"Mr. Flint." Severus sat at his desk, leafing through what appeared to be a pile of correspondence. He waved lazily at the chair sitting opposite, and looked up after a moment. "Have a seat. You're prepared to accept?" In some ways - some very important ways - Flint was the ideal candidate, unlikely to murder anyone and yet almost certainly capable of being civil with the more volatile elements in the faculty.
And he was likely to make the right calls on the pitch, of course. That was always good for something. "As I mentioned - the position needs to be filled immediately."