"Morning, Petunia!"

Petunia turned to see her next-door neighbor, Mrs. Rachel Hanson, was also taking her bins out just now. "Good morning, Rachel."

Rachel smiled and ambled over, dusting her hands on her apron. She was a little older than Petunia, with subtle grays streaking her blond hair and a much rounder, more matronly figure than Petunia's. "I saw you had visitors the other day! Dark haired man, dark haired boy... are they friends or relatives?"

Petunia made herself keep smiling. Rachel was another stay-at-home mother, and just as nosy as Petunia. Unlike Petunia's life, Rachel's was currently rather dull, or at least it had been the year before, when Petunia had also had very little to occupy her mind. The two of them had spied on each other and gossiped together frequently before Harry came to live with the Dursleys; it appeared Rachel had kept up the spying independently. "Relatives," Petunia answered. "The boy is my nephew, Harry. He lives with us, now."

"Really? Since when?" Rachel asked, obviously surprised.

"Oh, a good while," Petunia said vaguely. She did not want to try to explain why Rachel had never seen Harry before in the year he had been living at Number 4.

"Hmm..." Her eyes narrowed knowingly. "Was that his father, then?"

"Ah, no," Petunia said. It hadn't occurred to her people would mistake Severus for Harry's father, but she supposed it wasn't impossible. Their faces were very different but they did have the same dark hair, even if Severus' was straight and unfortunately rather greasy compared to Harry's unkempt waves. Even both their eyes were green, although Severus' were verging on muddy hazel, not Harry's and Lily's clear emerald. "That was his other uncle, my brother. Harry's parents... they both died last year. In a car crash."

Rachel's eyes widened, and her expression softened sympathetically. "Oh... I had no idea. But I suppose that's why I've seen so little of you, you poor dear. I know your mother had passed as well; I saw the obituary. Heart attack, was it? So much turmoil in the family in one year! Oh, isn't this just a string of bad luck?"

"Er, yes," Petunia said uncomfortably. "Look, I still need to feed the boys breakfast, but why don't you come around for a cuppa later this morning, and we can catch up?"

"I'd love to. Emma's going to her father's for the weekend after school, so it's just me in the house anyways."

Ah, separated or possibly divorced, Petunia concluded shrewdly. The last time she had spoken to Rachel, the woman had been complaining about her daughter acting out, but Petunia had already suspected the ten-year-old was reacting to the tension in the parents' marriage... She blushed a little, realizing how much she had been craving some normal, non-magical gossip and drama, and not just the soaps on daytime telly. "Around ten, then?"

"Ten it is."

Ten o'clock rolled around, and in short order, Petunia was fully apprised of all the neighborhood news she had been ignoring for the past thirteen months. Rachel was currently separated from her husband, but the divorce was to be finalized in early January. Emma was still acting out in school, but less than she had been since the official separation and since Rachel and her husband had been seeing a counselor, for their daughter's sake. The empty house on Wisteria Walk had finally been sold to an elderly widow named Mrs. Figg, who according to Rachel owned at least six cats. Emma had insisted they try counting through the windows the other day, apparently. Ironically, that meant Mrs. Figg's neighbors were now looking to sell their house, as both of them despised cats. "And let's see, old Mr. Johnson at Number 8 had a stroke two months ago, but he's been doing well enough since he's been home. His wife says they'll need someone to do the yardwork next year, though, since he won't be able to himself, not safely. Oh! And Mrs. Jones at Number 7 is expecting again, did you know?"

"Oh, how wonderful for her. This will be her third, right?"

"That's right. She's hoping for another girl, I think, but her husband wants another boy."

"I'll have to tell him two boys so close together are too much of a handful."

Rachel cast a glance back into the living room, where Dudley and Harry were happily watching Mr. Men cartoons for the past twenty minutes. "Are they too rambunctious, or do they not get along?"

Petunia shrugged enigmatically. "It's been a big adjustment for both of them, with lots of tantrums unfortunately. Dudders never had to share us before."

Rachel nodded. "And now he's having to share his parents, his space, his toys, and meanwhile little Harry has to get used to a whole new house and family... poor little tykes. Well, I guess the only small blessing is that since they are both boys, at least you can reuse some of Dudley's old things."

"Yes and no. Dudley's always been so big for his age, we had already gotten rid of most of the clothes that would have fit Harry better. We're also in the market for another bedframe now, as Harry is outgrowing Dudley's old crib." It was a small lie. The night after Severus' visit, Vernon and Petunia had decided to move Harry up to the smaller spare bedroom, which they were mainly using for storage, including of Dudley's crib. As it happened, Harry had quite outgrown it already when they checked, and with the old baby gate broken, Petunia had decided it was safer for him to keep sleeping downstairs for now, even if it was in a storage cupboard, until they had a free weekend to clear out some of the old furniture and things and buy a new bed and baby gate.

"Oh! Would you want to take a look at Emma's old things? She's gotten so big, we decided to replace her bedroom furniture with a regular adult set from my parents, since they're down-sizing. It's nothing special, just a twin bed and a night stand, and they're painted pink right now, but you and the boys could have fun re-painting them, and it would certainly be cheaper than buying new..."

Petunia raised an eyebrow. Between Vernon's promotion last year and Petunia's inheritance from her mother, they didn't particularly need charity, but it was worth considering. "I'll speak to Vernon this evening. Maybe we'll come 'round tomorrow to look at it."

"Wonderful. I might even still have some red enamel paint in the garage you could use on it. I'm sure Harry won't care that much about the color, but he might like it more than pink. It would be good for him to have something that feels like his own. Emma was around his age I think when she started that phase." Petunia smiled. Dudley was certainly in that phase. Everything was "mine, mine, mine," and it was a great struggle for him to share. She looked back towards the boys in the other room thoughtfully. Harry wasn't that much younger than Dudley. She realized that even though Harry had been with them for over a year now, even since Severus had visited and lifted the weight from her head of constant worry of some sinister wizard attacking them, even though she knew he must be traumatized by the loss of his parents and naturally looking to her for comfort, she hadn't really been thinking of or treating him as a regular child. She had been treating him like a job, feeding him, dressing him, hiding him, and absent-mindedly soothing his tears without actually trying to relate to or understand him. He was a too-serious child, quiet much of the time, but prone to fits of crying that rarely seemed to relate to anything tangible, unlike Dudley's more predictable tantrums. He was only occasionally laughing and exuberant as he should be. At least that had improved in the last few weeks since he was allowed out of the house and Dudley was playing with him more. Rachel was right. It would do Harry some good to start making this house feel like a home to him.

Petunia sighed wistfully. It was nice, talking to Rachel about parenting, but it made her realize just how much she missed her own mother, and her mother's advice. She felt lost with two such young children sometimes, and she still didn't feel comfortable talking to Vernon's parents about Harry's situation. They had never even met Harry, as both struggled with heart problems and diabetes and rarely left their home in London.

The two women chatted awhile longer. Rachel stayed for lunch, fixing peanut butter sandwiches for the boys while Petunia made tuna sandwiches for the two of them. As she was leaving that afternoon, she called from the front step, "Oh, Petunia, there's a package for you out here!" Petunia followed her out, and Rachel beamed as she handed over a flat parcel wrapped in brown paper. It looked like a book. "I suppose it didn't fit through the letter slot. Funny I didn't notice it on my way in."

"Oh, thank you."

"See you tomorrow, dear." She sauntered off.

Petunia closed the door behind her and proceeded back into the parlor. Oddly, the package had no return address on it, nor any of the customary stamps of the postal service. She carefully unwrapped it and found it was, indeed, a book. A handsome new journal, actually, with a lock on it like a little girl's diary. It wasn't locked though. She opened it up and found the key was tucked inside the front cover. The first page said very simply For Petunia. She turned another page and found a letter was written on the verso.

Dear Petunia,

This journal and another exactly like it in my possession are enchanted with the Protean charm. What this means is that changes made to one copy will cause identical changes in the other. To be exact, any words you write in yours will be immediately reflected in mine. I thought this might be a better alternative than relying on either muggle or wizarding post if you desired to get in touch with me, faster, more reliable, and far less conspicuous. Additionally, the cover is spelled to be impervious to ripping or to fluids. If for some reason you wish to dispose of it, you will have to burn it (not that I expect this, but I thought it best you know). Finally, the lock is enchanted against picking, both magical and mundane. If you lose the key, I will have to make a new one for you. If there is anything I can do for you, any question I can answer, do not hesitate to ask. You may consider this an early Christmas present, and you may rest assured I neither require nor expect a gift from you in kind. With your permission, I would be happy to send modest (and non-magical) Christmas presents for the boys as well, although I might need some advice as to what would be appropriate.

Best regards,

Severus

In the evening one week after he sent Petunia the enchanted journal, the rustle of paper from the corner alerted him to a new message, the first he had received in several days after an initial flurry of note-writing. He picked up a self-inking quill from the desk, strode across the room, sat down in the arm chair, and took up the journal from its place on the end-table.

Opening it up, he read, Question, how are you planning to deliver the boys' Christmas gifts? -P

Severus frowned for a moment's thought before writing back, Hmm...the most realistic options for me would be owl post or an in-person delivery. Unlike many wizards, I do of course know how to use the muggle postal system, but I fear I would be more likely to attract unwanted magical attention lingering in a muggle post-office than apparating directly to your neighborhood or even sending an owl, since I am not known to have any muggle acquaintances outside my estranged family. -S

What the bloody hell is owl post? -V

Severus grinned. Vernon Dursley's occasional comments in these written conversations were always entertaining. The wizarding community uses trained and magically sensitive owls to deliver our mail, Vernon. -S

HOW DOES THAT MAKE SENSE? - V

Severus snickered. He supposed it was an odd system on the face of it. We need an entirely separate system because of the International Statute of Secrecy and because many magical buildings are unplottable, meaning muggle postmen would never be able to find them even if they knew the address. Britain's owl system predates the modern era. I would be happy to acquire a copy of Bathilda Bagshot's A History of Magic for you if you have further questions about it, as frankly I never found it interesting enough to say more than that. -S

I just told him you people are weird, accept it, and move on. -P

Severus sighed. Back to business. Petunia had barely changed at all in ten years. Thank you, I suppose. Would you prefer an owl or a visit? -S

Petunia is voting for a visit, says she doesn't want a rain of owls for the neighbors to gossip about. But are you sure no one would notice from your side? I don't want any more wizards around my family than absolutely necessary. -V

As I mentioned, the risk of my being noticed is far less if I travel directly to your neighborhood via apparition, precisely because there are no other magical families in the vicinity. We know this. -S

What is apparition? -P

Oh, sorry. You might describe it as teleportation. Instantaneous travel from one location to another, within reasonable distances. Britain is small enough I can reach you easily from either my workplace or our old neighborhood (my mother still lives there). -S

So you'll just appear in our house? -V

I could, if that is your preference. It is usually considered more polite to appear somewhere in the neighborhood and then walk to the house, though. -S

Oh, good. That's alright then, I suppose. But won't the neighbors see you? -V

I have ways to avoid that. -S

Well, don't let them see you appear, but they should be able to see you walk up to the house, maybe from the direction of the bus stop. Rachel at Number 2 already spotted you the last time, and she's such a gossip I'm sure everyone else knows about my 'half-brother' already. -P

I shall take that under advisement and look for the location of the bus stop before I come. When would be a good time to visit? -S

Two days before Christmas? Sorry, I don't think we're quite ready to have you meet anyone else in the family, and Vernon's sister is coming Christmas Eve. -P

I understand. Perhaps an evening visit would be less obtrusive? Let's say seven o'clock so you have time for tea before I arrive? -S

Yes, that works. See you then, Severus. -P

Severus waited for a moment, but there was nothing more. He looked over to the broken student's desk in the corner. He was planning to transfigure it into a backyard goal set to go with the cheap football he had acquired at a muggle shop near his mother's house. The truth was, he could hardly afford anything better. Like many of magical Britain's lower and middle classes, he had been bankrupt by the end of the war. As Hogwarts' junior-most staff member with the exception of the annual Defense Professor, his salary saw the worst cuts as a significant chunk of the school's budget was redirected into scholarships in the Destitute Orphan's Fund. His only other income was the odd potion commission. If he did not have room and board at Hogwarts, he would undoubtedly have had to move back into his old room in his mother's house at Spinner's End, where the two of them would be subsisting on cheap grains and cabbages. His mother had even less of an income than he did; one of her cousins had been a Death Eater and shown up to murder Severus' muggle father and punish his "blood traitor" mother for marrying the man. Eileen Snape née Prince had never told her son what exactly had happened, nor had Cousin Drussus when Severus had tracked him down to exact revenge along with one of his more blood-thirsty auror acquaintances, but the event had left his mother incapable of working.

How ironic Petunia had persuaded Vernon that he of all people was the one wizard who was "absolutely necessary" around his family. Little did they know...but he would do nothing to disabuse them of their half-decent opinion of him.

A new note popping up in the journal caught his eye.

You'll have to forgive Vernon, Severus. We both agreed not to try to hide magic from Harry once he gets a bit older after what you told us about the risks, but he's very nervous about all of this. Thank you for offering to come after tea. -P

Severus smiled mirthlessly. I thought it highly presumptuous to invite myself over at all, let alone at meal time. -S

Well, maybe eventually I'll understand what Lily saw in you and get around to inviting you myself. -P

Severus bit his lip. He had never really done anything special to earn Lily's friendship. He was just the convenient only other wizard child she knew at first. He had done plenty to destroy their friendship. He hesitated before writing back, I shall do my best to earn your respect, and Vernon's. I do not expect it will be easily won, and perhaps that is best. -S

It took even longer for Petunia to respond, this time. You're still strange, Severus, and cryptic too. See you in two weeks. -P

Severus snorted again. He probably deserved that.

Author's note: well, reactions were positive enough to chapter 1, this story clearly deserved to continue! Thank you to my kind reviewers. Three notes for this chapter. First, the Protean charm is the same one Voldemort uses on the Dark Marks and that Hermione uses on the DA coins in book 5. It's quite a difficult charm, but I thought enchanted paper for "wizard texting" would still be an extremely practical use for it. Second, there's no mention of what actually happened to Snape's mother in the books, only that he had inherited her house by Book 6, at which point he would have been in his mid-30s. Since he was a half-blood, seems logical there could have been a Death-Eater "honor killing" in the background targeting his abusive muggle father. It's really no wonder so many of the younger adults in the Harry Potter world are so socially handicapped, coming straight out of the wizarding wars. Finally, the concept of the "Hogwarts Destitute Orphans Fund" as far as I know originated in the excellent fanfiction Harry Potter and the Natural 20.

I'll try to keep updates Fridays or Saturdays. As before, this story isn't really one where I have some kind of Grand Narrative in mind beyond letting the plot play out naturally with this single initial change, so if there are certain scenes you would be interested in seeing, let me know in the reviews, and maybe it will happen!