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Caught out
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„What is it you think you are doing, pray tell," Severus growls, his mangled throat not quite allowing the deceptively silky voice he sorely needs. Warily, he eyes tips of Lupin's index and middle finger as they walk their way up his left leg, touches so light he can barely feel them.
Why the man has been allowed to sit down on the bed in the first place, he cannot begin to know.
A single word, "Measuring," is Lupin's soft response, his fingers continuing their journey as if they have no concern on the world.
"Measuring what," Severus bites out evenly, not quite yet ready to make the effort to reach for his wand. Yet. His body steadily grows more tense as the fingers put an increasing distance between themselves and Severus' sock-clad feet.
"Your legs," Lupin replies amiably, every bit as unconcerned as his approaching fingers.
Clearly, Severus should have thrown him out as soon as he intruded upon the room's precious solitude. "And why, in Merlin's name, do you feel compelled to perform such a hare-brained activity?"
"I spent a few months in Germany, early in the nineties," Lupin allows, letting his two intrepid fingers rest just above Severus' knee. "There is a saying that the Germans have with which, considering these fine specimen, I believe they have fallen to a misconception."
There is a moment's silence, followed by several more moments without speech. Finally, Severus gives in and asks, "...which is?!"
"Lügen haben kurze Beine."
Damn the man! Part of him wants to lash out, at least work up a sneer, but it's not worth it. Nothing is worth it. "And about what," Severus manages, raspy voice not nearly icy enough, "other than what by now the whole Wizarding World knows, do you believe I have lied?"
Lupin's eyes are as intently focused on the palm perched on Severus' thigh as Severus' own, but suddenly he smiles. "About not liking me," he says.
Before his mind's eye, Severus sees himself denying it, sees himself removing the wolf's paw from his person, sees himself winning the ensuing argument.
The mere thought exhausts him. It is infinitely much more pleasant to spare his vocal chords by saying nothing, to tentatively put his right hand over Lupin's.
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The saying can be translated with "Lies are short-legged", meaning they will always be found out in the end.