allowing it to breathe and run free. “Severus … you … I … I never…”

“Oh, don’t worry, Lucius,” Severus sneered, “you need not fear my homosexual advances: you’ve quite cured me of any misplaced feelings I might have had for you tonight. You may leave now, and tell that poor woman you’re married to that she may thank me later, for I’ve done her any number of good services tonight.”

Lucius dashed out of the room, and Severus had immediately gone to purge himself of the unhappy memories of the evening.

It was a matter of maybe forty-five minutes later that there was a knock on Severus’ door. When he opened it, he found Remus standing there, looking bemused. “What?” Severus barked.

“I saw Lucius pelting out of the castle like he had an amorous House Elf after him,” Remus considered. “I got curious, and traced him back to here, and now I’m wondering what shocked him so much that he took off like that.”

Severus snorted, and stalked away from the open door. “Come in, or get the hell out of here,” he ordered.

Remus followed Severus into the room, and looked around at the rich furnishings and the remains of an elegant meal. He looked at Severus, who sat, scowling, in a hard chair. “So… Did what I think happened happen?” When Severus looked blank, he clarified, “Was Lucius an utter idiot, and freaked out when he finally realised that you were interested in him.”

Severus sniffed, and folded his arms. “I don’t remember, and obviously I didn’t want to remember.”

Remus quickly scanned the room, and saw the shattered remnants of a glass phial. “Ah,” he murmured.

“I dare say he was, though,” Severus added, rolling his eyes. “Someone appears to have wasted a good bottle of red,” he frowned.

Remus walked over and righted the bottle. “There’s still some left, but the dregs are all mixed in, now. You’ll have to let it settle again. Pity there isn’t any more dinner; you appear to have gone to a great deal of trouble.”

Severus nodded. “Oysters au naturel, followed by asparagus and almonds, beef with patê and truffles, and chocolate mousse tart with strawberries.”

“Merlin!” Remus gasped. “Not only is the man pitifully stupid, he’s as frigid as Bellatrix’ heart!”

Severus snorted. “He probably has a small dick, too.”

Remus smirked, and glanced at the taller man. “Painfully,” he agreed. “I spotted him one time in school. Poor Narcissa,” he sighed, “she really didn’t deserve him.”

“He has such a pretty face,” Severus complained.

“Big hands, too, which just goes to show how wrong that saying is,” Remus nodded sagely.

Severus glanced at the man by his side. “I do have some more of the tart, if you’re interested."

Remus smiled. “That does sound interesting.”

“No, ah, plates, though,” Severus frowned. “Sorry.”

Remus hummed happily. “Messy.” He eyed Severus. “You’ll want to take off your good clothes; don’t want to ruin them.”

“Chocolate is so hard to get out,” Severus nodded, heading for his bedroom. “You’ll want to change, too,” he added. “Make sure to bring the tart.”

Grinning, Remus collected the tart and a couple of spoons before following Severus into the bedroom. Never had he been happier that Lucius was such a complete moron as tonight.