Severus exchanges a glance with Albus--one of his usual reality checks, to make sure his paranoia is still on this side of sanity. He writes, moving the paper so Holmes can follow his pen, "The legitimate persecutor must wait on proof before acting; he cannot," he looks up with a wry quarter-smile, "guess. One who lays down protections, contrariwise, must not wait." Angling the paper more towards Albus now, glancing up with a grim expression, "Although still speaking without proof, I fear that in waiting for possibility to become probability, I may have waited too long."
The look Severus gives the tray at first intimates that it's grown an extra head, but quickly becomes predatory. He gives Holmes a rather deep and fast nod, and then attacks it with grim efficiency. He assembles two open-faced sandwiches, one with mustard and one with apples, toasts the apple one unceremoniously with his hands, and alternates neat but savage bites. After the first, his eyebrows fly up and he looks between the mustard pot and Holmes with approval. Once he has something in his stomach, he can have more of the brandy, and takes some in a far more civilized manner than he'd shown the food.