JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter Universe. I make no money from these efforts and appreciate the opportunity to borrow her characters. Please read and review. I enjoy constructive criticism. Thank you to my beta peppernator0817 for taking the time to read and provide great suggestions! ALSO: This story is finished, but I am currently working on another fic : The Charm of Making. I hope you will check it out as well. It will be more action oriented.

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This story is AU. It takes place after the war and Severus has survived.

Under Your Spell

Chapter 1: Pretty Woman

She looked like a strumpet.

Severus had just gotten up to put on a pot of tea when he had glanced out of the window. A scantily clad girl had caught his eye, and she had given him pause. Such women were not unknown to rundown neighborhoods like Spinners End, but there was little business to be had here. Most of the homes were empty, and the few that were occupied housed individuals of the geriatric persuasion. They were more likely to be tempted by a hot cuppa or a basket of fresh groceries.

He watched the young woman stumble down the sidewalk with a cloth bundle in her arms. She was petite and plump, and her brassy, poorly dyed hair hung in lank hanks around her face and down her back. The roots of her hair were a very dark brown until about six inches down where it became a very bright blond. He found it rather disconcerting to look at it, but it was difficult to ignore. As she came closer, he focused on the juxtaposition of the tawdry garb she wore and the sweet, pouty face that peeked out of that strange brown-blond hair. She looked like a doll, one that had been cast aside and left on the fringes of a playground. Her strapless top clung to her very round breasts. They had a life of their own and seemed to bounce playfully as she strutted in her pumps down the crumbling concrete walk. He focused on her face again; she looked familiar.

He squinted, retrieving images of her sitting at his table in the Muggle pub. She had walked in one night dressed far more modestly and accompanied by a rather obnoxious, loud young woman. The men in the pub had had a hungry gleam in their eyes when they had spotted the young birds. While he had been restrained, he had not been immune to the pull, the longing for company. He had just been released from Azkaban the previous day. Though he had been pardoned for the death of Dumbledore, the Wizengamot had held him responsible for the deplorable treatment of the students during his tenure as headmaster. He had tried to shield the students from the brunt of the Carrow's cruelty but had been unable to prevent every instance of torture. The censure had fallen hard upon his already heavily burdened shoulders, but he bore it without comment. Potter had screamed, shouted, and had ultimately been removed from the courtroom after they had handed down his two year sentence. Seemingly stoic and unmoved, his face had not reflected his inner torment, guilt. Frankly, he had not expected to live after the war nor had he expected to be exonerated for the murder of Dumbledore. He often wished he had succumbed to Nagini's poison. He was not sure what had prompted Granger to return and shove a blood replenishing potion and a Bezoar down his throat. He still remembered the sting of the dittany on his raw,torn flesh. He had certainly never been kind to her, and there were still so many more on both sides who wanted his head on a platter. They had deemed him an outcast, a pariah, and nothing that Potter did would erase the stigma that accompanied the name Snape.

Returning to the memory, he recalled the catcalls and whistles that had accompanied the girls entrance to the pub. The friend had enjoyed the attention, but she had not. She had followed her friend to the back of the bar, but there were no empty tables. He had used his foot to push out the empty chair at his table. Sitting in the shadows, he had nodded to her and gestured towards the empty seat. She looked nervously at her friend, who had headed to the back of the room where a table full of randy young bucks were calling her to sit on their laps.

Shyly, she had taken a seat and pulled the chair up across from him. Her hair had been freshly dyed then. Lips brightly painted, eyes heavily lined, and brows neatly plucked, she had sat quietly across from him like some china doll. He had bought her a drink; she had immediately used the napkin to wipe the bright color off of her lips. Neither of them had said much that night, but he had enjoyed her quiet presence. A few hours later, she had left with her friend, and as she pushed her chair back, he told her that he liked to come to the pub on Friday evenings. She had met him there at the same time the following weeks. Sometimes she was accompanied by her friend, and sometimes she had come alone. He name was Elizabeth.

Four weeks later he had seen her for the last time, but the memory was rather cloudy. The day had been dreadful. His petition to have his potions license reinstated had been denied once again, and he was having trouble accessing his Gringott's account. By the time she had arrived, he had likely been quite drunk. It was certainly possible that he had made a complete fool of himself, for he remembered taking her hand at one point. Small, soft fingers had entwined with his. Then, everything was black from that point on. He assumed that he had passed out. How he had made it to his own bed, he was quite unsure. After such a display, he had been rather embarrassed, and it had taken six weeks for him to garner the courage to show his face again. She had not returned, and disgusted with his own maudlin desire to see her every time the pub door opened, he had stopped going.

But here she was and dressed far too scantily for the brisk spring weather that was upon them. The image before him seemed a bit incongruous. Though she had been dolled up, he never recalled seeing so much of her.

If her shirt was immodest, her skirt was positively indecent. It was also tight and short. It seemed to creep up her plump thighs as she walked. If he waited long enough, he was sure to get quite a show. He let the curtain fall across the window as she drew closer. Gazing out of the hazy, dirty window pane, he felt a vague sense of unease as she drew closer. He stepped away from the window as she stopped short and looked at his house.

She seemed to steel herself as she drew in a breath. Her almond shaped eyes squinted as she looked up into the sun; she was trying to gather a bit of nerve he supposed. She looked so heavily burdened for one so young. She walked closer and seemed to shiver with pleasure when she passed his preliminary wards. He quirked his brow, "curious," he murmured.

He held his breath as she approached and knocked on his door.

"What the devil," he muttered as he stepped forward to open the door.

She stood stock still staring at him with large eyes.

"Well? Girl, I haven't got all day, "he groused.

He watched her dark brows raise and then lower in determination. "Well, I'm terribly sorry to bother such a fine gentleman on a Sunday morning, but I have something rather important to discuss with you." She looked at him expectantly.

"Get on with it then."

"You want me to share your business with all and sundry?" She turned her head and looked at the tightly packed houses next to his.

He knew his neighbors were likely listening. It was a quiet morning, and the walls around here were as thin as paper.

"Come in then," he stepped back as she passed by him; he felt the tiny hairs on his body stand on end and gooseflesh appeared on his skin as she passed. It was not altogether unpleasant. He watched as she stood shifting from foot to foot in the middle of his tiny kitchen. Her eyes were closed, and for some strange, unknown reason, she seemed to revel in the, dare he say, feel of his home.

He drew closer, and she seemed to lean towards him. Strangely enough, he felt her presence to be both comforting and invigorating. Since Lilly, he had never felt such energy before.

"Through here," he huffed as he stalked past her and led her into the rather cozy den. The carpet and furniture were bare and dusty, but the fire was burning heartily. He sat in an aged leather wing back chair while she perched on the old sofa. Time had worn it down and it was now an indiscernible color somewhere between brown and gray.

The small bundle in her arms began to move and squeak, and then it began to cry. His dark brows rose on his forehead. Surely this chit wasn't here to pass off some by-blow off as his? His cheeks reddened as she pulled down part of her shirt to reveal a plump breast tipped with a swollen rosy nipple. He was unable to look away as drops of milk began to leak from the engorged bud. He watched the squalling child latch onto the tip of her breast and began to grunt as it greedily sucked.

He knew it was wrong, but he felt a bit jealous. He couldn't help his response. Very few women had met with him privately or exposed themselves in such a way. Women usually found him repulsive, and since his release from Azkaban two years ago, he had had no contact with willing witches. He couldn't even find willing whores in the magical world. He was a known Death Eater and the murderer of Dumbledore. Potter had done his level best to have him exonerated of all wrongdoing, but the Wizengamot would not hear of it. All of the memories and witnesses had been disregarded. He suspected it had to do with the new Minister, Robards, whose recent initiatives had made him unpopular; it was unlikely that he would win against Kingsley for another term.

Things had gotten better for him shortly after he had quit going to the pub. Potter had recently had his Potion's License reinstated, and he had been quite busy making a small sum selling potions under an assumed name. Most days were spent in his basement until he drug himself up around midnight to grab a bite to eat and fall into his bed exhausted enough to go to sleep. He had several profitable patents, and he was making a modest sum. He also had a great deal set by in Gringotts. He had intended to buy a house, but he suspected that the good inhabitants of most Wizarding villages would be reticent to let him move in. The Wizarding world wanted nothing to do with him.

"I know I look a sight right now, but I'm dependent on charity at the moment. These aren't my clothes, and I wouldn't be here except that I have no place to go." She stopped her rambling and looked up at him seeming rather lost for a moment.

"Madam, while I am moved by your plight," he paused looking rather unmoved as his dark eyes bore into hers, "I fail to see why you have come to me for succor."

"Listen, I know what you must think and what this looks like, but I'm really not that kind of a girl!" she protested.

His eyebrows rose, "Well, obviously some miracle has occurred here because I fail to see how a 'good girl' who is unmarried becomes impregnated without engaging in intercourse. As I am no deity and I don't remember visiting you in a shower of gold, I suspect your situation has a rather worldly explanation in which I am not a part of the equation. Now, why have you come here? I don't recall engaging your services."

Her cheeks reddened, "You didn't 'engage my services' Severus! I had no idea you were that drunk, but you invited me here. You and I were both upset, and you brought me here, to your home. You were so nice and tender, and I just needed someone. You don't remember? You don't remember…" her eyes began to fill with tears.

He gazed blankly at her trying furiously to remember anything beyond the blackness, but he could not. It was not out of the realm of possibilities that he had brought her here and slept with her. He had done so occasionally years ago when he could find a willing woman, which was quite rare, and never one quite as fetching as her. However, had no recollection of sleeping with her. "Why didn't you come when you found out? Why am I just hearing about this now?"

"I didn't realize I was pregnant at first. I'm on the pill, and I thought I would be fine. And don't look at me like that; I haven't been with anyone else since Teddy broke off our engagement a year and a half ago. I found out I was pregnant, and I told my da' what happened. He was furious and told me to leave. I came here a several times, but you were never home. I asked around at the pub, but everyone seemed rather reluctant to talk about you. I lost my job at the bookstore because I had no way to get to work, and I moved in with a friend of mine and her man. If it hadn't been for them, I would be on the street. As it is now that the baby is here, her man wants me gone because the baby makes such a racket. I can get a place at the shelter, but they won't take women with children." Her lip was trembling as tears trailed down her face.

Severus scowled at her as she cried silently. She used the baby's blanket to try and staunch her tears. It was very possible that he had ignored her as she knocked at the door. When he worked in the basement, he was quite focused and rarely heard anything. Unless she had breached his wards and entered the house, he would not have paid attention to her presence. He sighed and rubbed his eyes with his long fingers.

"And how do I know that this babe is mine in any case?" he looked at her large tearful eyes and cursed all female kind for their exasperating ways.

She looked down at the suckling babe tenderly as she cupped its dark hair and pulled it from her breast with a pop and pulled up her shirt. The child gazed up at her with bleary, unfocused eyes and cooed. He reached for his mother, and Severus saw the jolt of energy that left the child's hand. A lock of his mother's hair flew into his hand. Startled, Severus looked to her face. She blushed and removed her hair from the child's grasp. He had never heard of such a young babe displaying wandless magic.

"Does he do that often?" he fixed her with a piercing gaze.

Elizabeth was tongue tied. She had been hard pressed to make excuses for the strange things that happened around her child. She had hoped to avoid such a situation until Severus had accepted them into his home. Part of the reason she had to leave her current residence was due to the strange things that happened when Hadrian was upset. It began subtly at first, something knocked over or flew across the room. During his last fit, everything in the room had been suspended mid air. They had told her in no uncertain terms that she was to leave by the end of the week.

She thought to feign ignorance with Severus, but she looked into his eyes and knew that he would know if she lied.

"Yes," she fidgeted nervously and then smiling sweetly down at the pale little face, she rose and walked over to Severus. Gently, the child and blankets were lowered onto his lap, and he quickly placed his arms around the warm bundle. He stared down into the face of the child, his child. No one could deny that this was his child, poor little bugger. It looked just like him.

"Is it a boy? Dear Merlin, I hope it's a boy. That would be unfortunate enough, but a girl, with that nose?" His face drew into a worried frown as he looked down at the small infant.

She slapped his shoulder, "Of course he's a boy, and don't you say that. He's a very handsome chap!" She smiled as she gazed down at the babe.

Severus looked at her skeptically, "only a mother would say such a thing about this poor, homely child."

Her brows drew down in anger and her face came alive as she scolded him, "Don't you ever say such a thing about this child, your child. He's a beautiful, sweet baby!"

He quirked his lips in a smile at her spunk and in a deep, commanding voice ordered her, "Sit! Woman! and do not speak!"

He pulled out his wand to confirm the paternity of the child. He drew blood from his finger and swiped it across the child's smooth, pale forehead. He heard and intake of breath, and before she could speak he glared at her, "quiet! the child is fine." He spoke the words of an ancient spell, and a green aura appeared around the child. This was his son. He looked up at her, the mother of his child, a young woman who could just as easily have rid herself of the little bud of life that grew in her, disrupting her life.

"My son," his voice was husky with awe; he asked, "what is his name?"

"Hadrian," she smiled. " Hadrian Severus . . ."