meet-and-greet | January 2016

[governors]

The Governors do this, sometimes; they hold a meet-and-greet for the new arrivals to help them get acclimated, and also to distract them from destroying their rooms. A message goes out to all the new arrivals informing them of a party with free food. Everyone likes free food, right?

In one of the recreation areas - sadly, not one of the ones accessible by slide - there are some chips, dip, some sodas and Solo cups, several large pizzas, and a surprising amount of Oreos.

Party.

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[traqueur]

Once upon a time, Martha Jones had met Shakespeare, and she'd had the Doctor there (and the rather large crush she'd developed upon the alien) to keep her from acting like a complete moron. Here, she just had herself and her love of the Harry Potter series; acting like a moron seemed to be winning out even with her attempting to well... not be one. No, instead Martha was trying to distance herself and her gushing as much as possible.

Maybe she was doing too good of a job of it.

Accepting the invitation, Martha nodded quickly and solemnly. "You gave him your memories," the words came softly, and her fingers flexed to touch him once again, because each word brought her closer to the inevitable that she'd already given away with a use of tenses that she'd not even thought of, given the wibbly wobbly timey wimey nature of traveling in the TARDIS.

While she had been trying to keep some of the emotion from her voice, Martha couldn't help the low tones and sympathy that filled it when she mentioned what it was that had been contained in the flowing silver that had come from every pore in an effort to save Harry fulfill his promise. "It was your memories of Lily that got him to trust you, and then memories of Dumbledore actually telling you what Harry would need to do that would end up..." Winning seemed like a harsh thing to say, given how Severus Snape had laid down his life for Harry, so she settled for, "defeating Voldemort."

[brewglory]

Severus might have been satisfied - if not wholly comfortable - with the short answer. He hadn't expected her to start listing off the contents of those memories, and when she did, his eyes widened slightly in shock and not a little bit of horror. It hadn't been part of the plan for him to simply pour out the contents of his mind for Potter, but he'd known he was moments from dying. What was necessary had always trumped what he wanted.

To have those memories recited back to him by a stranger - evidence of hundreds, thousands, millions of strangers who could similarly recite back those memories - was harrowing, an unintentional violation of the privacy he held so sacred. She knew about -

Things he himself didn't know about. That was the worst part. If he had been home, he could reclaim those memories, but just as removing memories during Potter's Occlumency lessons had ensured they wouldn't be viewed in the event of an accident, letting loose his memories so close to death and abduction had been like cutting off a hand. They were in the possession of Lily's son - or, if he had missed capturing any of them - gone entirely, with only fragments remaining behind. Memories of memories, places where they once existed. Emotions remained from past experiences, but without explanation for why.

Martha Jones knew all those things he couldn't remember.

He felt dizzy.

He sank down into one of the seats, his glass held delicately in both hands.

[traqueur]

Seeing how pale he looked, Martha was concerned that there was something wrong other than simply the obvious. Guilt for letting him have the whiskey slipped into her thoughts and Martha moved closer to him on the sofa where he'd settled, one hand readying to slip below his wrist and take his pulse in order to make certain she didn't need to call for this place's version of an ambulance. This was a lot for anyone, never mind someone who had lost the memories Martha knew.

If she had know that he'd not remembered, that when he'd taken out those memories he'd lost them for good, Martha Jones would have kept her mouth shut. Alas, she'd been taken from a time before there was even the mention of a Pottermore, and when the Doctor had given her the seventh book, he'd neglected to tell her about it's existence, or indeed, that there would be an eighth story that would come out several years later. All Martha had to go on was the words she'd cherished and how she'd cried when she'd read them.

"Severus," Martha began, and then she instantly corrected herself to go with the more formal, "Mr. Snape," because perhaps she was personal enough already, "are you alright? Can I take your pulse, please?" Her fingers hovered over his pale skin and the glass, not quite touching them, just enough to give the illusion of warmth.

[brewglory]

He withdrew from her a little, moving his hand under the pretense of bringing it to his forehead. It had only been momentary, a slight tilting of the room that was now right again. He was fine, he told himself - but she was probably right about the alcohol. If he wasn't going to allow her to play doctor with his pulse, he could certainly make a small concession and let her have the glass back.

Drinking would only exacerbate what this conversation was doing to him.

He shook his head slowly, clearing it and at the same time rejecting her offer. "I'm fine." He wasn't. He knew he wasn't; his injuries hadn't even remotely healed, and who knew what long-term effects would come from Nagini's venom? Arthur Weasley had been less seriously injured by her, and he had been laid up for weeks.

"You have accomplished quite a feat," he commented after a beat had passed. As he continued, he handed over his glass, surrendering his right to drink for the remainder of the evening. "For once, I have absolutely no idea what to say."

[traqueur]

The glass wasn't his pulse, but she took it from him anyway, drawing back in order to set it on the table top before her attention was returned to him once more. He was using the same 'I'm fine' that Martha herself tended to use and she wondered if it rang as untrue for people who did the same thing as it was doing for Martha right now. All of her instincts were currently going on high speed, and she wanted to do nothing more than to rush him to be checked, but she also knew that he wouldn't appreciate her doing it.

Understanding what it meant for him to be silent, Martha herself remained so for a moment, her eyes on him and a look of concern etched on her face. She shouldn't have told him; she should have waited and let someone else do it, a doctor perhaps once they'd cleared him medically to have such a huge shock to his system. If someone told Martha about the year that wasn't, and how it had been entertainment, she would have had the same sort of mortified reaction that he did.

"I'm sorry," the words came quickly, and she pressed her hands together in order not to touch him. "I shouldn't have told you, not like that. It wasn't fair of me."

[brewglory]

"I can't imagine there is a good way to tell someone the information you did," he replied dryly. Now that the glass was gone, he found he wished he hadn't parted with it. There was still enough whiskey in that cup to dull some of the edges -

No, that wouldn't be wise right now. Perhaps later, when she wasn't around to regard him with such concern.

He spread his hands, indicating with gesture the pause in his speech was matched by one in thought while he tried to sort out how best to continue. She was a complete stranger - but that sort of thing went right out the window when a complete stranger was both a doctor and knew your entire life's story, didn't it? And when that person looked so worried on your behalf?

No. Again, no. He couldn't tell her that he was missing large fragments of himself. It was humiliating on its own, but to have her know things about him that he didn't? To have her in a position to hold those things over him, to blackmail him? He didn't know her, and he certainly didn't trust her. He needed to escape this conversation with minimal threat. "I'm sure you would agree I should rest."

[traqueur]

Martha watched him the entire time he was silent, the compassion and concern on her face only growing the longer the silence between them spread out. He was right of course, there was no good way to tell someone that people (especially her) knew about his past, and the wounds that were causing him such an issue at the present. A part of her, the doctor part, wanted to see his chart, to learn how he was being treated. Martha remembered the length of time that Arthur Weasley had suffered, and she was hoping (for his sake) that the period of being sick wasn't going to be as lengthy.

At the suggestion of rest, Martha nodded, her face forming into the countenance of her doctor self. The concern was still present of course, but it was more professional than personal. Martha, the woman who had just torn his life into bits and felt terrible about it was pressed aside for Dr. Jones and at least some professional distance. "Of course, Mr. Snape," she agreed calmly, and she rose to stand up.

To stand up and to offer a suggestion she didn't expect him to take but one she needed to make anyway, if only for her sake. "Do you want me to walk back with you, Mr. Snape." There was a question of just in case the small amount of liquor and the large amount of emotional upheaval had interferred with the healing process.