He blinks at her again, and looks for his wand. It's where it should be, so he casts a silent sonorus on himself and does his throat the mercy of subvocalizing. "Severus Snape. Cinnabar, approximately 390-280 BC. Resin of Dracaena Draco, prehistoric. Animal, 1934, following the Ilfracombe Incident two years prior. Nineteen hundred and..." He has to stop there, eyebrows compressing in confusion. After a moment, it seems easier to remember something else. "Thank you for your hospitality."