When the invitation to meet Regulus at the closest bar for drinks was extended to Severus he did not hesitate. God knew he needed something to stop the throbbing in his brain - or something that at least made him forget all that he'd learned. Bloody future people telling him what he bloody well knew he was not inclined to do under any circumstances, though he had an idea of how Professor Dumbledore was able to wheedle out a favor of that magnitude from him.
Anything. Ha! With how little consideration had Severus sold his soul to the old man...
He had promised anything - and now that he looked back on the last few months spent in Dumbledore's services he could see just how the man pushed and prodded, reminded and cajoled until he got his way. But, as new as he was to dealing with the eccentric old man Severus would never have thought Dumbledore would ask that of him.
But so many had confirmed it, and no matter how many told him it was because that old man had asked it of him, Severus couldn't shake the sinking feeling of the absolute horror of such and act.
He needed liqueur, really strong liqueur.
He found the bar easily enough, after which he turned off the bloody muggle contraption, he didn't want any more future telling for him, and took his seat next to the one person who he knew, blessedly, would not bring up the future, or any gruesome acts of practical murder... at least in a future tense.
He flagged for the bartender to bring him the same stuff as Regulus, and to sate his need in the mean time, grabbed the cup in front of the other man, and took one - two - three swallows (the whole thing really) before even stopping to consider the flavor.
"Evenin', Reg," Severus screwed up his face in mock derision, "why so slow? C'mon catch up."