Severus is smoking. He shouldn't be doing that in here, where it's supposed to be all about cleanliness and refreshing materials. He doesn't like the machines - no surprise there. He could certainly just charm the ones he's using to prevent theft or tampering and do something else while this happens, but part of him can't get over the nagging suspicion that something's going to go wrong. Even is mother had eschewed her machine for proper magical methods, most of the time. He's only had a few moments in life to regret not being better practiced in household spells.

"If you heat them up it distracts at first from the pain of having your nails torn out," he says, his deep voice mild and even-keeled. I've been expecting you, Professor Xavier. "But it burns after anyway."

He ashes his cigarette, an absent tap.