Fortress

Written for the WIKTT "Ghosts" Challenge (Deadline 05/08/03, missed it) proposed by Ripper. Rated NC-17 for this first chapter, and some later material. All canon elements, such as Hogwarts, Death Eaters, Snape, Hermione, and all other recognizable characters are the sole property and creation of J.K. Rowling.

Her hair was a silver curtain across her face as she reclined on the bed, the strands barely moving with her every breath. Severus sat up against his pile of pillows, pondering how she could sleep like that. In all their years together, his awe at watching her had never decreased, and it was the little things he had always noticed about her. He stroked the hair slowly from her forehead, thinking that for all she was so fastidious in her waking life she could fall into a deep sleep in moments, no matter what she was wearing, with hardly a thought as to where she was. More than once he had carried her to their bed, after finding her asleep in a chair, or leaning on her desk. He could use magic, but as long as his body allowed, he was determined to exercise its abilities at every opportunity. No longer a young man, he thought to himself, nor even really middle aged. He did not consider himself one that would dwell on death, but there is nothing like a younger lover to remind you of your own mortality.

Still, her hair, prematurely gray like all the Granger women, rendered the stares they once received non-existent. It began turning during the last trimester of her pregnancy, growing in at a massive rate, until by the time their son was a toddler it had changed in both color and texture, becoming the soft gray it had remained for over a decade now. He tucked a stray tendril behind her ear, fondly remembering the unmanageable mass it once was, frizzd brd brown. Now it was soft, thin but plentiful, almost as soft as the cat, who she so resembled in terms of her sleeping habits.

Her hands, a thin pillow beneath the side of her face, were barely visible beneath the silver curtain. He slipped his hand atop them, then brushed the mass of hair over her forehead, laying it across one shoulder. He took in every detail, staring at her hair fairly glowing in the moonlight, then looked upon her face"”and jumped in shock.

Her eyes were open.

He regained his composure, but not soon enough. She was smiling up at him, indolent, as satisfied as the family pet after it had eaten the last of the salmon spread.

"Did I wake you?" He tried for a casual tone, letting his hand settle over hers once more.

"I'ven aen awake." The smile did not leave her lips.

"Oh?" His eyes questioned her.

"I was watching you watch me." Her voice was smug, but soft, and there was a catch in it that wasn't there before. He wouldn't have thought anything of it, but for that little crackle in her usually steady voice.

"Really." He let himself slide down the pillows until he was nearly lying beside her, only his shoulders propped up. "And why would that be?" As she moved, crawling a little so she could lean on his chest, one of her hands brushed against his stomach. He caught it in both of his, making her his captive, subject to answering his question"”a game so old they'd forgotten it was once only a pastime.

She remembered to struggle a bit before leaning into him in earnest, her head on his shoulder.

"Because you're beautiful." The statement sent him reeling into space, his grasp on her hand the only anchor to earth. No matter how many times he heard it there was always this sudden disconnect from everything he knew, the plunge into overwhelming emotion. He managed to look at her and there it was, the knowing smirk of the ingénue. Abrubtly he hooked his free hand under her arm and pulled with the other, bringing her to rest on top of him.

"None of that," he insisted, "why were you really watching me?"

Her smile deepened, but retained its look of"”what? Mischeif, playfulness, languor? All three? "I was hoping," she whisperettemttempting to pull her hands free, "that you weren't going to fall asleep right away." She gave up trying to get her hands back and settled for pulling against his grip, bringing herself up to straddle his waist. Her long straight nightgown was hiked up around her waist, and he decided it would be a good idea to let go of her, and start running his hands up her thighs. She tightened their grasp on him.

"No," he said, "not right away."

She looked down at him, considering more words, then decided to simply kiss him, holding on tight with her legs as she leaned forward, until she was almost lying on top of him.

When their lips met it was all he could do to bring his hands to her back, caressing her there as he learned to long ago. When he faltered, paused, the sensation of her kisses too much for him to continue, she arched into his hands insistently, and he thought that his earlier comparison to the family cat was more than accurate.

She slid over him, the smooth fabric of her gown letting her slip over his lap, and landed next to him, serpentine next to his hip, one leg thrown posesssively over him. When she spoke, the suggestion had not left her voice.

"Sleepy?" She reached up in a way that might or might not have been causal, might or might not have been calculated, but either way her fingers brushed over his nipple, her long fingernails catching at the cotton of his nightshirt.

He tried to catch her hand, but missed. It slipped into the waistband of his pajama trousers, the heel of her hand just resting on his hip. When he attempted a stern look she let her fingers settle into the soft warm hollow where his thigh began. "Not anymore," he whispered.

His gaze was lazy as she withdrew her hand, but she was too obvious. When she attempted to straddle his lap again he sat forward suddenly, and when the tangle of arms and legs was over, she found herself pinned to the mattress.

"Got you."

Her laugh turned to a sigh as he found his way under that gown again, running the backs of his fingernails over her ribs, hinting that he might give that ssmoosmooth touch to her breasts. When his hands grazed the sides, tracing the border between breast and rib, he was staring at them, staring at the peaks her nipples made under the cool cloth, but he let his hands pass them by.

The moan was almost a growl in her throat, and for a moment she was no longer the docile pet but a dangerous creature, her hair a glowing silver mane around her flushed face. To make amends he bowed his head to the peaked cloth, letting his tongue taste the strange flavor that was both silk and his wife.

She was only just barely appeased. The want that had begun so quietly before he'd caught her watching him could have been dismissed had he only wanted to sleep. The moment he had responded to her, though, it had begun to grow, until it was a trembling, hot thing inside her that demanded she satisfy it. Her entire body was attuned to this need, even her fingertips tingling with the urgency of it all.

He moved his head to the other side, leaving a wet spot on the fine fabric that cooled, only stimulating her further, titillating and irritating her at the same time as that sensitive part was forced to feel while receiving no attention at all.

He tongued the other nipple, pressing on it with long slow steady strokes that looked considerate, but he knew how she craved something quicker and rougher once her desire had reached that level. Her hands didn't twist in the sheets, but made strange pleading shapes in the air near her face, and it was only the barest relief when she pushed the hair out of her eyes. Her neck strained to see him, but she barely felt the discomfort as he teased her deeper into need. His eyes met hers for the barest of moments before he bared his teeth, poising his mouth over the wet circle, the cloth clinging to her flesh.

Her breath, once gasping, became shallow. Of all the childhood misconceptions she had let go of, that was not one of them. His teeth were as dangerous looking as they ever were. They still scared her. She barely breathed as he closed them around the circle he harkearked with his mouth.

He left his teeth bared as he tightened them, feeling her nipple harden in defiance of her fear. He only gripped harder and harder as he slid up the tiny peak, until his jaw clenched at the very apex, his prize the barest whisper of skin inside the sheath of wet silk.

The sudden sharp pain sent her arching her back, crying out in one sharte ate at the jolt that shook her body, but contrary to what she would do if she truly feared him she only pulled him closer, his own warm chest soothing the lingering hurt.

"Too rough, Dearest?" he purred in her ear, knowing full well what her answer would be.

"Not at all." They separated for the briefest of moments, only long enough to divest each othf thf their garments. His pajamas shrugged off easily enough, but he took his time with her gown, rubbing her through handfuls of silk before pulling it over her head.

He stared at her for a moment. She had complained of what age had done to her body, at which he always told her she could not complain, or, in his more tender moments, that she had nothing to worry about. It would be a lie to say she was unchanged, but beneath her mantle of gray hair the shape of her body was little altered. It was the texture more than the shape that changed, like a precious statue exposed to centuries of rain and sun. Still, he knew better than to make that comment, endearing as it sounded in his mind.

Her skin was softer, a bit thinner, and the bones of her shoulders and the cords of muscle in her neck stood out a bit more clearly, but it was her breasts that she lamented the change in, and chanchanges of time there that he found the most precious. As soon as her gown hit the floor he reached towards her before she could cover herself by pressing her body into his, because she always tried to hide.

He cupped his hands beneath them, just as he always did, but now instead of being merely too large for his hands they seemed to literally spill over the confines of his fingers, unable to be contained in one still grasp. He delighted in squeezing them, first with his cupped palms, then with splayed fingers, and she moved beneath his hands, enjoying his touch in spite of herself.

Just as she seemed to be tiring of this particular touch he indulged himself in giving her a certain caress. Turning his wrists so that the smooth flesh of the backs of his hands were against her chest, he slid his fingers into the warm secret place under her breasts, spreading his fingers to lift them towards himself, the smallest fingers curling up to stroke at her nipples.

Her look was one of pleasure, but also reproach. In many ways she hated to be reminded of this change in the shape of her body"”before her son was born there was no way he could have caressed her in that particular way. Yet his pleasure and his affection were so great she could not help but be swayed by it, and she leaned towards him, reaching out to touch his chest.
For all that she complains, he thought, he is the one who thinks on his lost youth when she reaches for him, rues it all the more as he had no one to share it with. As soon as her hand touched him, though, all those bitter thoughts were forgotten, and he hardly remembered that there was a time he was without her.

His hair had turned not silver, but a harder steel gray, and grown wiry instead of soft. Still, there was the same kind of forbidden thrill when sorkeorked her fingers into his sparse thatch of hair in the middle of his chest, tugging him forward.

The stinging pain was not entirely assuaged by the time he was holding her close against him, the two of them kneeling, swaying together on the soft surface of the bed. He brought his teeth to her neck, and while she seemed to be struggling under that caress, he could clearly feel her wriggling closer, closer, grinding herself against his erection with an unconcerned ferocity that could only be unintentional.

As sometimes happened when she was losing herself to his attentions, she seemed to see herself as if from afar. When she pulled herself away from him just a bit, she could see that they were both staring at each other with the same possessive, ravenous looks wer were all they knew of one another in their first few weeks of their married life, and for a moment she thought that they looked young again.

But even in her mind, even in that half moment she knew she did not think it, and did not wish it.

She let herself sink down on to the bed, pulling him with her into a secure nest of sheets and blankets. His hands roamed her body as he laid his head on her shoulder, and she pushed his hair out of his face, holding the lot of it in a ponytail for a moment before letting go. He'd kept it long all these years, just above his collar, and she couldn't count the number of times she'd trimmed it for him, slowly noting the changes until it became the coarse but straight strands of steel gray that framed his face now. If he were still teaching, she thought, this would be even more alarming to the students than his black hair had been. In some lights it made him look cold, severe, hard as the metal whose color it resembled, but in the spare light of their bedroom it was nothing but the frame for the face that has remained remarkably unchanged over time.

She was snapped out of her reverie by his fingers tangling in her curls, tugging as she had done to him earlier.

"Well?" His smile was a warning. He might be planning on teasing her. She let her legs fall open, coyness abandoned.

"Yes," she fairly hissed, "touch me."

His fingertips were on her flesh in seconds, having parted the riot of curls with the ease of years of practice. It was there that her skin was most changed, though, sometimes feeling as thin as tissue, and though her eyes were bright and there was a rosy bloom spreading over her breasts and shoulders, here her flesh was like papndernder his fingers.

It was too trite, the comparison of her opening to a flower, but it was too true as well he thought, feeling the conjunction of so many petals, but she was only just damp there, and she moaned in frustration when his dry finger rasped against the tight ring of muscle.

She sd agd again when he whispered in her ear, telling her not to worry, and a moment later he was there again, his fingers wet and warm against her flesh that seemed to come alive beneath his touch.

When his fingers dipped effortlessly inside her she could not tell where her own wetness ended and what he brought began. Every nerve seemed closer to the surface then use used to be, and just his two fingers inside her was almost too much, until he began leaving her for seconds at a time, returning with more of the sleek wet stuff on his fingers. It revived her tender flesh, making her feel that she could take more ande ofe of him on until there was nothing left.

His fingers traveled inside her in minute yet sweeping motions, retracing the familiar folds and striations. He touched her with more concern now than he had at any time save for the very beginning, but even then he was reasonably sure that anything he harmed in his loving explorations could be healed with a kiss, or at least a little magic. Now she seemed both infinitely more fragile, and more fierce. As the minute peaks and valleys within her developed beneath his hand he could hardly tell the difference, except for the single-mindedness with which she accepted his attention. It used to be a strident matter of give and take with her. Now, if he was willing to reach for her, she was willing to lay back and let the feelings wash over her without worry.
She relaxed, letting her body sink into the soft warmth of the covers. His fingers inside her were gentle and competent, coaxing a gently building warmth from the core of her body, and she craved that touch in the brief seconds when he withdrew to add more lubricant. She let her eyes drift shut, almost sleeping, drifting on the pleasantly building sensation inside her.

Severus regarded her with a gaze he knew would look possessive could he see it; he could almost feel the aggressive impulse to own her growing inside him as he brought out that languid, satisfied look on her face. He began to barely think of what he was doing, just letting his fingers move from memory as he watched the tiny smile grow on her face.

Suddenly she twisted her head and he stopped, worried that he had hurt her in those inattentive moments. She sat up, pushing the enveloping covers and sheets away, her mouth twisted in disappointment.

"Out, out," she managed, looking around in desperation. He withdrew his fingers slowly, trying to understand her abrupt change. Once he saw her flushed face and chest, he understood. Though his first impulse was to gather her close in his arms to comfort her, he wisely backed away from her, remembering how she tended to crave air and open space in these times.

She pushed her hair away from her face, gathering it into a tight ponytail, then let it fall, burying her face in her hands. It was too cruel, to go from being so aroused, so gently warm and liquid, to this horrid hot dry feeling that seemed to suck the breath from her lungs. Usually, at least, it was over quickly, and usually she was alone when it struck, or at least it was usually in the middle of the night, when Severus was asleep. She hated for him to see this, the most explicit sign of her advancing age, and, by extrapola, of, of his. Why was it lingering so?

She was barely aware of some murmured words from Severus, and a soft thud on the bed. A moment later she gasped in shock as two incredibly cold hands ped aed against her back.

"Too cold?" Severus asked quietly, moving them up towards her shoulders so that they left cool trails on either side of her spine.

"No," she whispered, the heat that seemed to press on her finally beginning to abate, "just right."

She kept her eyes closed as he took his hands away, sighing when they returned, refreshed with that cold water, coming to rest on her breasts. They slid all over her body, cupping the sides of her neck, tracing her shoulders, resting on the sides of her hips. When she opened her eyes she saw him dipping his hands into a bowl of ice cubes he had summoned to the bedroom. He lifted his dripping hands and she leaned towards them, letting him run his cold fingers through her hair. Her scalp, which had been prickling with heat, cooled deliciously under his touch, and her previous ardor was replenished.

"Touch me again," she said quietly, edging closer to him.

It was harder to reach up into her when she was kneeling in front of him, but as his fingers sought her entrance she leaned back a little. On a capricious whim, he dipped his fingers into the bowl of ice once more before he touched her.

His cold fingers were met with a gasp as she pressed herself more firmly down on to him. The cool sensation seemed to strengthen her somehow, making her feel that her vagina was as supple and strong as it had been when she was a young woman. Her body responded enthusiastically to the strange temperature, and she felt the heat of her own wetness cascading down inside her, seeming to swirl around the cool places under Severus' hand. She pressed her forehead to his, a small smile on her lips as she reached down to take him in her hand.

He hardened quickly under her touch, his fingers silently describing what he wanted to do to her.

"Soon?" he whispered.

"Now," she affirmed, moving her knees to either side of his. He looked surprised as she grasped his shoulders.

"You know I won't last long this way," he murmured, slightly embarrassed by the admission.

"It's alright," she said, her open expression almost pleading, "I really want it like this."

"Alright." He wrapped his long thin fingers, still cool from the ice, on to either side of her waist, and she shivered pleasurably when she felt his firm grip.

She held his firm length gently in her fingers, pressing her forehead to his as she lowered her body. When she had taken in the last of his length she let her head fall back as he bumped a familiar spot inside her. Squeezing her thighs around him she raised herself a fraction of an inch and let herself fall on to it again, delighting in the way the sharp sensation radiated through her.
His eyes now fully accustomed to the light, Severus watched in awe as she moved her body up and down, leaning back htlyhtly so that the entirety of her torso down to their strange conjunction was visible to his eyes, washed in the blue light of their room.

Suddenly she straightened herself, craving him from a different angle. She grasped his shoulders, steadying herself as she quickened their pace, her breath quick on his neck.

He brought his hands, warm now, to rest on her shoulders, pulling her down with each stroke as he pressed himself into her. One of her hands left his shoulder and began twining itself in his hair, tangling the wiry strands with the same pleading gesture she'd made in the air when all he'd been invading her with had been his fingers.

Every thrust of his body inside hers built on her need, until it was a palpable thing, strong and demanding inside her. She knew it would grow and grow under his touch until something inside her would snap, and it would wash away under the waves of her orgasm, adding itself to that pleasure, but there wouldn't be time, she feared, before he was taken over by his own.


She took one of his hands from her shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her to keep his balance.

"Please," she whispered, as she guided him through the narrow space between their bodies, pressing his fingers to where she needed to be touched, but when she tried to take her hand away he held it tight, turning her fingers towards herself.

"Please," he echoed her, moving his hands to her back. As she gave in he leaned back and then stretched himself out beneath her, lying with his hands clasped under his head, his eyes traveling lasciviously over her body from her face to where her fingers disappeared in a tangle of chestnut curls.

"Look at me." He loved watching her try to hold his stare, but a simple change in the movements of his hips and she would shudder and close her eyes for a moment, breaking the gaze.

She hooked her legs around his, trying to keep her balance. The feeling that could be so good was building inside her, almost at its completion, but if it ended now it would be nothing but frustration. Cally lly she stroked herself closer and closer to her most sensitive spot, sliding back the little hood of skin that stood either to protect her or hinder her, depending, but now when she slid her hand over the improbably thin skin of that spot she winced for a moment, dry skin sticking to dry skin, and she pulled her hand away.

She'd nearly forgotten about her husband watching her, that Severus' eyes didn't close as hers did, so she was surprised when her hand was caught in his when it was only halfway to her mouth. Her eyes flew open, but their rhythm did not falter.

The cold spike of fear she felt when his teeth grasped her finger quickly faded to a shiver as he ran his tongue over her fingertip. His eyes did not leave her hand once he had released her, taking in the exciting sight of her handling that sensitive flesh with a rough touch she never would have tolerated from him.

She tightened around him just as he was beginning to be plagued by fatigue, and he held her more firmly, knowing that her movements could be more erratic, even dangerously so, at this stage. Sure enough, just as the first diminutive moan escaped her lips she pitched forward, throwing a hand out to catch herself on his shoulder.

To his disappointment, her other hand soon followed, as she had found grinding herself against him to be an improvement over touching herself. His favorite nights were the ones in which he could revel in her harsh ministrations until the moment when he was overtaken by his own orgasm, but he barely thought on it as she shuddered around him, her quiet moans turning to soft cries that seemed to intoxicate him.

He pried her hands off his shoulders, holding them in both of his as he had done countless times before, adding the strength of his straightened arms to hers just as she seemed to become limp.

She grasped at his hands, holding herself up, pushing herself above the sensations that threatene ove overcome her. There was a warm sharp ripple in her abdomen, a feeling that might have satisfied her as the end at one time, but not now, when she knew there was more. She held on to Severus' calloused hands, the rough edges an anchor into reality as she ground on him, treating her body in ways that would have hurt if they were visited on her suddenly.

The hot, close feeling threatened to cover her again, and she pressed against his arms, struggling to stay above it, swimming and drowning at the same time with no idea or care of what she looked like.

When her arms began to shake, Severus closed his eyes and let himself be taken by the sensations he'd been holding at bay.

She cried out, the loudest cry yet, in relief as she felt the familiar shaking of her body, both in her arms and legs and in the flesh that surrounded him, as the pleasure that had been almost infuriatingly concentrated where their bodies met condescended to flow and ripple through her body, bringing a heat and an awareness of every cell that seemed to strip her awareness of every other thing, so that she barely knew she threw her head back and let out a high long note that trebled as she came.

His own orgasm spent inside her, Severus wondered, as he guided her limp form to his chest, why no one had ever compared that cry with phoenix song. He stroked the hair from her face as she caught her breath against his shoulder. Could e the that she was truly as unique as he fancied she was?

"Why are you smiling?" she asked quietly.

"Watching me through half-closed eyes again?" he asked mildly.

"Yes." Her own smile was entirely unenigmatic, he thought, anyone looking at her would know exactly what she'd been up to.

She snuggled into his shoulder, but lifted herself a bit when she felt him tense underneath her. Much had changed in their marriage, but that had not.

"Getting up then?" she asked when she felt him stir.

"You know I'll be back."

She nodded sleepily as he planted a kiss on her temple.


It was an impulse he had tried to fight, at first, but it had been a losing battle, filled with harsh words and tense silence. When he'd finally told her the simple truth, that he longed for a moment to himself after having been so close to another person, she had accepted it far more quickly than he would have imagined.

He walked naked to the bathroom, remembering with a start when he saw the extra toothbrush that Jason was home for Christmas break. Well, he would just have to hope that the boy slept through the next few moments.

He thought of taking a quick shower, but the cool air, so pleasant on his dry skin, prompted his thoughts elsewhere. He washed quickly at the sink, then assembled a cup of water, a warm washcloth, and a dry towel for his wife.

It had always been like this. He could have those moments alone, and she, in return, was allowed to lapse into sleep immediately if she chose, while he brought her whatever she needed. He held her head while she sat up to sip at the water, and she was sufficiently awake to take the towels from him when he turned to place the cup on her table.

She murmured half-awake endearments to him as he tucked her in, then fell into a deep restful sleep as he settled in beside her. After years of sleeping with him she was accustomed to the fact that he did not snuggle while sleeping, but the points where he did touch her, his hips, shoulders, even the heel of a foot, were as comforting and familiar to her as the circle of his arms.