Excuses for Killing One Another

Excuses for Killing One Another

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Chapter 3:

Food and Noises

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"I don't understand you, Lupin." Severus snorted and put his fork down for a moment. "I know numerous foods that would be easier to prepare than lasagna. So, how don't you know how to cook those?"

"Simple," chuckled the Gryffindor, obviously far more amused with this than his companion. "My mother tried to teach me to cook, but found her efforts useless. So, she recommended that I should pick one meal I liked and learn to prepare it very well. So, I learnt how to make lasagna."

Severus rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. Well, wasn't that just SO typical. Wondering silently about the Gryffindor's incapability in cooking, he started to cut the lasagna into small pieces.

After a moment he found Lupin staring at him oddly. "What is it?" he asked snappishly, glaring at the werewolf. Wasn't it enough that he was forced to eat Muggle Italian food -- Wizarding Italian foods were bad enough; did he have to settle for idiotic Gryffindor behaviour as well?

"What? Oh, nothing," Lupin said, quickly removing his gaze from Severus. "That just looked weird... the way you eat. Wouldn't it be easier to just take some of it into your fork at a time, without all that cutting? A fork can get through it, you know. I'm not that bad a cook."

"I eat however I want, Lupin," snapped Severus, annoyed. How did the wolf dare to comment on his table manners? Insulted, he went on with his eating, not sparing his companion a single glance during the remainder of the meal. The werewolf didn't care, chattering lightly all the time, never minding the fact that none of his statements were replied or questions answered. Bloody noisy Gryffindors.

Somehow he managed to get through the meal relatively sane and without any urges to kill the other man -- well, without any murderous urges too strong to resist. Albus would be upset if he killed Lupin. Of course, the mere thought that the Headmaster might then stop trying to play a matchmaker was almost tempting enough to make him kill the werewolf anyway, but... Ah, well. He had to act maturely.

After the dinner Severus tried to pass time by some light reading -- A Brief Study of the Uses of Flobberworms in Potentially Explosive Medical Draughts, 1207 pages full of interesting information -- but found it impossible. Lupin was making noise all the time. Not that the werewolf was anymore chattering all the time, no -- what he did was much worse. Appearing to be completely immersed in his own book -- which, judging by the cover, was some Muggle horror story about werewolves -- he just somehow happened to make sounds. An idle comment here and there at the contents of the story, tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair, clicking his tongue, chuckling -- all just occasional things that were too small to even get openly annoyed at. The werewolf must have planned it that way, Severus was sure about it. If he protested against those ever-present sounds, he would look ridiculous, but, being used to read in the absolute silence of his beloved dungeons, he was being driven nuts.

Then, however, Lupin started to hum. Hum, for Merlin's sake! And as if that hadn't been enough, Severus recognized the melody he was humming. He was ready to admit that the only kind of music he knew anything about was classical, but not even he could not know that song.

For a moment Severus heroically managed to endure this torture. Then he heard the werewolf actually singing. Quietly, yes, but still aloud. And that was the last straw. This he would not tolerate.

"Could you please stop that, Lupin?" Severus asked through gritted teeth. He almost growled aloud when the Gryffindor gave him that perfectly innocent, "Who, me?" look. Really, why didn't Lupin just take up on acting? He most certainly was doing all this on purpose.

"Stop what?" asked Lupin, his voice just as innocent as his expression. "Oh, my singing? Sorry about that. I didn't know it would irritate you." He flashed a brief smile at the darkhaired man.

Now, Severus groaned quietly, cursing under his breath. What was the other man thinking? Who would like to hear a werewolf singing "Who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?" That was just wrong.

"Well, do not do it," the Potions Master growled. "And do not hum, either. Or snap your tongue. Or tap your fingers. And, for the love of Merlin, do not comment aloud on the book. It makes you appear even more idiotic than you are in reality -- if such a thing is even possible, that is."

Again, the Gryffindor smiled. It might have been meant as a peace offering, or just a simple friendly or amused gesture. However, Severus's Slytherin mind did not take it as such. Instead, he knew what it must have really meant -- a veiled threat at him, a promise of countless hours of torture to come in the near future. More than half seriously trying to remember whether he had the ingredients of Deafness Draught easily at hand, Severus then buried himself in the book, trying to forget even the existence of Lupin.

Unfortunately to him, he was not being very successful.

*

The next morning was most certainly not an improvement. Severus woke up early, having never been one to sleep much. That did not, however, mean that he was a morning person, not at all. If anything he was even more easily irritated, nasty, and downright cruel in the mornings.

Lupin, he discovered, was very much a morning person. Not just the type who woke up early and actually enjoyed it -- Severus did not enjoy waking up early, he simply couldn't get back to sleep -- but the type to be awfully chipper at six am. And he expected everyone else to be the same way, too. Which did definitely not go well with Severus Snape, the Head of Slytherin, and Nasty Bastard Extraordinaire.

"That smells good," Lupin commented, sniffling the air like an animal. Disgusting. "What is it?"

Severus sighed. For Merlin's sake, just how stupid could this man be? "Well, what does it look like?" he snapped annoyedly. "It's porridge, Lupin. Simple, plain porridge. And I'm one hundred percent certain that it is way better than your pitiful attempt at cooking lasagna."

"Oh, yes," Lupin chuckled. "You'd know how to make it much better, wouldn't you? After all, you're..."

"If you say, 'Italian,' I will make you eat your own guts for breakfast," growled Severus. "No, I am not Italian. I am English. I was born in England and I grew up there, too. Having darker eyes than your average Briton does not automatically make me Italian, understood? Honestly, what next? Japanese?"

"If you're so perfectly English," the werewolf said calmly, "why have I heard you curse in Italian? And don't even try to tell me that it wasn't that. I'm not a complete idiot, you know."

Severus gritted his teeth, trying hard not to do anything he might regret later. Unfortunately Lupin was most probably telling the truth. If he got too angry, he had the tendency to return to his old Italian ways.

As a child Severus had been the stereotypical Italian kid. He had been loud and his hands had gone around so fast that he sometimes resembled a windmill. He'd been eight when he had even learned what "reserved" meant. Of course this hadn't mattered; he'd only ever had any social contact with his relatives who were all just as bad if not worse. Then, however, his mother had died just before he had gone to Hogwarts. That had made him close himself to the outside world. The child had remembered how his father had pleaded his mother not to speak, to save her strength, and mistakenly concluded that his mother's lively character had caused her sad fate. Of course, the fact that his father fell into depressed silence as a result of his wife's death hadn't helped the matters at all. And after his father had died Severus had decided to hide everything about his true heritage, not wanting to be associated with his true relatives. However, the first eleven years of a child's life could not be wiped away easily, and sometimes, especially under a great deal of stress or strong emotions, he would slip and momentarily return to his old ways.

"You're mistaken," the Slytherin growled. "Do you want this porridge or not?"

Unsurprisingly, the werewolf gave him a positive answer, his curiosity seemingly overcome by hunger. Severus grunted briefly in acknowledgement, then took two bowls from the cupboard. A moment later they both sat eating. Well, Lupin was already eating; Severus was still in the process of neatly dividing the porridge into appropriately sized bits with his spoon. Only after that could he eat.

"This is really good, Severus," Lupin said with a hint of surprise in his voice. "When'd you learn how to cook this well?" He gave the Slytherin an innocent look of curiosity that certainly hid something sinister.

"Unlike your mother, my mother actually had some success in her attempts at teaching," Severus told him dryly. "And honestly, Lupin, not even you can be that dense. How would you expect me to be a Potions Master if I didn't even know how to make some decent porridge?"

"Well, I guess that sounds sensible," the werewolf said levelly. "And then there's always your grandmamma, right? I'm sure she taught you a trick or two as well."

Severus had to admit that he almost fell for that trap. However, he was not that distracted by his little food rituals. "Grandmamma?" he echoed with a raised eyebrow. "No, my grandmother did not teach me anything. In fact, I doubt she even could cook." Of course, this was all a lie. But he'd die rather than let the Gryffindor know that not only had his grandmamma taught him to cook, she had especially taught him all about traditional Italian foods. Even though Lupin's lasagna hadn't been too bad, Severus knew that his would have been a lot better, not that he'd have ever admitted that. The cooking skills ran in the family.

...But that was beyond the point. The point being, Lupin was being annoying. This proved Severus's theory; Lupin was obviously dead set on annoying him to death. Well, he was welcome to try. Even if he succeeded, it would be a much preferable result than the thing Dumbledore was planning.

And Severus was going to make sure that Dumbledore would not succeed. No matter what the cost.