A/N: If you feel like you need some fatherly love to unexpectedly hit Severus in the face, this is your chapter.

Mentor Moody is best Moody.

The title of the chapter is to honour one of my fav fic: "House Potter for Children in Need" by Ailec_12 - check it out on Ao3.

Chapter 3: House Moody for Young Men in Need

Severus still couldn't believe that he was living at the Auror's place. Despite all signs being to the contrary, he found himself still looking for clues that would reveal a trap, constantly waiting for the reveal of an ill-intentioned subterfuge. He was not used to freely-given kindness and, despite the comfort of a warm bed and regular food, he couldn't help but feel suspicious of it all. He knew who he was, how he looked. It was hard to believe that he could suddenly be that lucky.

He still remembered how the older man had succeeded in making him feel like an ungrateful brat when he was caught reading – a book he had found on one of his new room shelves – at three A.M. during his first week. His wretched father had never succeeded in making him feel even a portion of the shame he felt that night under the Auror's disappointed gaze, even with the use of his fists. Everything was feeling very strange these days.

Moody, along with his suspicious hospitality, had imposed a set of strict rules that made Severus feel like he was a rebellious teenager. He was supposed to follow them and even earned a lecture when he didn't.

Do not skip meals.

Eight hours of sleep minimum every day (it had to be during night time too as sleeping in was not considered sleep apparently…)

Participate in the house chores (the Auror even left a list to Snape each day before leaving for work).

And submit to a weekly Healer appointment.

The Healer usually questioned him, prodded him, subjected him to all kinds of weird spells for the better part of an hour before writing his weekly "report" to Auror's Moody attention. Of course, the official version was that the report was for Severus himself, but the fact that the Auror kept reading them first thing in the evening each week didn't fool Severus as to their real function.

Severus had to admit that he was feeling better, despite his bouts of paranoia, which somehow made it worse. He was well-rested, somewhat safe – compared to how unsafe he had been before being arrested anyway – and well-fed for the first time in years.

What he dreaded the most, however, finally happened after three weeks of a very strange yet very uneventful stay. It had been a long day and Severus had been feeling weird since the day before. His sleep had been disturbed and fitful and he had woken up feeling more tired than if he hadn't slept at all. He had felt detached and weirdly floaty all day and, in hindsight, he should have seen it coming. Moody was not back yet when he eventually realized that he was fading into it, recognizing one of the dreaded fits he was used to experiencing since he had woken up in St. Mungo's on that dreaded day.

He was in the kitchen, having just finished doing the dishes, knowing he couldn't stop it, losing control over his own body. He came back to consciousness an indeterminate amount of time later, on the floor, feeling pain all over his body: exhausted, confused, and upset.

He hadn't hurt himself, thanks to the Healer's set of spells preventing it. When he lived in the streets, Severus had had to do without this sort of magical comfort, and everything had been a potential danger to him should any of his unpredictable fits have taken him by surprise.

He stayed on the floor for what felt like a long time, not able to summon enough will and strength to get up. He could feel the puddle of drool against his cheek, disgusting and getting colder by the minute. He had lost control of his bladder too, and couldn't help but feel the usual shame about it.

It was in this state that the sound of the door opening shook Severus out of the sleepy, out-of-it state he was in.

"Snape, I have good news for you! I have the date of your trial at last! Where are you, lad?" Moody shouted in his usual gruff way as soon as the door was closed behind him.

The Auror was not one for useless politeness and tended to prefer abrupt and to-the-point manners; today was no exception. Silence echoed the grumpy shout, however, and Snape could soon hear footsteps approaching the kitchen. He felt simultaneous dread and relief knowing that his current predicament was about to end.

Severus tried to get up immediately; he knew he couldn't really make himself look presentable before the Auror reached the kitchen, but not lying on the floor would definitely be a plus. It was useless, however, since his limbs felt like lead – very painful lead at that. He tried as hard as he could. but made no progress; he couldn't even lift his head and was forced to face his host from his initial pathetic position: shaking on the floor in a pool of his own urine.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

"What the…!"

Alastor stood a few steps away from the protracted body currently resting on the floor of his kitchen. He had not expected something as dramatic as finding his current guest lying in his own bodily fluids on the otherwise immaculate tiles.

He quickly jerked out of it, however, and found himself crouching over the other man.

"What is it, lad, are you alright?"

"M'ok," was the mumbled reply.

"Did you have a seizure?" asked Alastor, remembering the Healer's description of what happened during the epileptic fits Snape was suffering from regularly. He knew it happened to the man sometimes, but it was the first time he had witnessed anything since he hadn't been dealing with Snape when he had endured one in his cell at the Ministry. Reality was quite different from the theory of it, Alastor realized.

"Think so," was the quiet reply.

The smell of urine and the weirdly foamy drool all over Snape's cheek and on the floor below shook Alastor more than he would have liked to admit. He couldn't help but feel disgusted but also a deep wave of pity for the man on the floor. He knew pity was not the right thing to feel… but he couldn't help it.

"Come on, lad, let's get you into the shower and then, let's get you into bed, I think."

The Healer had explained to the Auror, after talking to Snape himself, that he often felt exhausted after those fits and needed to "sleep it off" for a few hours, sometimes until the next day. Not knowing what else to do, he focused on these two steps and got a move on.

Dragging Snape to the bathroom was no small affair; Alastor managed, however. Only when he had deposited his burden on the toilet seat did he realize that there was no way Snape was going to be able to clean himself up. What followed was embarrassing for both of them; Moody focused on being as clinical as he could despite not having cared for anyone in such an intimate way ever before. It wouldn't be the last time he had to do something like that, but that first time was definitely hard, and painfully awkward.

Even knowing that they were there all along, he had to keep himself from reacting too strongly to the scarring on Snape's back when he helped the other man out of his shirt. The rest of it was always in plain view – the missing eye and broken face – or glimpsed from time to time – the claw-like right hand and scarred left forearm, but his back had remained hidden since the examination at the Ministry and it spoke of such a level of pain that it made Alastor's stomach try to digest itself for a moment.

Only when Snape was clad in fresh pajamas and sleeping in his bed did the Auror allow himself to feel shaken by what had just happened. He went back to the kitchen and poured himself a stiff drink, then another that he drank in quick succession. He didn't sleep very well that night.

Snape's Healer, a man called Hensley, provided them with a set of special bracelets after that, provoking some really intense disgusted sneers from Snape despite the man not refusing them. Alastor was so worried that it would happen again when he was at work that he felt deeply relieved by the other man's lack of outward objection. Snape was an adult after all, and Alastor knew he wouldn't have been able to force him. The bracelet on his own wrist would heat and start to light up if Snape had another fit or was unconscious for any other reason – sleep, of course, didn't count, as the Healer had assured Snape when he had grumbled in protest of the new caring tool.

After that first incident, Snape's trial came and went – he was acquitted so quickly it was finished after only three hours – and Alastor felt himself becoming some type of caregiver for this once stranger on a regular basis. The surprising thing, however, was that he didn't mind as much as he thought he would have. Of course, Snape's health was a source of worry and exhaustion, something that was always occupying his mind, like a quiet buzzing, not always at the forefront but always present and making up a repetitive part of his mind's soundscape; it was worth it.

Alastor's colleagues certainly didn't understand and he couldn't really keep it quiet since he had had to go back home urgently a few times already and it was sure to keep happening. He was a bachelor and celebrated for his achievements at work. He was a war hero and had made a name for himself in the world. His choice to burden himself in that way for a virtual stranger was the source of many murmurs at the Aurors' Department and even outside of it. He even caught some ridiculous gossip about how Snape had used dark magic to coerce him into it. There was no cure for stupidity, however, and Alastor didn't care that much. He wasn't one to be influenced by the opinions of others. Even Albus had tried to have a word with him but the coldness of Alastor's rebuttal made that attempt the first and only one.

Their life fell into a routine quickly. During the week, they only had dinner together since Alastor was absent all day and Snape was most certainly not up before he had to leave the flat. Snape did his part in the form of a list of chores that the Auror left for him every morning, and took care of himself during the day. If anything happened, Alastor came back immediately and took care of it with growing professionalism.

Every evening, they would cook dinner, sometimes Alastor did it while Snape sat, sometimes it was the other way around, sometimes they even cooked together. They always kept each other company during the cooking time, however, and it became a way for Alastor to unwind every day.

Snape was genuinely interested in the Auror's work and they often talked about it at length, Snape following up on current office drama with as much glee as any old janitor gossiping about the neighbours with the postman, or any teenager avidly watching every episode of their favourite show. Alastor found he enjoyed these discussions a great deal too.

Little by little, they found themselves adding new topics to the Auror Department's inner workings and little dramas, and talking more and more about members of the now-disbanded Order of the Phoenix, particularly those members that were of Snape's age and that he had known at school.

Alastor and some others had kept various degrees of close relationships between them after the war, and he now found that most of his social network appeared to be either co-workers like Savage, or ex-Order members like Arthur Weasley and his family, or both like James Potter.

These little incursions into topics outside of Alastor's work quickly made him aware of a few strong feelings. For example: Snape despised James Potter and Sirius Black, and to a lesser extent, Remus Lupin, too. He never explained why, as this too seemed to fall under a blanket of thick silence just like everything else that concerned his personal life, the one before his path had crossed Alastor's. However, Snape never failed to offer a sardonic remark when they were mentioned. Every time Alastor talked about the magical toy shop and Sirius's whereabouts, Snape snorted derisively. When it was James Potter's struggles or successes as a young Auror or a young father, Snape's sneers could have frozen a Hebridean Black Dragon's breath.

The real riddle, however, was Lily Potter. Any mention of the young woman immediately made Snape close up like an oyster. Alastor picked up on it early on and couldn't help but think about that often. There was a mystery there that kept making his brain itch and his senses tingle. The reaction was so strong every time, it would have intrigued anyone, really.

It was not anger like for the men, but some kind of despair that made Alastor's innards churn on themselves like only Snape had ever been able to make them do.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

It was Saturday morning and Alastor was determined to spend some time with the lad after a long week at work. However, it was nearly noon and there was still no trace of Snape. Alastor knew that the man needed his sleep; however, structure was important too and he was irritated that Snape was not more careful with his sleep schedule. Indeed, he had gotten up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and spied the light under the lad's door, again.

Feeling like the annoyed father of a petulant teenager, he couldn't help himself and went to knock on Snape's door without much subtlety. He didn't give the younger man a chance to sleep through it, banging on the wooden panel with all his might.

"What the hell?!"

The voice behind the door sounded indignant yet slurred by sleep. It made Alastor smile smugly for a moment.

"It's nearly noon, Snape! Get your sleepy arse out of bed!"

Already feeling a little better after having let some steam out, Alastor went back to the kitchen and began preparing another teapot in anticipation of Snape's arrival. It didn't take long, and when Snape entered the room he looked so disheveled that Alastor laughed out loud at the sight of him.

"What?" asked Snape defensively.

"Nothing. Slept well, then?"

"What do you think, old man?"

"Didn't your father tell you that you should respect your elders and that waking up in the middle of the day is not healthy?" teased Moody, lightly.

Snape's expression closed up at once. He suddenly looked sharply awake when he answered softly, his voice full of venom:

"Do not presume that you know me at all. You're not my father, Auror Moody."

A little taken aback, Alastor couldn't help but bite:

"Don't call me that, lad." Looking at the young man's offended expression, he added thoughtfully, "Actually, I think it's time you call me Alastor like everybody else."

Snape looked a little whiplashed at the change in topic. After thinking about it, he finally replied:

"You could call me Severus too?"

The black eye didn't blink when Alastor's blue eyes locked on it. When the silence became too intense to bear, Alastor nodded once in silent acknowledgement, before remembering that he still had a lecture to deliver.

"So, Severus, when are you going to sort out your sleeping schedule? You're well into your twenties, not a child anymore, I shouldn't have to wake you up at noon because you spent the night reading or doing whatever else. You're old enough to understand that your health has to come first, right?"

Snape only grunted something unintelligible, making him look like a grumpy teenager all over again. Moody felt himself smile again at the irritated expression.

Knowing when to let it go, Moody started to update Severus on the ongoing trials of the illegal Potions gang, entertaining them both until their stomachs started to gurgle and they had to stop to start preparing some sort of lunch.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The next morning, Severus was up at nine, which pleased Alastor immensely. Maybe there was still hope of forcing the lad to get it together and sort his life out. Deep down, the Auror knew that giving him chores and a structured schedule was not going to be enough, though. Severus was doing better, health-wise, and Alastor could sense a bit of restlessness starting to burgeon in him. It was only natural after all; even as banged up by life as he was, Severus was still young and he could still have some kind of independent life. Sighing inwards, Alastor knew it was the right moment to breach the subject.

As soon as the younger man was sitting at the kitchen table with his usual cup of tea, Alastor said:

"So, have you thought about what you want to do with your life?"

Severus stopped drinking the scalding liquid and looked at Alastor as if he had just asked him where to find a billion galleons.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean 'what do you mean?' Do you plan to stay around washing dishes and doing my laundry until you're an old man?"

Severus paled immediately, before looking down in that way of his that always made Alastor feel like crap. Not liking that specific feeling, he charged on even harder, as refined as a hippogriff in a porcelain shop:

"Well? Do you?"

"I… I can be out of your hair by tomorrow if that is what you want, sir."

Alastor felt his blood freeze at the defeated tone.

"You bloody moron!" He yelled despite himself, "that's not what I mean!"

Severus flinched so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. That was what Alastor needed to force himself to calm down. He focused on the air getting in and out of his lungs and did not reply immediately. When he felt like he had summoned some semblance of calm, he tried again:

"That's not what I mean, lad." No answer. Alastor valiantly kept going: "You can stay as long as you want. Damn you, I even like having you around, you idiot."

Severus straightened up at that, his remaining eye searching for something on Alastor's face.

"What do you mean?" he asked, eventually.

"I mean… don't you want to do something with your life? Surely you have some plans? You're doing better now; you could have a job and make yourself useful to society with that brain of yours?"

Taking Alastor yet again by surprise, Severus suddenly looked indignant.

"Have you lost your mind?"

"What?" replied Alastor, stupidly.

"LOOK at me, old man! Do you really think I can go outside and be useful when nobody can look me in the face without feeling either disgust or pity? Or both!"

That took Alastor's reply away as efficiently as if someone had started choking him.

After that, Alastor waited for the merciless hand in his chest to release his heart a little to raise the topic again. It went that way for a while: Alastor would ask, antagonizing Severus every time, they would both lose their temper and end up changing the subject. Once the tension around that particular topic reached a sufficiently low level, they would do it again, repeating the sterile cycle of fights that died on into heavy silences over and over again.

Despite how pointless it felt, the repeated discussion didn't really go over Severus's head. If Severus was being honest with himself, he already knew that he couldn't really envision his whole life locked in Alastor's flat, like Quasimodo in Notre Dame. He wasn't ready to talk about it calmly with his benefactor, but it made him start to think about it, to search for something, anything, that could constitute some sort of plan for the rest of his life.

The weeks kept coming and going, and Severus couldn't, for the life of him, come up with anything that he could see himself doing. He came to the conclusion that he was scared of going out, outside this island of security, Alastor's flat. He tended to avoid mirrors but the scarring on his face was constantly on his mind. He was, ironically, scarred by it. He could avoid thinking about what he had been called, how he had been treated before the Aurors took him off the streets, but it was still living inside of him, the name callings, the little – and sometimes big – humiliations. He remembered that he had felt like he wasn't a human being anymore; it was a hard-to-shake feeling, something that would stay in him until his last breath.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

One day, while Severus was brooding in the living room, busy not-reading the book in front of him and lost again in a whirl of anxiety about what he was going to do with his life when Alastor had finally had enough of him, he was startled by the man himself, entering the room in his usual rough manner.

"Hello lad, busy?"

"Not really," answered Severus, glad for the distraction.

"I have two things I want to discuss with you."

Severus felt dread descending upon him. Was this the moment? Was he about to be thrown back in the street on his ugly backside?

"Okay."

"What do you say about me making us some tea before we have a talk then?"

"Okay, " repeated Severus, not really knowing what else to say.

Alastor didn't look mad or in any way like he was growing tired of Severus… but the young man didn't quite trust his intuition on this sort of thing anymore. He had been betrayed too many times in the past, he knew what a fool he could be when he started to let hope in and, despite how much he would have liked to be able to deny it, he had felt some modicum of hope again lately, in Alastor's company.

The tea was soon ready and Alastor put it on the coffee table in front of them. They were both seated in their usual armchairs, near the fireplace.

"I have two things to discuss. One is a proposition, and one is a request from somebody… Which one do you want to discuss first?"

Severus really didn't know what this was about. Resigned, he did what he always did and choose what sounded worse first:

"Request… I guess?"

Alastor didn't hesitate then and started explaining.

"I talked with someone today. Someone you know, someone who wants to meet with you —"

"— absolutely not."

"You don't even know who it is, Severus!"

"I don't need to know. I don't want to meet them. Next."

"Are you done?"

"I am."

Alastor looked on the verge of one of his legendary explosions. Severus didn't feel as scared as he used to, though. There was absolutely no way he would be willing to meet with anyone from… before. And no one who knew him in his current disfigured shape was even near recommendable enough for the Auror to think of suggesting it.

"Don't you want to at least know who it is?"

"No need. My answer is no. What is that proposal of yours, then?"

"It's Lily Potter, lad."

"I seriously doubt that "Lily Potter" and "proposal" could ever have anything to do with me, Alastor," replied Severus coldly, feeling so detached he could almost fool himself into thinking he was capable of Occluding again.

"Not the proposal, damn you!" Alastor exploded, losing his temper, "she's the one who wants to see you!"

The look on Severus's face could have been hilarious if Alastor hadn't been afraid that he was having one of his dreadful fits.

Finally, a strangled "Waaa?" escaped from Severus' throat, alarming Alastor even more. Resigned, he started to explain:

"You know I had dinner at the Potters last night? Lily took me aside and asked when she could come see you. She was disappointed you decided not to come. You know they always ask after you, the Potters. She told me you have been friends since before school, is that right?"

"It's none of your business!"

Alastor sighed, looking sad and frustrated. Severus was not going to talk about Lily, however. He would not. He couldn't. He forced himself to make a diversion, again:

"So, what was your proposal then?"

Alastor looked at him intensely for a minute or two, seemingly weighing something out, before he resigned himself into following that new topic.

"It's Sirius." Severus couldn't help but sneer at the name. "He may have a job for you."

"A job?" Severus asked, very surprised at this turn of events.

"Yes, he needs someone at the shop."

"Sirius Black wants me to work at his ridiculous magical toy shop?"

"Isn't that what I just said? So, what do you think?"

Severus was tempted to let his anger take over, but the anxious look on Alastor's face kept him from exploding. It looked so out of place among the Auror's usually blunt expression that Severus felt a wave of something warm rise in his chest.

"Does Black need someone to scare the kids out of the shop everyday before closing time, then?" Severus joked without real humor.

"Don't say that, lad," replied Alastor, looking sad and making Severus feel guilty for whatever reason. "He needs someone to take care of the orders, work at the repair workshop in the back and manage stocks and such. He told me he needed someone smart who could improvise on his feet and he agreed that you were such a person from what he remembered from school."

"So, he didn't want me per se, did he? YOU were the one who thought of me…"

"Maybe… that's not important though, Sirius agreed and he is ready to try you out for that position. That would be good for you, you know? Sirius is not in a rush too and he told me that he is willing to have you part time to accommodate your health and adapt from then depending on what you want."

"How kind of him…" Severus replied, sarcastically.

It did sound very accomodating… Severus, hating himself for it, couldn't help but realize that this sort of offer wasn't going to present itself again any time soon. Could he really afford to be picky?

"You need to sort out your life, Severus," Alastor said, his blue eyes locked into the black one in his usual intense gaze. Severus ruffled at that, sensing that dreaded conversation about to happen again; but the other man didn't let him enter his usual sulk before resuming his argument. "I know you are already getting restless and I also know that you need to reclaim your independence now that you're feeling better. I won't push you, however, but please think about it."

Severus nodded, the words stuck in his throat. Alastor was right and it was filling him with so much bitterness, it was nearly painful.

Why did it have to be Sirius Black, of all people? Severus should have known that his life was a big joke at this point; it still hurt. A lot.

Alastor – maybe having sensed that Severus was struggling with strong emotions and unable to continue this particular conversation – did a strange thing then. He got up slowly, his joints creaking and cracking loudly, and touched Severus's left shoulder with one of his rough hands. He squeezed gently once, with a tenderness that he rarely showed. Severus felt moisture gather at the corner of his eye, threatening to fall, balancing at the edge.

"It's going to be ok, lad, you'll see."

The older man left the room immediately after, leaving Severus reeling in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

When had he ever had a choice, really?