Chapter 2

Author's Notes: Thanks for pointing out my error, duj! I still hold that spats and cuffs aren't really clothing per se, but I was able to incorporate an explanation quite neatly into the narrative.

The house of his grandmother had a sickly sweet smell, like old age and decay. As Snape looked around for the officious house elf who had brought him here, his eyes registered the piles of bric-a-brac that cluttered every surface of the room in which he currently found himself. Sure enough, camouflaged slightly by a dangerous-looking plant in a brass pot in the corner, was Jeeves. Snape took several strides toward the creature, and grasped his spindly arm. The house elf's skin was leathery, and covered in a fine dusting of tiny hairs. Snape pointed at the immaculately starched cuff that covered Jeeves's wrist.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked roughly. "Where did you get these?"

Snape felt a sudden sharp pain on his palm, as though he had been burned, and the house elf's wrist disappeared from his grasp. With a crack, Jeeves stood inches from where he had stood earlier, but his limbs were free.

"Jeeves received them as an inheritance from Master Severus's grandfather Septimus," he answered. His voice was steady, though his round eyes held something of a silent reproach.

Snape's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And you are still in service?" he asked.

Jeeves's narrow head bobbed in answer. "Master Septimus was already dead when Jeeves received the clothing, sir. An inheritance is not a gift, sir."

"Indeed it is not," Snape grumbled, casting another glance around the room crowded with objects. "Is every room like this?" he inquired.

"No, sir. This is a sitting room, but there is a dining room, and rooms for sleeping, and a kitchen…"

Snape held up his hand to stop the house elf's list. "I meant, is every room this littered with junk?"

Jeeves's eyes widened in horror. "Oh, it is not junk, Master Severus! It is Madam Agrippina's, sir! Jeeves cannot touch it!"

"Why not?"

The house elf's voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "It is too powerful, sir. House elf's magic does not work on Madam Agrippina's things."

Impatiently, Snape waved the house elf away. "You may go. Clean the fireplaces. I may want to Floo someone."

With a long and solemn bow, Jeeves scuttled off into the hallway, leaving the Potions master alone. Snape gathered his robes around him, and looked around for a place to sit. For a sitting room, there were few chairs, and some looked as though they might dissolve into a cloud of dust should anyone attempt to sit on them. He spotted an innocuous-looking chair in the corner, and sank into it. When he was certain that it was not emitting suspicious growls or moving independently, he relaxed a bit and examined the room closer.

The collection of oddities assembled just on the occasional tables trumped anything found at Grimmauld Place. Sirius Black's cursed residence was nothing compared to the Dark Magic collected by his grandmother.

It was strange, really. He had remembered his grandmother as an ineffectual, distant woman. She had never interested herself in her family, and never visited her son and his family, preferring retirement rather than acting as the matriarch of an old and once-powerful clan. Snape's father had often mocked her obsession with collecting knick-knacks. Snape had never suspected that she was collecting objects of great Dark power.

His thoughts were interrupted by the hooting and scratching of an owl at the window. Rising, Snape made his way to the window and allowed the bird inside. It perched on the high back of an armchair, which miraculously withstood the strain, and held out its claw, to which was attached a roll of parchment. Snape took the letter, and opened the window again. The owl hooted at him in frustration at not receiving a treat, but flew away.

Snape broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. He began to read.

Dear Professor Snape,

Messrs. Borgin and Burkes extend our deepest sympathies for the loss of your esteemed grandmother and matriarch of the Snape family. In the days following her funeral, you will no doubt seek to dispose of some of her possessions, and we would like to remind you that Borgin and Burkes specializes in magical items of considerable vintage. We offer excellent percentages on consigned items, and we buy high-quality items at competitive prices to offer to a select clientele in our store in Knockturn Alley. A representative of our firm will call at Duslain ----

Snape did not read any further and crumpled the letter in his fist. Stepping forward to the fireplace, he rifled among the items on the mantelpiece until he found what he was looking for. He opened the small clay jar and threw a handful of powder into the fireplace, calling out, "Hogwarts, Dumbledore's Office!"

Green flames shot up into the chimney, and Snape leaned into them.

"Albus, I'm afraid I will need your help."