"I would not," he answers, showing Q to the lab and pretending not to have noticed that dismayed look. He knows he looks like a scarecrow, but still. "It's a name I must detach myself from. Errands," he adds, opening the door on what looks like a real, if shabby, stillroom rather than the lonely little hedge-wizard's collection of makeshift and Black-funded equipment on milk crates it had been only a few days before. "Were you successful?" There are a pair of reasonably comfortable chairs and a rolling desk in front of the fireplace, and shelves. Severus has long been in the habit of doing both paperwork and pleasure reading between brewing stages, when he needs to keep an ear on the temperature.