A/N - thanks for the reviews. And - just a reminder, frankly I'm not sure how 'dark' this fic really is - but it's certainly about a relationship that develops in a less than straightforward way.

Night 2

Minerva woke when she felt the settee she was lying on shift with the weight of another person. Gentle fingers stroked over her face and she opened her eyes to find Albus gazing down at her.

"You're waiting for me." There was too much wonder in his voice for her not to notice and, after all, it was an accurate description of what she'd been doing. Her marking had been finished some time ago and it had taken a very short internal debate to decide to curl up in front of the fire in his study to await his return. "Don't move," he whispered, "I need to touch you to convince myself that you really are here."

Two nights earlier, in a halting, broken voice he had asked her to stay with him and, to both their surprise, she had agreed. Though she had recognised his invitation was to do more than sleep, he had actually been too exhausted to do anything other than hold her.

It had been slightly awkward, to curl up in a large bed with another person, after years of sleeping alone. It had been emotionally draining to curl up with Albus, whose barriers had been brought down by need. But she had talked to him softly, stroking his hand where it rested on her stomach, until the change in his breathing had told her he had fallen asleep.

She'd woken to his caress the next morning. It still been early, light barely creeping into the room. She'd wanted to tell him to go back to sleep but his tentative, wandering touch had robbed her of the power of speech. His lips had followed in the wake of his hands, persuading her that she really wasn't sleepy. He'd divested her of the night-clothes she'd transfigured for herself the night before and then proved to her that in his long, but scarcely misspent life he had learnt a great deal about making love.

Despite this it hadn't exactly been perfect. They'd both been nervous. He'd touched her as though he feared she would vanish and she was far too tense to let go completely. There had been too many years since she'd last been with a man and the heightened emotions from the evening resounded around them, scarcely making for a relaxed and sensual coming together. Instead there had been desperation in the way they had moved, in the way they had grasped hands and arched their bodies.

She'd held him afterwards, murmured words of reassurance as they lay in a riot of pillows and bed covers. Everything she had thought she knew about their friendship had been destroyed in the wake of passion and need. He had slept again – she had not.

He'd looked, not better when she'd left him that morning, but at least more rested. When she arrived for breakfast he was already there, but the look of relief Poppy shot her had been enough to tell her that she wasn't the only one to notice the difference.

An owl had reached her later, his distinctive scrawl informing her that the Wizengamot were in session and he didn't expect to return to Hogwarts until the next day. It was entirely proper for the Headmaster to keep his Deputy informed of his whereabouts. He had asked nothing of her, made no personal request. But she was here anyway and one look at his face told him that her decision to wait for him had been the right one.

She lifted her hands and ran them over his face – his skin was soft, but the lines and wrinkles spoke of his age and, combined with the tiredness in his eyes, she was worried about him again.

"Tell me," she said softly, "it will help."

"I don't want you to share my nightmares."

"They'll wake me anyway." Neither of them commented on her pledge that she would be sleeping beside him, but he brushed his lips over her fingers in response. "I've seen terrible things already Albus,"

"I know," she pulled him down beside her and pressed a kiss onto his brow. It was only a matter of time before he found the words.

"Karkaroff gave evidence yesterday. He named several people as Death Eaters – including Severus Snape though his acquittal will stand. But then Karkaroff named Barty Crouch Junior." It was not what she had been expecting to hear. She had no liking for Barty Crouch, though his methods were admired and his influence had been great during the war. Up until this moment she had assumed he would become Minister of Magic soon. But she had always known that his attempts to fight fire with fire would be dangerous. She believed the methods he had advocated to seek out those who had supported He Who Must Not Be Named were what had brought the current madness down upon them. And now that madness had struck at the man who had tried to control it.

"What will happen?"

"The boy confessed and was sentenced straight away – life in Azkaban."

Albus' eyes were haunted again. She had no illusions that she could offer him more than a fragment of comfort, but until they were free of this darkness the fragment would have to suffice. She shuddered a little at the thought that such a time might never occur and turned her face to his; blindly seeking his lips with her own as though they could anchor each other amidst the tumult.

He breathed her name as his fingers unfastened her robes, seeking skin, already knowledgeable about how to arouse her. "I've dreamt of this," he murmured against her throat and she couldn't decide if the words made her happy or sad.

They made love in front of the fire. More gently this time and with a depth that had been lacking before. She moved above him, carefully, slowly; watching as shadows flickered across his face. Afterwards she lay beside him as he pressed gentle kisses across her face. Her hand was splayed on his chest; she could feel the thumping of his heart, a tangible proof that he lived, that he was mortal. Even now, with their bodies tangled together, glowing in the aftermath of lovemaking she could feel the lingering darkness, waiting to consume them.

"It will destroy his parents," Albus said, returning to the subject of Barty Crouch Junior. "His mother is ill already and though Barty has cast him off, people will view him as guilty by association. They'll say he should have known his son was a death eater. And, perhaps if he'd spent more time at home…"

"It isn't that simple. He was here at Hogwarts for 7 years, and we didn't suspect. We could have done something, tried to reach him – we weren't expecting him to betray us." Her voice wavered and tears stung her eyes, they weren't talking about Crouch Junior any longer – or not just Crouch.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. There were no words left, nothing either of them could say to offer reassurance. They couldn't promise that it would be all right, there was no guarantee of that.

"We should try to get some sleep," she said at last.

Summoning a blanket from a nearby chair she pulled it over their rapidly cooling bodies. Sinking into his embrace she reminded herself that this was about giving him comfort, not about seeking it for herself. It was unfortunate that her body did not seem to understand this distinction.

Over the last two days she had come to realise that her feelings for him were very complicated and at the same time profoundly simple. She wanted to believe that this was about two friends, comforting each other, making love because that was what they needed and still retaining their friendship. But she knew that if she admitted to herself how she really felt about him, it would become a hundred times more difficult.

The fire had dwindled to embers, the room had lost much of its residual heat and her back was protesting a night spent sleeping on the floor. But that wasn't what had woken her.

Albus' moans were indistinct – but he was twisting around beside her, clearly in the grip of unpleasant dreams. She heard a crack and then another and realised that his distress was affecting his magic, which in turn was breaking some of the instruments in the room.

He was moving too much for her to hold onto and she baulked at using a spell to send him back to sleep. Instead she shook him gently,

"It's just a dream, it's OK – Albus, you're safe." He woke abruptly, eyes wide with horror, whether from the vestiges of his dream or from having betrayed himself she couldn't tell. She watched as he sat up, taking a couple of steadying breaths.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb your rest, I shouldn't have let you stay."

"This isn't the first nightmare you've had recently," she said, scarcely needing him to confirm her surmise. She sat as well, the blanket dipped to reveal her nudity and with a shaking hand he wrapped it back around her. "Let's go to bed, I'm too old to sleep on the floor all night."

His expression wavered and suddenly she feared that he would insist she return to her own bed. Instead he breathed a spell and the blanket became a dressing gown, which she pulled on. He reached for one of his robes, discarded earlier in their haste and together they ambled to his bedchamber.

She paused, feeling awkward – an absurd feeling given that they had just made love in front of the fire, a far more intimate act. But Albus reached for her – burying his head in her hair and tumbling them both into the soft mattress. They settled themselves, his hand on her hip, her head on his shoulder – so easy the way their bodies fit together, so quickly becoming used to this closeness. And neither of them had made any attempt to talk about what was happening between them.

"I can't stop it," he said, "I can't stop the accusations, the torture, the sentences without the benefit of a trial. I fear innocent people will be swept into this madness." She hadn't asked him about his nightmare – but she knew he was telling her anyway.

"You think Crouch's son innocent?"

"No, I'm sure he was a Death Eater. His hands are not clean, he deserves to be punished for his actions."

"And he will be," she shivered at the thought of Azkaban, "if they had defeated us they would have destroyed all who opposed them – with little thought to justice, or trials."

"All that stands between us and them is the differences in how we behave, I won't allow us to lose sight of that now. But, people are still going to die."

There was little to dispute in his analysis, so she tightened her grip on him and dismissed all thoughts of raising the question of their recent activities. It was a long time since she had received or given comfort – it would have to be enough to sustain them through the dark nights they had yet to face.

TBC