x x x

It took far less time that she'd expected to forget. Or, if not to forget, at least not to think about it all the time. To be honest, it had been a long time since she'd talked to him, even before. She was fine now, really. Absolutely fine.

This is what Lily told her the man from the psych ward at Mungo's, the grief counselor that talked to all of Severus's friends. He spent a lot of time talking to Lily. They met in the Muggle Studies classroom, with desks lined up like soldiers.

"Are you sure?" he said, looking at her sideways through his narrow, square glasses. The sun glinted off the frame. Lily fixed her eyes on this fleck of gold and nodded.

He shuffled his papers, papers full of Lily and Severus. "Does your mother think you should go back to school?"

Lily told him that she'd said yes. She didn't tell him that she hadn't spoken to her mother in months, since summer holiday. That wasn't part of grief counseling.

After a few more minutes of scanning his notes, Dr. Hopkins smiled at her, sliding the papers back into the folder. "Well, then," he said, standing up. "I agree."

Lily turned her lips up at the corners. It still didn't feel right. She thanked him.

"I'll tell Headmaster Dumbledore," he said, walking towards the door to open it for her. Lily kept her smile, saying thank you again.

And then she was gone. Cool wisps of air brushed against her arms, raising goosebumps, and she pulled her robes more tightly around her. "Something we call winter," Severus said in her ear.

x x x

The Great Hall was empty when James got down there that morning. He sat at the long table, resting his head against the wood, closing his eyes. He'd be able to hear it when it came, even over the slight hum of rain.

The owl knew when to come by now - James couldn't say how he knew, but that was owls. He fluttered down in front of James, dropping the newspaper in front of him. His beak snapped open and shut as he stuck out his foot. The brown coin sack dangled off the side.

"He's already paid his subscription," James said, nudging the foot off of the headline, but was safe this morning, something beautifully monotonous. James was mildly amused that the dragon flu in Tanzania made front-page news these days. He supposed that even a war got tiring after a while.

It didn't take him long to search the rest of the paper. It was all safe - no articles about the Snape murder. He set it down as carefully as he could, paper barely rustling. The owl continued to look at him. "You can deliver it at breakfast if you want," he said, pushing it back towards the probing foot. "It's clear today."

The owl wrapped its talons carefully around the paper, still eyeing him suspiciously. "Ask Remus at breakfast," James said, smiling a little. "He'll tell you he's paid."

The owl swooped almost against the glass roof of the hall, flicking out of the windows. James lay down on the bench for a moment, staring up into the drizzly grey sky. In a half-hour, Remus and Peter would wake up. They'd all three walk down to the Great Hall together, and Remus wouldn't notice that his paper was already read. Even when it came with pieces cut out, he assumed it was Filch.

James, on the other hand, would remember the bits of paper curled up on the stone floor, edges grinning as they burned, watching the words go up in smoke.

x x x

A/N: I will say now that Snape is not a ghost. That is all I will say now.

I know that this story has not been updated for ages (mercy, seven months), mainly because the bug had left. I started writing other things, for other fandoms, for myself, and I didn't really come back to the Mauraders.

Lately they've been haunting me, though, so I've been writing on this again. Hopefully it will last longer than my last binge. I was really in an overall slump then, though, so hopefully I can stay excited and inspired. Fingers crossed, guys.

~DreamingOfNothing