Rodolphus waves the water away and takes a deep swig from his mug instead. "I mean it," he mutters darkly. "Future generations of children will be terrorised by what I did." He's rather pleased by the idea. Perhaps someone should send an (anonymous) owl to Slughorn to warn him. Or not.
Rodolphus nods, chewing. He swallows. "You lose the flavour of the flesh if you overdo the condiments," he says. "But maybe just a dash of salt." He takes the shaker and delicately sprinkles maybe a quarter teaspoon on his steak. "Is everything satisfactory?" the waiter asks faintly, blanching at the term 'flesh', as was intended. Rodolphus cuts himself another bite. "I'm good," he mumbles through his mouthful. He looks at Severus. "You?"
"If I happen to come across it, I'll be sure to let you know," he grins. "I'm not going to grub about in the woods for your roots and berries Severus," Rodolphus tells him indignantly, momentarily forgetting the alias. "I hunt; I don't forage." He grins wickedly. "If I handled complaints, you certainly wouldn't have more than one or two."
BOO!!! I saw and sent an email. I'll wait for your answer before I reply.