Shastri's funeral took place a week or so later. The exact time and location had been kept secret in case the Death Eaters had any more ideas about "making examples", but fortunately it went off without a hitch. All the aurors who attended had been invited back to her mother's house for the wake, but most were on duty and made their excuses, leaving just Kingsley and Michael Ivetsy sitting on a chintz sofa listening to a teary school friend reminisce about midnight feasts and failed hairdressing charms. Kingsley had maintained his composure, secretly pleased with the way he was holding up. Shastri's fiancé had shaken his hand and apologised for his display of temper on receiving the news, Kingsley had assured him that there was no need. He had maintained his composure. A tiny, frail grandfather had told him via a bilingual cousin that he had been an auror for sixty years in Delhi, and he felt no guilt about encouraging his granddaughter to follow in his footsteps because being an auror was the most noble occupation in the world. Hers had been a short life, but an honourable one, he had pronounced, and several relatives agreed. Still, he had maintained his composure.

Then Mrs Khalili stepped forward with her brave smile and offered him a cup of tea. The blackness descended as suddenly and painfully as it had last time. Thanking her, but declining, he muttered something about paperwork and left. Stumbling out of his own custom-made fireplace, the Ministry's bravest, smoothest auror collapsed onto his sofa and cried for twenty minutes.

When the tears finally stopped, it was still only 1pm, and he had a whole afternoon off to kill. Unable to face human contact for the moment, he headed down to the gym in the basement, knowing it would be deserted at this time of day while the investment bankers and city traders who shared his Docklands apartment building were earning their megabucks up at Canary Wharf. He liked living among muggles. He found it useful to stay in touch with their gadgets, fashions and topics of conversation, not wanting to be caught out when undercover; and it was so refreshing to talk about something other than the war. His neighbours' concerns were delightfully minor – the unbelievable dollar/pound exchange rate, scratched paintwork on their new car, Saturday's Arsenal game. If they were curious about any of his habits, they never showed it.

As expected, the gym was deserted, and Kingsley pushed himself through a gruelling two hour workout without interruption. Pleasantly tired, he showered and dressed back in his flat then sat down again. Within seconds his mind was replaying Mrs. Khalili's sad smile. Desperate for distraction, he ran through his options. He definitely did not want to go into the office to catch up on work. It was too early to respectably go to the pub. All his friends, collegues and fellow order members would be working, except Lupin, who was wrestling his own demons, and Snape.

Snape would not ask questions. He had experienced more horrors than Kingsley, many of which he had perpetrated himself. He knew all about this kind of torment. He would not offer empty condolences. And he might be free this afternoon. The auror's demeanour brightened slightly. Glad that Hogwarts' wards had been adjusted to allow communication between Order members, he threw a handful of powder into the fire and called Snape's name.

There was no answer for a while, and he had almost given up, believing the potions master to be out, when he came into view, one eyebrow rising as he recognised Kingsley.

"Oh, excuse me. Were you asleep?" He had not expected to see Severus in his green velvet dressing gown at three in the afternoon. Not that he objected to the sight. Barefoot, unshaven, with his black hair rumpled and eyes blinking too often, he looked bleary and dishevelled. Rather tasty, in fact.

"I was up all night working on a potion. Is there a problem, Shacklebolt?" The words were clipped, but there was no malice in his tone.

"No. I just wanted to see you. Nothing urgent, I can call back at a more convenient time." Snape assessed him for a moment, arms folded across his chest.

"There is no need. If you do not object to my inappropriate state, you may come through." Smiling, Kingsley did so.

Snape did not question his guest's odd flinch when he offered him tea, but simply asked a house elf for two glasses of pumpkin juice instead. Kingsley was grateful, and visibly relaxed a little. They sipped their drinks in a comfortable silence.

"Do you often brew through the night?" he asked after a few minutes, genuinely curious. To his delight, Snape fidgeted, looking faintly embarrased. It was Kingsley's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"I am a terrible slattern during the holidays, I am afraid," he confessed. "I can work through the night, sleep through the day, wear my night clothes for days at a time. I suppose it is a reaction to a life lived governed by the regimentations of boarding school." Kingsley laughed.

"Professor Snape!" he admonished in a tone of mock horror, "Who would have guessed!" Snape gave a little half-grin.

"Disgusting, I know. I eat lamb rogan josh for breakfast in bed and whole jars of olives at four in the morning. The elves grass me up to Albus all the time. He finds it hilarious." Kingsley was laughing again, wondering why he was so pleased to be privy to these dark secrets. Severus had shifted a little closer to him on the old couch, moving with a grace which belied his current appearance. Suddenly he clapped his hands together.

"Melon!" he declared.

"Pardon?"

"Melon with Parma ham! Are you hungry?" at his companion's shrug he clicked his fingers for a house elf and ordered the snack.

As they waited, Kingsley quietly spilled all the details of the funeral and everything that had been bothering him, feeling the weight of it lessen, but not lift completely under Snape's neutral gaze.

"It is often this way. An odd little detail can trigger the whole magnitude of emotion. Do not look at me that way, surely you do not believe me incapable of feeling?" They were sitting very close now. Kingsley shook his head, swallowing.

"Of course not," he opened his mouth to continue, but a large plate of melon and ham appeared on the coffee table and Severus turned his attention to it. Munching contentedly, he commented lightly,

"If you are interested, I might tell you about the nervous breakdown I had before becoming a spy during the first war."

"A breakdown?" Kingsley was astonished. "You? But everyone sees you as being completely unfazeable."

"As they see you too, Auror Shacklebolt."

Kingsley sat for a while with his elbows resting on his knees, too many emotions racing through him. He jumped as hands began to rub at his shoulders, then leaned into the soothing contact. That velvety voice whispered right into his ear.

"You lost one. How many have you saved?"

Kingsley groaned softly as a particulary tense neck muscle was unknotted. Severus seemed very informal today, allowing his guard down completely.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"For what?" asked Severus gently, with a hint of a smirk.

"For saying that. For this. For all of it."

"You know, this massage would be much easier if you were lying down," he suggested, still whispering. Kingsley groaned again and allowed himself to be led into the bedroom.

Completely relaxed after an intensive back massage which lasted for over an hour, Kingsley rolled over lazily and pulled Severus down on top of him.

"You're really quite amazing, did you know that?" he asked, kissing him slowly.

"It is rather odd, I can't seem to keep my hands off your body," the masseur noted in mock puzzlement, languidly tracing the taut brown chest to demonstrate.

"Then don't," murmured Kingsley wickedly. Flipping Severus beneath him, he removed the bathrobe and pleasured him slowly and thoroughly until he was begging to be taken deep, hard, and above all now. Never one to disobey orders, Kingsley obliged.

Later that evening, Severus awoke to find a warm body spooned against him, and a muscular arm wrapped posessively around his waist. This man was in his quarters, in his bed, lolling over his body as though he owned it. How could he have been so foolishly unguarded? To allow another to see his most vulnerable, dishevelled, disgusting self? Had he finally gone insane? Even speaking about his breakdown with his… his what? Well, whatever he had with Shacklebolt, it was officially no longer a one-night-stand. There had been two of them. And this had not even happened at night. Fidgeting uneasily, he tried to roll away, but the other only pulled him tighter into the embrace with a sleepy groan. Panic surged up into Snape's chest. He was trapped.

……………..

Thank you, my darling reviewers! You brightened my Easter weekend!

I agree that there are not enough Kingsley/Severus fics out there. That's why I decided to write one of my own. But will they survive? Can Snape cope? Will Kingsley's angst get worse? What made Snape break down and change sides? (Good questions, I haven't actually decided yet) Tune in next time….