Title: Leaving Gold Behind

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.

Pairing: Harry/Severus

Content Notes: Slight angst, AU (in that Snape lives)

Rating: R

Wordcount: 2800

Summary: Friendship has melted almost invisibly into becoming lovers for Harry and Severus—and their melting has left pure gold behind.

Author's Notes: Another of my July Celebration fics, this time for a request by alisanne: I'd love to see some Severus/Harry. Not fond of BDSM or too much angst. Prompt: Friends becoming lovers. I hope you like the fic!

Leaving Gold Behind

Harry decided that he wanted Severus on the evening when they made an appointment to meet for dinner at the Three Broomsticks and then Severus couldn't make it.

The next morning, Harry would receive an owl telling him that it was nothing serious, only a potions mishap that had left the lab coated in a thick, sticky green substance that resisted every attempt Severus made to clean it off with his wand. Severus didn't dare leave it and let it harden, and that meant he had to stay there and clean it up by hand.

But that was then. The evening before, Harry sat by himself, his skin heating and prickling with irritation by turns under the glances of pity Madam Rosmerta cast him, until at least he flung his Galleons on the table and left without ordering any food.

Eating alone in his flat, which was comfortable and decorated just to his taste and had never seemed lonely before, Harry replayed different scenarios in his head over and over. Was Severus hurt, and lying there, unable to get help? Harry knew better than to try Flooing him or going over. Severus's wards were impenetrable, a precaution that was only sensible to take with paranoid ex-Death Eaters around.

Was Severus simply so involved in a potion that he'd lost track of the time? Harry knew that was possible, but it struck like lightning in his chest that he would be less important than a potion like that.

Was he with someone else?

Harry broke the plate flinging it at the wall. At least he could draw his wand and promptly clean the mess up, though. Kreacher had stayed with Grimmauld Place, and Harry had no house-elf to tend to him. He wasn't sure that he could have taken being reminded of Dobby all the time, anyway.

He paced back and forth across the kitchen, and made his decision by the time he went to bed, to stare the ceiling through most of a sleepless night. He wanted to have the right to be jealous, and be more important than a potion. He wanted to have the key to the wards that Severus had never entrusted anyone else with. It was a silly desire, maybe, and born of pique, but he wanted that.

But it wasn't born of pique, or Harry was sure that it would have disappeared in the morning when he woke and found the owl from Severus explaining the accident. The only thing that happened, however, was the strengthening of Harry's desire, and the immediate and firm letter he wrote in response, inviting Severus to dinner again that evening. At his own flat, this time.

It grew from there.

Severus had never thought he would want to trust someone again.

At least, not closely. He worked with clients who ordered potions from him and who had shown they could be trusted to have some common sense. Enough not to report him to the Ministry for the crime of existing and having the Dark Mark on his arm, at least.

Some people had apparently missed the announcement in the Daily Prophet that he had been pardoned. Either that, or they assumed, with the Skeeter woman, that he had cast the Imperius Curse windlessly on all the members of the Wizengamot before whom he had pleased for his release.

So he had strong wards to exclude unwanted intruders and Howlers, and he led a quiet life, either in his lab, or in forests and deserts roaming in search of exotic ingredients. Very rarely, he would visit Diagon Alley in disguise, or venture down to Knockturn.

His friendship with Harry had grown not out of his desire, but because he could not allow what was happening to keep happening.

Potter would owl him rare ingredients and golden cauldrons and Galleons with a note commanding him to "buy whatever Potions supplies you want, I don't know enough about them to know what's really rare." Potter would show up outside the house and wait to be let in, then tell Severus he needed to get out and take him for lunch under a glamour. Potter would explain earnestly to him that he understood the mess with the Unbreakable Vows now, and Dumbledore would want Severus to live, not spend all his time in one small house.

The first time Potter had said that, he'd had to find a way out of the incredibly strong web-trap spell that Severus had buried him in, tying him to his chair with layer after layer of silk, before he stomped out of the restaurant.

They never ate there again.

But other than that, Severus's explosion didn't have the desired effect, which was to make Potter stop trying so damn hard. He just kept turning up and giving the door a hopeful look, and then sitting out in the rain without an Impervious Charm.

Severus had thought Potter might become a tolerable companion if he could learn something about brewing. But Potter had cheerfully shaken his head when Severus tried to teach him, and announced that he didn't know anything about Potions and didn't want to learn.

"Otherwise, you might expect me to buy you the gifts instead of sending the money. And I don't have enough time for that."

Severus had bristled at the insinuation, but Potter gave him a bright grin and dragged him out for another nice lunch.

For a while, Severus had tried to rationalize his own compliance with the realization that Potter was going to do this anyway, and it was a little silly of him to resist so hard. Why not let Potter spend money on him and try to soothe his guilty conscience that way? Potter had little to feel guilty for, but Severus was not above taking advantage of someone else's largesse.

And then he found he could debate politics with Potter, even though Potter steadfastly refused to learn anything about Severus's own subtle art. And Potter wasn't nearly as blindly into house-elf rights and allowing Gryffindors to run rampant in Hogwarts as Severus had thought.

A war could embitter people, entrench them into their dreams of revenge. It had certainly done that, not only for Severus, but for the vast majority of those he had known during the first war, like Lucius Malfoy.

But it had made Potter thoughtful.

The first time Severus invited Potter into his house, he did it without thinking, because they were having an intense debate about whether Shacklebolt would actually be a good long-term Minister, and Severus didn't want to stop. But Potter hesitated, and Severus turned to him and frowned.

"You've just never allowed me past your wards before," Potter whispered.

If there had been any other tone in his voice than the awed one Severus heard, he would have rescinded the invitation at once. But there it was. There it was, and Potter nodded then and crossed the threshold and made another good point about Shacklebolt's lack of connections with anyone in the Ministry other than the Aurors who had made the backbone of the former Order of the Phoenix.

They had stayed up until three in the morning that time, interrupting and arguing with and sometimes shouting at each other, despite the rush order of Wolfsbane Severus had to complete before noon and Potter's rigorous Auror training schedule.

And it wasn't the last time.

So the friendship had grown, and Severus had resigned himself to letting it continue on its course. Sooner or later, he knew, it would collapse of its own weight. Potter would find other ways to spend his time. He would acquire a girlfriend. He would yield to the pleas of his friends, who didn't understand why he wanted to talk to Severus at all and were urging him to "move on."

Potter had given those friends calm looks and calmer smiles and gone right on taking Severus out to lunch on a regular basis.

Even more slowly than the friendship grew the realization that Severus wanted something else, something more. He caught himself watching the line of Potter's throat as he swallowed Firewhisky, and how his hands moved when he was trying to make a point in a debate. And he didn't think about the way Potter looked ungraceful or how he had a duelist's hands, the way he once would have.

He thought, a lot, that Potter might welcome a move in that direction, because he saw those eyes on him with an invitation as warm as it was delayed.

And he thought of how those duelist's hands might feel touching him.

In truth, once I began to think that, I was lost.

Or maybe it began earlier. Maybe the beginnings were lost in time. Harry was prepared to believe that he and Severus had been growing towards each other for a long time. He knew he had made overtures, but that Severus had accepted them…

It was still more than a little incredible to Harry, sometimes.

But he got used to the debates, and the late nights, and scrambling into classes, and then the office, in the morning with dark circles under his eyes, and sleep in the corners of them, and the taste of Firewhisky in his mouth.

He actually got called in a few times, when he was obviously hungover, and one of his teachers or Kingsley lectured him solemnly on how he was here to learn, not to recover after drinking with his mates or spending time with a girl.

Harry nodded and promised he would do better, while concealing his amusement about what their faces would look like if they knew. And he did improve. He didn't drink so much when he and Severus debated—which was a good thing anyway if he wanted to actually win those debates—and he went home earlier on weeknights.

But the moment did arrive when he looked across the table and realized that he had absolutely no interest in going out and finding a girlfriend. And he didn't envy Ron and Hermione their closeness anymore, either.

Harry had someone he could become even closer to.

If Severus would only agree.

The talk had become strained, the third evening they had spent together this week, Severus thought, stirring his own Firewhisky with a finger and giving it an absent frown to avoid directing a real one at the man across from him. Harry had a full glass, but he had Transfigured his whisky into water some time ago.

He kept toying with the stem of the glass. He kept avoiding Severus's eyes. Sometimes he coughed and stared out the window.

Severus could think of two things it could be, neither of which pleased him. Either Harry had heard another rumor about Severus and he'd had to confront the gossipmonger and argue with them, which was always unpleasant for Severus to hear about…

Or he had made the decision to move on from Severus and get another friend. Or spend more time with his friends. Or date Ginny Weasley or one of the other women that the papers were all too ready to paint as panting after him.

Severus became aware that his glass might splinter under the hold he had on it. He shook his head and relaxed that hold. He had no right to claim Harry as his own. He didn't even know if Harry would be willing to date a man.

"Severus?"

Here it comes. Hoping with all his might it was the unpleasant confrontation, Severus looked up. "Yes?"

Harry put down his cup and stood up. Severus's stomach swooped and dropped as Harry walked around the table and stood in front of him, especially when he began, "You know I value your friendship."

He's found someone to date. Severus stood slowly himself, and told his mind over and over that he had done all he could to retain Harry's friendship, and now that he had found it in one place, he could find it in another.

Except he knew that wasn't true. Even if he managed, impossibly, to find someone else who believed in his innocence and would give him a second chance, he wouldn't have as much fun with them. They wouldn't be Harry.

"Yes," Severus finally said, because Harry had stopped talking, and he realized he must say something.

"But I'd like to add something to it," Harry said, and the shock Severus had been anticipating feeling burst instead into something like a glow of hope over him. Harry smiled and held out his hand. "Can you see yourself as ever wanting to be with me? I mean, as a lover?"

Severus reached out and kissed the back of Harry's hand without touching it with his own fingers. He heard Harry's breath sharply catch, and almost smiled. It helped, immensely, to know that he wasn't the only nervous one here.

"I think I can do that," he said, and, sitting back, caught Harry's eyes.

Harry reached out, and gathered him close with a single kiss, as warm and far more pleasant than the Firewhisky.

Harry supposed he should have known that Severus would be competent at whatever he did with his hands.

Harry had thought he would be so nervous the first time they slept together that he could ruin the entire thing. That, or he might come early or something, which would ruin it in a different way. It would definitely take Harry a long time to get over his embarrassment, if that happened.

But then he saw the focused, intent expression on Severus's face, as he prepared his fingers and cock with the gleaming lube Harry had bought weeks ago, and he realized that the man who brewed careful potions that took a full day of preparing the cauldron, or something worse, certainly wouldn't let haste destroy their desire.

By the time Severus reached down and carefully spread him open, Harry was smiling.

"Am I to infer that you give that strange expression to all your lovers?" Severus murmured, and Harry tensed a little as his fingers sank inside him. At least he'd experimented a bit with his own hand, and so the sensation wasn't as absolutely strange as it probably would have been otherwise.

"That expression is a grin, Severus."

"That expression is strange enough that I wasn't sure," Severus said primly, and did something with his fingers that left Harry limp and gasping.

It went so slowly after that, and yet fast enough that Harry felt as if he had closed his eyes and missed something by the time Severus was inside him, pumping slowly in and out. His teeth were clenched in what Harry was afraid was a painful grimace at first, but he shook his head and swooped down for a kiss when Harry asked.

"Overwhelmed," he whispered.

Harry reached up, braced his hands on Severus's shoulders, and let himself feel the same way, the sweeping flow of sensations that he'd never felt before. His legs ached and his arms ached, after a while, but they were countered by the sweet ache in his cock.

And he did come quickly, after all, but only after Severus had reached down and swept a single finger up his cock. So that was all right.

And more than all right was the way that Severus lay beside him afterwards, draping his body over Harry's as if he needed to shelter him from some imaginary foe. He kissed Harry's face enough that Harry's lips finally went numb, and his cheeks were heading the same way.

But Harry wouldn't have given it up for anything.

"Are you all right?" Severus finally asked, when Harry had lain for a long time next to him without moving.

Harry opened his eyes and gave Severus the laziest and most contented smile Severus had ever seen from him. Severus rubbed his shoulders and murmured something; he wasn't sure of the words even though he was the one saying them. Then Harry rolled to the side and nestled into his chest.

"I'm glad this happened," Harry said simply.

And those were all the words that they needed, Severus supposed. The same way that all the words they once needed had been Harry's calm arguments about the Ministry, or even the look on his face as he sat outside the wards waiting for Severus to change his mind and trust him.

I am glad, Severus thought, and kissed the top of Harry's head as he gathered him even close. We are very glad.

The End.