Severus has been to the medbay not to seek treatment, but to assist in treating others. Medical remains understaffed, and its primary workforce at the moment is composed of witches - something Severus has found he's fiercely (but quietly) proud of. He looks like he hasn't rested, but doesn't seem particularly tired nor is he visibly injured; Severus continues to exist stubbornly in the jaded realm of 'that sucked, but you'll have to try a lot harder, TQ.' When he's made his way to the table, he thunks down a box on the top of it. There's a soft glass-clink noise from within: several small vials with hand-written notes stuck to them. Salve for mending cut skin, painkiller, dreamless sleep.

"Happy Christmas."

He sits down.