"Less like he dyes or wears a wig?" Severus suggests innocently. He shrugs. "Most of them are fairly old, and like certain things done 'properly.' Better continual cups of tea throughout the day and little snacks between classes than a cup of coffee in the morning. I suppose. Flitwick and I both needed to keep alert, though."
"I think they'd do what they're meant to do. We might have to try a few things, depending on how they fit with the nature and severity of your particular problem. I can certainly ask around; I may not have any skill at social networking, but academic and craftsman's networks are another matter." He shrugs with his eyebrows. "As I said, anything boring or relaxing. Since you suggest Dickens, I assumed you both enjoy his work and know it well enough that the plot points won't surprise you and you won't try to hang on wakefully to every word. Which is the main thing."
"...Yes, well." He keeps any thoughts about sharp steel teeth-caps to himself. With a grimace, "The commercial version worked, but the side effects were unpleasant and cumulative, and I don't blame Fenrir for not taking it. My later variants were better, but I couldn't get commercial or Ministry backing for them, and I still think I can make it better." He snorts. "Well. Yes. But he also wanted to introduce Britain to an airborne lycanthropy virus. Indiscriminately."
"I happen to enjoy my work," Severus reminds Rus. Catching a hint of T1's thoughts, he turns them back on him, into a mental vision of Sorcerer's Apprentice with T1 in Mickey's role. On, if not infinite, than quite a long loop. With music.
"Surely if they're here the time for practice has past," Severus says drily, sliding Rus a look that both cautions and wonders what he has in mind.