He shrugs. "Never developed a taste for it." As though he would have geared up the nerve by second year to ask Rodolphus for anything that wasn't obviously in the interests of Narcissa or the House.
Severus inconspicuously pushes one of the mugs of beer closer.
"Except that it was a harp," Severus points out as though sorry to have to do so, not mentioning the later staff. "Just because it took over my life doesn't mean it wasn't a persona," he says grumpily, taking a drink, and admits, "I do miss the cravats." And the armor of a thousand buttons, if he's being honest. And the lack of uncertainty every morning about whether or not to spend the whole day occluded. Trying to vaguely resemble a normal person is hard, nerve-wracking work.
"It would depend on the specific dead, I should think... but, I mean, chasing terror away was the point of it; not celebrating the terror."
The hapless waiter has to ask what Rus's definition a proper dessert is, ignoring the head-shake of Severus, who's actually quite happy with his tart.
If you like! Or gentle teasing; after all, drawing and quartering isn't exactly original. ;)