Living on a Thin Line

Author's Note: Many thanks to Angel Mischa, my fantastic beta.

Living On a Thin Line

Now another century nearly gone

What are we gonna leave for the young?

Hermione stood in the doorway of the porch, sipping lager shandy and watching her guests mingle in the back garden. She was pleased with the way the birthday decorations had turned out, despite having had to put them up at night when no neighbours might inadvertently witness her performing magic. She hadn't been able to see what she was doing, but now she looked on her accomplishment with approval. The sun was sinking in the sky, and a bank of rain clouds hovered to the east, black behind the vibrant red of the rusted mill chimney. Soon, the party would move inside.

The adults had claimed the garden chairs and sat in a wide semi-circle, Minerva McGonagall in the centre with Molly and Arthur Weasley flanking her. Andromeda Tonks cradled baby Teddy at one end of the arc; Hagrid, in a wooden chair conjured for him generously by Hermione when the flimsy plastic one had collapsed beneath him, sat at the other end, chatting with Harry and Ron. George and Percy reclined on a blanket spread over the lawn next to Ginny, who was weaving a necklace from the long strands of grass that grew against the garden wall. The group seemed subdued now that twilight had arrived, but the celebrations had been loud and cheerful earlier when Hermione had brought out the birthday cake and they had sung for Harry. His opened presents rested in a little pile on the table next to the food Hermione had prepared – devilled eggs and sausage buns and a vegetable platter and cupcakes – nearly all of which had been eaten.

There were people missing from this gathering, Hermione thought sadly. Luna and Neville had been invited, as had Bill and Fleur, but they had sent their regrets. And then there were those who would always be present, but only in the minds of the other guests: Fred, Lupin and Tonks, Sirius, and Dumbledore. Hermione turned around fiercely and walked back into the kitchen. She would not cry again, not at this party. Her gaze fell on the blank wall just inside the kitchen door, and thoughts of Snape rose in her mind. He would never have been invited to a party for Harry, of course, but Hermione missed him suddenly. It seemed somehow inappropriate to be holding a celebration in his old house – inappropriate to be enjoying the house at all – when the only way they could all be there was because he was dead.

'Hermione?' Ron poked his head inside the back door. 'It looks like rain. Should we all come in now?'

'Yes, of course,' she said hastily, facing him with a smile. 'I'm just going to do another bowl of punch.'

She busied herself in the kitchen while everyone came inside, making for the front rooms where she had put the settees from her parents' house. Ron and Harry carried in the food and the presents while Ginny carefully took down the streamers and balloons in the garden. She rushed in just as the first drops of the downpour began to fall.

'Thank goodness,' she said, shaking out her long, red hair. 'Just in time.' She grabbed the bowl of punch Hermione had mixed and took it into the front of the house to place on the battered dining room table.

Ron rummaged in the cupboard over the refrigerator and emerged, grinning, with a bottle of Firewhisky. 'Time for the good stuff,' he said and rescued three tumblers out of the dish drain. He poured a generous measure into each one and passed two of the glasses to Hermione and Harry. 'A toast,' he announced. 'To Harry – may your coffin be made from the wood of a hundred-year oak, which I shall plant tomorrow.'

They downed their drinks. Hermione giggled. 'I'm not sure that toast I taught you works so well for wizards, Ron!'

'Hey,' Harry protested, 'one hundred and eighteen years is a respectable old age, even for wizards. I won't be complaining.' He refilled their glasses and held his up. 'To everyone who isn't here – may their memories live as long as we do.'

Hermione drank, thinking of Snape. Ron, echoing her thoughts, said, 'Yeah, even grumpy old Professor Snape. Without him, it'd just be another boring party at the Burrow.'

Harry tilted his glass in acknowledgment. 'Pity his house turned out to be so normal.'

'Well,' said Hermione, smiling mischievously, 'not that normal.' She led them to the doorway and pointed at the wall. 'Do you see that?'

'Yeah,' Ron laughed. 'It's a wall.' He made a grab for her glass, which she twitched out of his reach. 'I think you've had too much to drink.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'The stairs go right above here, you see? And where stairs go up,' she prompted, looking at her friends expectantly.

'They go down,' Harry murmured, inspecting the wall with new interest. 'Are you saying there's a basement?'

'That's what Kingsley thought the first time we came here, and I think he's right,' Hermione told them. 'But if there is, I don't know how to get in.'

Ron ran one hand over the wall. 'It doesn't even look as if there's a door here,' he said doubtfully. 'There aren't any cracks or hinges or anything.'

'The hinges might be on the other side,' Harry pointed out. 'But you're right – there ought to be something...' He knelt and slid his fingers carefully along the join where the wall met the floor.

'But it's Snape's old house,' Hermione reminded them unnecessarily. 'That means it could be concealed by magic.'

Pulling his wand out of his pocket as Harry stood up again, Ron brandished it over the wall and said, 'Alohomora!'

Hermione favoured Ron with a disdainful glance. 'You didn't really think that was going to work, did you?'

He shrugged sheepishly. 'I figured it was worth a try. Anyway,' he added defensively, 'you're not exactly giving it your best shot. You've been living here almost a month already!'

'Yes, Ron,' she said, exasperated, 'but I didn't want to go casting spells at it willy-nilly. What if Snape enchanted it to seal itself permanently if someone tries to break in? Or worse,' she continued, 'put some kind of trap on it?'

Chastised, Ron put his wand away. 'I didn't think of that,' he said apologetically. Hermione rolled her eyes again and finished her drink.

Harry was still staring at the wall thoughtfully. 'This reminds me of something,' he said, shaking his head as if to clear his mind. 'But I can't think where...' He trailed off and touched the wall again with his fingertips.

The door to the front room swung open and bashed him in the elbow. George poked his head round. 'Sorry, mate,' he said, seeing Harry rub his arm. 'What are you kids doing in here?' He came into the room, pushing the door closed behind him.

Noting Hermione's forbidding look, Ron said, 'Just sneaking a drink. Want one?' He poured some Firewhisky into a fourth tumbler.

'Bottoms up,' said George, drinking the whisky in one gulp. He put his empty glass into the sink and ushered them out of the kitchen. 'Mum was starting to wonder where the guest of honour had got to.'

The party continued. Hermione, sitting on the floor of the front room with her back resting against the shelves, basked in the familial atmosphere and tried not to let her mind settle on any thoughts that might disrupt her contentment. Just after nightfall, Andromeda left, taking Teddy home for bed, and Hagrid and McGonagall followed, returning to Hogwarts together. Arthur and Molly stayed a little longer and insisted on helping Hermione tidy up, but eventually they departed too, leaving the younger generation sprawled across the living room floor in various states of relaxation. Crookshanks sauntered in through the kitchen and climbed into Hermione's lap, circling for a few moments before curling into a ball and tucking his nose beneath his tail.

'Does he like his new home?' Percy asked, pointing at the cat.

'Oh, I think so,' Hermione answered languidly, her voice made slow and mellow by all the whisky and punch. 'He's already brought in some mice from the field out back.' She tipped her head back against the shelves and let it rest on the row of books behind her.

The boys started a game of Exploding Snap at the dining room table; Ginny went into the kitchen where Hermione could hear the rattle and clang of pots and pans. She knew Ginny was fixing dinner and wanted to protest, but didn't bother. She'll just remind me that I hosted the party and ought to let her do a bit of the work now. She got slowly to her feet and stretched, enjoying the sensation of muscles cracking and joints popping as she raised her arms over her head and arched her back. Crookshanks, made restless by her movements, trotted to the front door and looked back at her expectantly. With a low sigh, she opened the front door and followed him outside.

The rain had stopped, and the air now held a green, damp smell as everything started to dry in the gentle summer heat. Hermione could feel her hair frizzing in the humidity as she stepped onto the pavement and looked out over the field that bounded the end of the street. The streetlamps glowed hazily. She turned around, intending to walk to the bottom of the street and back, but was instead startled to find a boy standing in her path, looking up at her accusingly.

'Do you live in Spinner's End now?' he asked in a thick Yorkshire accent. Shaggy brown hair, which clearly hadn't seen a pair of scissors in a long time, hung into his blue eyes and fell to either side of his thin face. His baggy clothes were streaked with mud.

'Yes,' Hermione answered calmly. 'I moved in a few weeks ago.'

'What happened to Professor Snape, then?' the child demanded.

His question jolted Hermione into a state of alertness. 'Did you know Professor Snape?' she enquired curiously.

'Yeah,' the boy answered shortly, narrowing his eyes at her. A guarded expression crept across his face. 'Where's he gone?'

She sat down on the curb and stretched her legs out in front of her, patting the ground beside her. The boy complied, settling next to her, but continued to regard her with suspicion. 'I'm Hermione,' she said, extending her hand. 'What's your name?'

He shook firmly, smearing dirt across her palm. 'Mark.'

'I'm afraid I have some bad news, Mark,' she said gently. 'Professor Snape passed away a couple of months ago.'

For a moment the child looked stricken: his cheeks paled, and his blue eyes darkened with unhappiness. Then his face became shuttered and he shrugged. He picked up a stick from the gutter and dragged it along the crack between the pavement and the curb. 'It happens, I guess,' he said.

'Are you all right?' she asked.

'Yeah,' he said defiantly. 'How'd you get his house?'

'He left it to me in his will,' she said simply.

'Who are you, that he ought to leave his house to you?' Mark asked, looking her over appraisingly. 'You're never his daughter.'

Hermione smiled. 'No. I used to be one of his students.'

At this, Mark laughed outright, raising one eyebrow in a ridiculously adult expression of mockery. 'He told me about his students. He said he taught at a school for the mentally challenged.'

It was such a Snape-like thing to have said that Hermione didn't have the heart to be offended by this statement. Coughing to conceal her amusement, she admitted, 'Well, I suppose we all have our little mental challenges.'

'You were having a party today,' Mark said abruptly. 'I could see from my bedroom window.' He pointed up the street at the house one over from Spinner's End. 'What were you celebrating?'

'It's my best friend's birthday today,' she answered him.

'Professor Snape was my best friend,' said Mark forlornly, starting to peel the outer layers of bark from the stick in his hand. 'He used to give me lemonade. He was teaching me how to play chess.' He turned his head and looked at the front door of Spinner's End wistfully.

Sadness tore at Hermione's heart, a mixture of pity for this boy, who had lost a best friend who was a neighbour and a grown-up instead of a child his own age, and grief for Snape, whom Hermione had never imagined to have a life outside of Hogwarts. Yet here was the proof that Snape's life hadn't been all magic and misery – somehow, during his summers at home, he had found the time to get to know and, eventually, befriend a neighbourhood child. Mark was, Hermione thought ruefully, probably the only person who would now grieve for Snape as a friend rather than as a brave, but ultimately unpleasant, hero of war.

'I have a friend who's really good at chess,' Hermione said suddenly. 'Maybe you could come over at weekends and keep learning from him.'

'Nah,' said Mark, throwing down his stick and standing up. 'Thanks anyway, though,' he added.

'Well, just for lemonade, then,' Hermione amended, desperate now not to leave the boy alone in his sadness.

'You make it with real lemons, like the professor did?' he asked, cocking his head to one side.

'You can teach me his recipe,' she offered, and finally Mark smiled.

''Kay,' he agreed. 'Sunday afternoons. That's when I used to come over.'

'Sunday afternoons it is,' Hermione confirmed.

'Right,' he said. 'Bye, Hermione!' He turned and trotted up the street, disappearing into the next house over and closing the door behind him with a slam.

She stood on the pavement for a few more minutes, pleased that she had won over Snape's young friend and etching a reminder into her brain to pick up lemons at the market on Saturday. Then she whistled for Crookshanks and went back inside, joining Ginny in the kitchen. As she passed through the doorway, she glanced at the wall where she thought the entrance to the putative basement might be, and a thought that had been hovering in the back of her mind swam to the front, making her pause and regard the blank plaster with deep satisfaction: I've got a conduit to you now, Severus Snape – bet you didn't think I'd meet your little friend! And now I'm going to unravel your mysteries, one by one.