A/N: and here it begins! Enjoy.

Chapter 1: Little Monster

Severus Snape kept looking at his hands with his remaining eye, frowning at his meager belongings: his shredded Death Eater robes, which he had been wearing when he was admitted to the hospital more than two years prior. There was nothing else.

He was standing in St. Mungo's reception hall, feeling anxious and lost. What was he going to do? He had nothing left: no money, no home, no friends, no reputation. He didn't even have a face anymore.

He couldn't contemplate the ruins of his life for much longer, however, as someone caught a glimpse of his face under the heavy hood he was wearing and screamed in fear, putting all the eyes in the room on his pathetic figure.

He could hear the murmurs around him, getting louder by the minute: "monster" "should be in Azkaban", "are they really letting him go free?" "what happened to his face?"

He was a pariah, the thing little children had bad dreams about, the monster. He didn't think he would miss the ugliness he had been born into one day… what a fool he had been, not knowing how lucky he was.

Of course, "the monster" nickname had been courtesy of the Prophet months ago now, after they stole a picture of what remained of his face while he was lying unresponsive to publish it during the trial, exposing him to everyone to see. It had been another lovely thing to discover after his miraculous return to the world of the living.

Like he was pushed by ghostly hands materialized out of the room's hostility, Severus Snape slipped outside of St. Mungo's, his head low, his eye fixed on the ground, and he disappeared into the shadows.

It was the last time he was seen in polite society for the next two years.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Auror Moody was doing paperwork, again. He had known, of course, that becoming the Head of the Auror Department meant dealing with administrative nonsense, but the reality of it hit him hard.

He couldn't help but envy the team he had just sent out to Knockturn. An informant has given them such a good tip at the beginning of the week that there was a good chance they were about to dismantle a huge network of illegal potions trafficking.

The stuff had been flooding the shadowy corners of wizarding society since not long after the war and the death toll had already been too heavy. It needed to stop. Moody could understand the need to put oneself in an unnatural stupor, he himself was often tempted to drink a little too much or work a little too hard to stop thinking about things, but self-destruction on that level was definitely not the way.

Midday came and went, and the pile of forms, reports and other nonsense on his desk kept getting bigger instead of shrinking like it should with all the work he had tackled already. In the end, he was so absorbed in the dull task that he didn't think about the current raid until after dinner, when the night sky outside took him by surprise.

Looking up, he caught Auror Brown putting on his outdoor robes through the glass walls of his private office, ready to go home. Moody immediately got up towards the open working space.

"Brown, how did it go?" asked Moody, anxious by the lack of updates from his team.

"Hmm…, didn't Savage report to you, sir?"

"No, she didn't. So?"

"I think you should go talk to her, sir."

Robert Brown was a new addition to the team and not one that Moody approved of. He was fresh out of training, eager, but hesitant at the same time. A weird combination, irritating in the field. Brown was also afraid of him and it irked Moody to no end. That and his lack of manners, slimy obsequiousness apart.

"Don't call me "sir", and quit stalling, I'm waiting," Moody growled.

"We did catch someone, s…, I mean, yes…, the little vermin is in custody… so there's that?"

"Is that a question?"

"No! He is! You know the rumors about "little monster" and all that? All the users we've caught said that there is a nightmarish freak distributing the merchandise low in the chain and he's the one one should find to get their fix, right? We caught him! I'm sure Wellington will make him talk soon enough and we will be able to catch the rest. Uglier than my arse he is too," Brown shivered, obviously reminiscing.

Moody had been aware for some time now of "Little Monster", code name for a lowly dealer, very active in the field, very evasive, too. The witnesses had all described a sort of beastly hybrid, disfigured and scary, operating in the shadows. Nobody had been able to identify what the thing really was. A werewolf gone wrong? Some freakish hybrid between a human and some dangerous magical creature? It all sounded like rubbish to him, if he was honest with himself, but if his team had caught something, then maybe he should go see what this "little monster" was really about.

"Where is he?" he asked abruptly.

"With Wellington, in one of the interrogation rooms, sir."

"And stop it with the "sir", damn you!"

Brown took a step back, clearly alarmed at Moody's temper. The old auror didn't pay him any mind, already focused on this new development and his curiosity about what sort of scum "Little Monster" was going to be.

He limped towards the interrogation rooms, all the way trying to come up with a suitable way to tell his team off for not having reported to him immediately upon their return to the Ministry. He was so caught up in his angry mumblings that he let out a little startled sound when he collided violently with something solid, yet warm.

"Running somewhere, Alastor?"

"Savage."

Looking at his colleague and friend, he tried to compose himself quickly. The woman was a mountain, unshakable.

"I was looking for you, actually, chief" she said, amused.

"And about time too! What the hell is going on here and why didn't you come to me first thing? Is this a chicken coop I'm running, with you all flapping around uselessly, or is this the fucking auror department?" Moody started on, before starting to yell incoherently.

Savage didn't look at all intimidated. She was used to Moody's temper by now and just waited the storm out. When he stopped yelling to catch his breath, she simply said:

"Better? Don't you think maybe there's a reason I didn't come to you first, you old grouch?"

"Don't waste any more of my time, Auror Savage, I'm listening, make it quick."

Still not affected by the sudden cold formality, she immediately began to report the facts.

That's how Moody learnt that the raid had started exactly as planned. The Aurors had spent the day well hidden, waiting for the right moment to flood the little shady house in a dark corner of Knockturn and take its occupants by surprise. However, something went wrong. There had suddenly been a big explosion and a horrible un-breathable fog hiding everything inside. It had been chaos and three men went down, half of their squad, taken by surprise by wayward spells they didn't see coming, blinded as they were.

They could hear the suspects running away and tried to run after them in the streets around the house but they were quick and had a head start on the aurors. However, what appeared later to be the infamous "Little Monster" couldn't run as fast as the others and was left behind in the commotion. Wellington caught him not that far from the house and tackled him to the ground, the Muggle way apparently, before binding him securely with a quick spell.

Nobody was seriously hurt but the injured were currently in the Aurors' infirmary, being looked over. Brown had been very shaken and Savage, leader of the raid, had decided to send him home immediately. Wellington was with the suspect, preparing him for the interrogation. Savage herself had been delayed because she decided to send an owl to St. Mungo's to summon one of the approved Healers on call for the Aurors Department. The suspect looked like he needed medical care and it had to be her priority. She had been on her way to Moody immediately after, the collision making her job of finding the Head of the Department even easier.

Moody grunted to acknowledge the end of her report. It sounded reasonable enough, not that he was going to say so.

"So, Little Monster eh?" he asked, thoughtful.

"It looks like it" was her matter of fact answer, "don't get your hopes too high, Alastor, he just looked like a scared young guy to me… nearly a kid. I'm not sure it's the catch everyone is hoping it is, if I'm honest.

Moody raised an eyebrow at that. A scared guy? He was promised a monster, this didn't sound like it matched his expectations.

"What is he then? Werewolf?"

Savage had a bizarre expression on her face, like... pity?

"No, entirely human… I don't know what happened to him but his face is heavily scarred, it's… not pretty. I understand the nickname, but he's just a man, young, maybe twenty or something?"

Moody frowned. He felt like he was missing something, like he should remember it, but it was eluding him right now.

"Name?"

"Didn't say… he wasn't in very good shape when Wellington took him in –"

"– what did the idiot do?" Moody interrupted, anger rising in his voice again.

"I'm not sure he did anything, Alastor… Nobody was around anyway and Wellington told me the suspect was already unwell before he binded him. Said it made him slow and that's how he caught him."

"Likely story."

Savage didn't comment.

Feeling a sense of urgency, Moody gave her a nod to thank her and resumed his walk towards the interrogation rooms, with a little more urgency than before.

When he reached Interrogation Room Number 3, the scene that greeted him made his anger reach impossible highs.

Inside the glass walls, Wellington was standing up, looming over a covering figure in the corner, yelling and occasionally kicking the bound prisoner. He looked enraged and out of sorts.

"DON'T YOU TALK TO ME LIKE THAT YOU SCUM!"

Moody unlocked the door with an urgent gesture of his wand and ran inside, as fast as his wooden leg would let him.

"WELLINGTON! Out. Now."

Wellington took a step back, surprised by his boss' sudden apparition.

"The little vermin insulted me, sir, he's being defiant and uncooperative, I was only giving him what he was looking for!"

Moody shook his head, annoyed by the man's tendency to use violence and fuck their cases up in the process.

"I told you, over and over. Roughing up the prisoners only gives them ammunition to get out without their comeuppance, Wellington! You're out of bounds, we –"

"– we got three injured! Moody! We can't let them get away with this! The bastards need to learn to fear us, that's what they need alright!"

Moody waited in silence, just long enough to have Wellington start to fidget uncomfortably.

"Are you done?"

Wellington finally lowered his head at the cold tone, looking just a little more defeated than angry now.

"Go calm yourself. We will talk about this later. Now out."

Moody observed him leave slowly, taking in the burning anger still alive in his eyes contrasting with the defeat in his slouching shoulders. He knew that seeing team members being hurt was hard, but it was no excuse. They were aurors, they needed to do it the right way.

A little noise coming from the corner of the room made him focus again on the task ahead. Right, Little Monster then, time to see what that was about. Moody closed the door, locked it to only open for him, and took a few steps towards the cowering man. The suspect was looking at the wall, crouched, and Moody could only see his shaking back and shoulders right now, the back of his head partially covered by his raised arms. He looked like he was trying to disappear. The air in the room smelled stale and Moody was grateful for the very efficient air renewal spell in it.

"What about we have a chat, you and me?" said Moody, slowly getting to the other side of the desk in the center of the room and sitting on the chair there.

Little Monster didn't move, apart from the still present shaking. Moody decided to be a little more firm:

"Get up and sit down. I would prefer not to have to drag you up from the floor. I'm sure you would too."

At first, the man didn't move. Moody just waited. He knew how to handle these sorts of interrogations, he was good at his job. He was also already enjoying this routine task since he was not often in charge of interrogations these days, and often let his team manage this side of it. The thrill of it made him feel young again. It was exciting, and paperwork could never rivalise with that little rush of adrenaline.

A movement caught his attention again and Moody smiled. Silence often got him what yelling couldn't: Little Monster was slowly getting up, still turned towards the wall. Moody looked at the frail figure in front of him, trying not to move a muscle. Somehow he knew that it would be very easy to scare his suspect again. Really, the skinny man didn't look like a threat at all… but Moody knew to keep his guard up. There was no good coming from being surprised in the life of an auror, he knew better men than him had been killed by this sort of attitude. Constant Vigilance!

His placid demeanor, however, disappeared in a little gasp of shock when the man turned his face towards him, slowly sitting himself upon the chair opposite Moody's. What the fuck is that?

The right side of his face was so scarred, it looked like it had melted somehow. The eye was missing and the empty eye socket deformed by the scarring. Weird little tendrils seemed to spider from where the eye should have been, confirming that the scarring was definitely from some very dark magic. It was… horrible, and a little scary to look at. It didn't look like a human face. Feeling his stomach rebel a little, Moody forced himself to keep looking at the man's face. Little Monster indeed. Seeing the suspect lowering his face down at his reaction to it, he barked:

"Look at me!"

Little Monster jumped in his seat but obeyed immediately, lifting his face up and fixing his remaining eye directly into Moody's blue ones.

Trying to ignore the monstrous profile, Moody forced himself to look at the other side of the man's face and was surprised to see that it was a young man's profile indeed. Probably around 20, 25, dark eye, smooth cheek, big nose. Not a pretty one but ordinary enough. He was dark-haired except for a few neatly defined white streaks that seemed out of place on someone that young. Looking at the unscarred side, Moody felt a defiant sadness take over him. What happened to this man for him to look like that?

The feeling of missing something came back and Moody couldn't shake it off. There was something in the dark eye that was giving him a sense of déjà-vu that made him uneasy.

Still looking directly at the suspect, he began the interrogation.

"Name?"

A murmur he couldn't catch.

"Speak up lad, my hearing is not what it once was."

He couldn't help but infuse some warmth into his voice. The suspect looked miserable and non-threatening. He looked scared and unwell. Moody was a miserable sod but he did have a heart, contrary to the rumors among the trainees.

"Severus, sir, Severus Snape."

It all came rushing back in a painful jolt of memories. Snape! Of course! That's why the man looked so familiar. Albus' little spy… Well well well, that was unexpected.

Moody had been aware of details about Snape's role that the general public didn't know, of course. How could he not when he was a friend of Albus and an active Order member at the time?

Knowing that "Little Monster" was in fact Severus Snape changed everything. Oh, they did wonder briefly about what happened to him after he was released. The young man seemed to disappear after that and they never heard anything about him again. It was hard to reconcile the "hero" Dumbledore himself had defended at the trial and the heavily disfigured young man in front of him. He looked frail and ill. Not like a man who defied Voldemort at the tender age of 21, and saved the world in the process.

"You know who I am?"

The voice was still shaking but somewhat defiant. The dark eye was fixed on Moody and a little unsettling.

"Yes, I know," replied Alastor, not quite knowing what else to say.

Snape grunted and looked down again, fidgeting.

The silence was heavier this time.

"Are you hurt?" asked Moody after a minute or so, remembering Savage's words.

Snape snorted. It didn't suit his skinny frame.

"This is an auror interrogation, Snape, it won't do you any good to keep the defiant act up. So, I repeat: are. you. hurt."

Snape seemed to deflate under Moody's scrutiny. He waited, confident that silence was still his best weapon right now.

"Not much."

"And what does that even mean? LOOK AT ME, SNAPE, WHEN I TALK TO YOU!"

Snape's arms came up at once, shielding his face.

Moody immediately felt like crap at the visceral reaction. Losing his temper was not the way here. He took another deep breath, observing Snape carefully. He could see that the man's right hand looked claw-like, atrophied. He wondered what other horrors were hidden under the filthy rags he was wearing. Calmly, he tried again:

"I have no intention to hurt you, lad, just answer the questions. Don't lie, don't think. It's not complicated. So, again, are you hurt in any way?"

"I… I'm not well sir, but I'm not really hurt, just some bruises, I think."

A knock at the door interrupted them, to Moody's annoyance.

Grunting, he looked over Snape's head to the glass door. A human-shaped form in lime-coloured robes was waiting on the other side. Healer. Well, it couldn't be helped.

"Stay here."

Snape looked down again, obedient.

Moody stood up, grunting at the pain at the juncture with his false leg and limped toward the door, closing it again behind him.

After a little chat with the Healer, Moody decided that they didn't need anyone other than himself to supervise the examination. The suspect was non-threatening enough and, if needed, he felt more than capable of neutralizing him alone.

Snape was escorted by Moody – nearly dragged, really – the Healer following up behind them. The man was limping and he seemed to still be shaking all over, for some unknown reason. Moody had thought at first that it was from fear after Wellington's little act but it seemed to be from something more serious. He smelled bad, too. Moody was not easily shaken, but the smell of filth and rancid sweat and all-around sickness got to him by the time they reached their destination.

Snape was deposited on the narrow examination table and ordered to strip by the healer. He didn't hesitate to obey, which made Moody raise an eyebrow and wonder about the lack of modesty.

Despite his claw-like right hand, Snape was efficient about it. In no time he was immobile again. He just sat there, in his grey underwear, hunched on the table and looking at the floor. His back was as heavily scarred as the right side of his face but in a different pattern. There was a large discolored scar on his left forearm, not as bad as the damage on the right one but clearly visible.

The healer didn't waste time, she gestured for the auror to wait out of the way and began her examination, seemingly not phased at all by the filth, be it in sight or smell.

It took forever and Moody was fighting to keep focused and ready to act by the end of it. Snape didn't try anything. He looked exhausted, however, so Moody decided to give him a break. It would allow him to talk with the Healer in private too, so it seemed appropriate.

He sent someone to fetch Savage; he always trusted her to be professional. Once Snape was clothed again in the prisoner's outfit he had been provided with, Moody shared his plan for the rest of the day with him:

"Okay Snape, it's late. Listen carefully, here is what's going to happen tonight. Auror Savage will lead you to one of the cells, one with a shower too. Don't make a fuss, don't talk back, ok? Just follow, and take a bloody hot shower on the Ministry, will you? Auror Savage will give you some food after that, and you will be able to rest until tomorrow when we will resume our little chat. Nothing else is going to happen to you, enjoy the bed and warm meal. Is that understood?"

A nod was the only reply he got. He didn't really expect more than that.

As soon as Savage appeared, Moody explained briefly what he needed her to do and she took the suspect away. He then asked the Healer to follow him to his office to talk. He was more than a little relieved to be exiting the examination room and being able to breathe fresh air again.

The Healer's report was quite grim. She has taken the time to review Snape's file before coming to the Ministry which made her very knowledgeable on top of her recent examination. Nerve damage, a fever for which she administered a potion during the examination, brain damage behind the place the left eye should have been. The scarring on the face was from a cockatrice claw and as soon as she said it Moody remembered the horrible description of Snape's torture at the hands of the Death Eaters.

Albus had looked sick when he had told them back then, just after the end of the war. The Cruciatus, of course. The cockatrice claw they had used to remove his eye, its poison dealing horrible damage to his face, his brain, his already screaming nerves. The skin on his back… stripped away by a whip, over and over again. The Dark Mark on his left arm, carved out with a dark blade, making sure the scar would stay there forever. His right arm, the one he used to cast, burnt and cut to ribbons and defaced at the hand of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Snape was also malnourished, of course, three ribs freshly broken – probably Wellington's handiwork – that the Healer had healed immediately, too. There were traces of epileptic activity on his neurologic exam; the Healer explained that it was to be expected because of the brain damage. Really, despite magical folks being able to heal brain injuries to some extent, the fact that Snape was a functioning human being – if affected by occasional bouts of epilepsy – was remarkable, according to her. He was also, and quite obviously, suffering from physical exhaustion. And covered in bruises and scratches collected over an extended expanse of time…

All of that didn't exactly scream criminal mastermind… Moody suspected that Snape, "Little Monster" as the horrible nickname went, had been used by the real criminals here. The Auror, unfortunately, was no stranger to salvaging the remains of the vulnerable people that the evil men he was after used to get what they needed, and then threw away when they had broken completely. He felt an unusual level of fury rise inside his chest. This was the most disgusting thing he had seen in a while.

He remembered now that Snape had been stripped of all assets, paying "reparations" for his war crimes after his trial, to Albus' anger at the time. The spy had been thrown to the wolves with no money, no support, and all of that after having spent two years or so totally unresponsive in a forgotten corner of St. Mungo's following unimaginable torture.

Why didn't anyone care about it at the time? Did Albus try to find the man? Where was Moody then? The rest of the Order? The Potters that Snape had fucking saved?

The fact that he couldn't even remember what had occupied him so much at the time was worse than anything. They had all moved on then, forgotten about one of their own. Of course, Moody didn't really know the man, Albus' spy had never been shown at an Order meeting and nobody knew who he was. But still. This was a horrible thing they did, evil. Moody was disgusted by them all, by himself.

Slowly, he grabbed his leather bag, throwing it over his travel coat. He felt sore all over and had to fight the need to stay and get more done. He knew he needed to have some sleep before he could get to the bottom of it all.

For the first time since he had been a trainee all those years ago, Alastor Moody felt shaken enough by the day's events that he woke up in the middle of the night, screaming, before throwing up the entire contents of his stomach. He didn't feel any relief once the heaving stopped, however. He could see the disfigured face of Severus Snape floating on the ceiling, silent, yet accusing.

Little Monster. Not anymore.