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Severus Snape: Other: Safe as Houses
"...And stop clapping your hands or I will reach right across this fire and clap them in irons," Severus bellows across the floo line. That's always annoyed him about house elves, and having his face in the flames does nothing for his temper, either. More moderately, he continues, "Better. Now, you understand that you would have to receive clothes from Professor Sprout? I will provide her with the equipment you'll wear in the lab and while doing--well, we'll get to that in a moment--in any case, I will provide the uniform and equipment that you'll wear here, but you'll receive it from her hands. Understood? Good.
"Now, there's another matter: I don't currently have a house to bring you to, so--so help me if you start blubbing again I will tell Filch he is not to allow you to clean one single damned thing for a week are you finished thank you. Now, until I do have a house, there is the possibility of your staying with a friend of mine and doing his cleaning as well as helping me in the brewery in exchange for your lodging. I expect I shall also require your assistance in the magics and other arrangements for the residence once I've acquired one. No clapping, I said! I must tell you straightaway that the gentleman in question is a muggle, and that you will be required to cover yourself appropriately by human standards while assisting both him and me, just as you've done while working in the dungeons before. If the equipment you receive from Professor Sprout becomes unrepairable, you will replace it with your own hands. And you will not be allowed alcohol unless you arrange for time away from your duties in advance. Can you manage that? Good. Here's a portkey," he tosses one into the fire, "which will bring you to the gentleman's home; he wishes to meet with you before any final decisions are made. I'll owl Filch with the time. You are expected to stay sober and be a model of utility for the remainder of your time at the school, do you understand? And for Salazar's sake don't gloat to the other elves about having an individual position; it's showy and excessive and in any case they're happy where they are and won't envy you. And remember that the story for everyone who doesn't already know is that I'm dead and your employer will be my cousin and apprentice Mr. Clayborn; Professor Sprout has all his details and so does Professor Flitwick if you don't like to bother her. I have your compliance? Good. Await the owl, then."
He turns the floo off with a sigh. Minerva's right about how much trouble Winky is likely to be, of course, but if he was going to refuse responsibilities thrust on him with the argument that they'd be an unreasonable bother, he should never have accepted the Headship of the House of brutalized children and spoiled brats, and there's Sirius's cat to think about, too, and Rodolphus (although in a less adoptive capacity, of course). And as much as he hates to admit it, the success of his little brewery is making her spare room a more and more crowded stillroom; he's going to have to either restrict his orders or move. It's something he's been struggling with for weeks, but he'll just have to give his inner Slughorn a strengthening potion to help it stand up to his rather more established inner hermit and arrange for weekly teas, or something of that sort.
He sits himself right on the sofa's godawful throw (still with some satisfaction) with a collection of real estate magazines spread out conspicuously on the table, and waits for Minerva to walk in. A shop with a warehouse behind and rooms up top, that's the thing; nothing fancy. It doesn't matter how sparse the rooms are as long as they're there; there are spells for that, and if he can't take care of them himself Clayborn can hire wizarding contractors.
"Now, there's another matter: I don't currently have a house to bring you to, so--so help me if you start blubbing again I will tell Filch he is not to allow you to clean one single damned thing for a week are you finished thank you. Now, until I do have a house, there is the possibility of your staying with a friend of mine and doing his cleaning as well as helping me in the brewery in exchange for your lodging. I expect I shall also require your assistance in the magics and other arrangements for the residence once I've acquired one. No clapping, I said! I must tell you straightaway that the gentleman in question is a muggle, and that you will be required to cover yourself appropriately by human standards while assisting both him and me, just as you've done while working in the dungeons before. If the equipment you receive from Professor Sprout becomes unrepairable, you will replace it with your own hands. And you will not be allowed alcohol unless you arrange for time away from your duties in advance. Can you manage that? Good. Here's a portkey," he tosses one into the fire, "which will bring you to the gentleman's home; he wishes to meet with you before any final decisions are made. I'll owl Filch with the time. You are expected to stay sober and be a model of utility for the remainder of your time at the school, do you understand? And for Salazar's sake don't gloat to the other elves about having an individual position; it's showy and excessive and in any case they're happy where they are and won't envy you. And remember that the story for everyone who doesn't already know is that I'm dead and your employer will be my cousin and apprentice Mr. Clayborn; Professor Sprout has all his details and so does Professor Flitwick if you don't like to bother her. I have your compliance? Good. Await the owl, then."
He turns the floo off with a sigh. Minerva's right about how much trouble Winky is likely to be, of course, but if he was going to refuse responsibilities thrust on him with the argument that they'd be an unreasonable bother, he should never have accepted the Headship of the House of brutalized children and spoiled brats, and there's Sirius's cat to think about, too, and Rodolphus (although in a less adoptive capacity, of course). And as much as he hates to admit it, the success of his little brewery is making her spare room a more and more crowded stillroom; he's going to have to either restrict his orders or move. It's something he's been struggling with for weeks, but he'll just have to give his inner Slughorn a strengthening potion to help it stand up to his rather more established inner hermit and arrange for weekly teas, or something of that sort.
He sits himself right on the sofa's godawful throw (still with some satisfaction) with a collection of real estate magazines spread out conspicuously on the table, and waits for Minerva to walk in. A shop with a warehouse behind and rooms up top, that's the thing; nothing fancy. It doesn't matter how sparse the rooms are as long as they're there; there are spells for that, and if he can't take care of them himself Clayborn can hire wizarding contractors.