Of course, he'd known the moment she handed him her address. He should have known the moment he saw her, but Monica Wilkins was somewhat different from Helen Granger and it had been ten years of war and reconstruction since the day he stood on Drs. Richard and Helen Granger's doorstep to introduce them and their daughter to the wizarding world. If that wasn't a sign, he didn't know what was.
The suburban street smelled like rain on freshly mown grass. The house on Merple Street was like he remembered it. There were changes of course. A fresh coat of paint in violet with brightly colored tropical green on the trim around the heavy antique wooden door. The Grangers no doubt had embraced the eccentricity their life experiences had provided. Life experiences precipitated by giving birth to one of the brightest, no, bravest, witches in the past quarter century.
He climbed the stairs like a stranger or a penitent, hoping to find absolution but steeling himself for a lack of recognition, crossed the well worn boards of the porch, and knocked.
The silhouette behind the glass caused the air to leave his lungs. That whirlpool of hair belonged to a force of nature unlike any he'd ever encountered before. The woman paused behind the door as if gathering strength and then the door opened faster than he expected.
"You!" she said.
"Me?"
He longed to run his hands through that hair, to wrap it around his fists, and explore it like the kelp forest in the Giant Squid's lake.
"I never could have expected you here." And then, "I'm sorry. I've treated you very badly."
"I behaved very badly."
"No. Not very badly. But, unexpectedly; it made me wrong-footed."
He flexed his hand, massaged it. "I'm sorry for my... awkwardness earlier."
"No, no you were right. I-"
"Have you two met before?" Helen Granger asked.
"Oh, mum! This is Severus, a friend of mine from the Order of the Phoenix ... a great man in the wizarding world," Hermione stepped aside, opening the door wide and presented him as though her were the Prince of Wales or Wellington or Hercules maybe come by for afternoon tea.
"Hermione -" he tried to cut her off.
"Remember mum? He was the one who perfected the Wolfsbane potion and cured Professor Lupin. He's been writing the most brilliant articles for the Record of Outstanding Potions Experimentation. I, ah, was rather rude to him a few months ago-"
"-Hermione merely pointed out a character flaw that has been causing me a great amount of heartache over the years," he gently corrected her.
"Severus-"
"-In fact, it was only after consideration of such a flaw that I mad my way here. Out of concern. Because," he cleared his throat, "because sometimes what is right isn't easy."
The smile blossomed like yeast scattering across water before the proofing. It illuminated every part of her.
"I always hoped you'd come back," she said simply.
He reached for her hand and she allowed it, leaning in loose and languid. He wove his fingers through hers.
"I have. I'm here."
Helen Granger politely kept her eyes on his but the gesture didn't escape her. "Well then," she said, "you must join us for dinner. Hermione dear, show him in and I'll put on some tea."
And, for Severus Snape, that was the beginning of something good.