*No War
*No BWL
*Severus was never a spy
*Completely AU

Spring

"I'm considering taking on an apprentice soon," Patrick Witherson said, cutting into his pie.

"Really?" Severus asked. He nodded to the waitress who came and refilled his coffee. Patrick had been his friend and colleague for quite some time, since they had begun their masteries the same year, and he couldn't remember them discussing their own apprentices previously.

"I figure it's about time," the man said. He scratched at his black beard and then at the collar of his muggle button-down. "Seven years at Windenbroke. Four years apprenticed. Two years upskilling with Master Drevers. Two years researching. Now going on five years with my own mastery, it seems like something I want to take on," he said.

"So it does," Severus agreed, sipping at his drink. For a moment, Severus wondered at how old they had become. They were in a café outside of the city walls of York. With two universities in close proximity, the rest of the café was filled with mostly, he assumed, muggle students, clacking away at their laptops and staring at their handheld telephones. They were the oldest people inside, as far as he could tell, besides the cook.

"Have you had any inquiries?" he asked.

"Nah," Patrick said, making a face. "None to speak of. I've a nephew who has an interest, but he doesn't seem to embrace all that potion masteries require."

"Nor does he show an affinity?"

Patrick chuckled. "An affinity for sweets. That's what he has."

Severus gave a rare chuckle. "The last time I was invited to guest lecture at Hogwarts, Larana mentioned a few Potions students who were doing rather well and had asked about further work in the field."

"Hmm, I do trust Larana's judgment," Patrick said.

Severus nodded. "She has a keen mind for the work and for her students. Pomona, too mentioned a few bright ones."

"Ah, herbology?" Patrick smiled. "What are my chances of getting an apprentice with a root affinity do you think?"

"Slim," Severus said, with a smirk. "As root affinities always are."

Patrick smiled and looked Severus in the eye.

"Not as slim as true healing affinities I'm sure."

Severus rolled his eyes at the understatement and made a show of stirring at his lukewarm coffee. Patrick forced himself quiet on the matter, as he knew Severus did not appreciate attention for his particular skills. His healing affinity was perhaps the rarest of potion affinities.

Of course all potion masters used potions to heal, but Severus' deep, natural insight about the body, the tangibility of his connection to others' bodies through his magic and his potions, his natural talent for predicting and discovering potions' effect on the body, that was uncommon, to say the least. There hadn't been a potion master in centuries with an affinity like his.

"I will speak with Pomona and Larana the next time I get the chance," Patrick said after a few minutes of silence, as they both finished up their meals and drinks.

Severus nodded. "Perhaps I will, too."

They eventually left the shop and headed to the city walls. The muggles laughably called them "ancient" and praised their condition. The stacked stones brought in tourists from around the country and the world, especially when the daffodils were in bloom. Severus supposed that they might just be tourists as well. After all, the daffodils were why they were here. In the right condition, every part of the flower was useful for various potions. And these flowers on this wall, rained on by a particular amount of mediaeval lead from the Ouse River, had especially potent petals and nutritious roots.

As the two men approached the walls, they were met with the a few hundred yellow daffodils on the grassy slopes before the ancient walls. In the sun, they shone, looking like a bright collage of shaded golden and bright lemon petals. They made their way to a sparser area away from a small crowd and crouched down before the open flowers.

"Good color," Severus observed to himself, as he petted the stem of one near him.

Patrick was on his knees breathing deeply with his eyes closed and his hands buried in the grass. Severus watched him for a few moments as the man seemed to mediate his energy toward the ground. His eyes opened and he let out a shuddering breath with his smile.

"The roots are in good condition?" Severus asked.

"The roots are singing," Patrick said, eyes bright.

Summer

Having spent the day outside in the sweltering sun with little to protect his arms or neck, Harry was grateful that he finally felt his body cooling down. He hovered his hand over his forearm to feel the residual heat and noticed the small tremble in his fingers and the familiar grit beneath his fingernails.

Outside, beyond the small shelter of Mrs. Thompson's garden shed, rain had begun to pour from a graying sky, and a light breeze whipped at the trees in the small wooded area behind the row of houses on the street.

Harry settled into the dirt ground of the shed, leaned over, and rested his head on the bulky canvas of his tool bag. He'd only left his first year of Hogwarts behind a week ago, and he was already feeling the toll that his summer job took on his body. Aching joints. Hot sunburn. He was hungrier than he left himself think. His right hip, he could feel, was slipping further out of alignment, causing him to limp. And his hands felt as if they were being consumed by fire almost constantly. Harry tried not to think of himself as he struggled to find comfort on the ground. He thought of his plants. He thought of what the rain did for them.

Mrs. Thompson, like many of Aunt Petunia's friends and clients, didn't appreciate rain. It messed up the pretty arrangement of their mulch. It made the flowers droop. It made it more difficult for them to stand behind Harry and command him, as if they knew what the plants needed more than he. But rain was good. Better than good, it was essential. Harry thought of Mrs. Thompson's pink sorrels and the curved stems of her fringe cups and the small buds of her sand pansies that she probably didn't even know were growing in the middle of her tall spiked white and purple asphodels. They all needed water, real rain water, more badly than she knew.

So, even though the thunder made Harry start a few times as he drifted to sleep in the shed, and even though he imagined that when he woke up it would be because he was lying in a puddle of water, Harry smiled as he went to sleep, thanking the rain for its gift of life.

The next day, Harry was surprisingly dry when he woke as the sun rose. Taking his toothbrush out of the baggy in the front pocket of his tool bag, he made quick work of brushing his teeth with the last bit of toothpaste he had. Then, he went to the wooded area behind the houses, relieved himself, and began looking for a decent puddle of water.

Harry found a small collection of water at the base of a skinny silver birch tree and swirled his fingers in it, smiling. After gulping down a few handfuls, he sat down next to it, not even minding the wet earth on his oversized trousers.

He dug out a handful of fluxweed leaves from his pockets that he had collected in the Forbidden Forest before he left school and two strips of previously-white-now-brown cloths. He soaked a few of the leaves in the water and draped them over his aching knuckles. With patience and practiced motions, he secured the leaves onto his hands with the cloths and then audibly sighed when he dipped them back in the water.

Juvenile arthritis probably. He'd done some research whilst at Hogwarts, and that's the closest thing he could find. His hands, especially during the summer, when Aunt Petunia hired him out to work gardens and during the winter when he rarely had a pair of gloves or any proper covering, ached fiercely, often becoming stiff and swollen.

He was thankful that he could find some relief in the fluxweed. Actually, he was thankful for the relief of the job, as well, because, even though it was illegal—he was underage and never saw what he earned—it meant that he didn't have to spend time with the Dursleys. And now, after a year at Hogwarts, it meant he got to practice in subjects like Potions and Herbology, even when he couldn't read the texts.

After a few more minutes of rest, Harry talked himself into continuing his work. If he was lucky, he'd be done with Mrs. Thompson's garden and onto Mrs. Everleed's halfway across town by the afternoon. She lived next to a shop that he knew handed out leftovers at the end of the night.

By half past three, as he ripped up the weeds in the front of Mrs. Everleed's house, Harry wasn't sure he could wait any longer to eat. At one point in the day, as he had rested with his head between his knees, he thought perhaps he had lost a large chunk of time. He'd filled his stomach with water from the garden house on multiple occasions, but it wasn't sitting well in his empty stomach.

Presently, he heard voices coming from the neighbor's house, as the man who lived inside escorted another man to the porch. Harry frowned at the man's black wide-collared shirt, and if he wasn't mistaken, it seemed as if he made to lightly lift a nonexistent robe when he stepped down from the porch. Harry had made the same movement loads of times since leaving Hogwarts, only to remember that he was only in jeans.

"Let me know how the asphodel works," the tall man in black said.

Harry's eyes widened and he grinned. They were wizards!

"I will, and thank you again for the dried daffodils," the other man said, extending his hand.

The two shook hands and the man retreated back inside, but the other stood, clenching and unclenching his fists for a moment. Harry had begun to wonder what the man was waiting for, when the man suddenly turned and stared right at him at his place in the bushes.

Harry gasped and looked away, busying himself again with the weeds.

The man's boots came into his view, and Harry tensed, but couldn't bring himself to look up.

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I didn't hear anything," Harry said, head bowed.

The man crouched down.

"You are a wizard, as well. We said nothing you could not hear."

Harry nodded, and tried to loosen his back, which was protesting to his tense crouch. He looked up at the man and took in his sharp features and long black hair.

"I…how did you know?" Harry asked.

"As you grow, you too will be able to feel others' magical auras. I was able to sense yours," the man explained. He stood fully and rubbed is hands together. Harry couldn't help but think the man had a voice of silk. He spoke every word as if it were of utmost importance.

Harry stood as well, wincing as his hip creaked in protest. Belatedly, he realized what a mess he must look. He hadn't been home or had a shower in four days. His arms and face were beat red from the sun, and his trousers, merlin, must look like some kind of creature on his thin frame. At Hogwarts he could at least hide them in his school robes.

"Yeah, I er, heard you mention asphodel," Harry said, feeling like he needed to explain himself somehow.

"Asphodel has healing properties," the man said, "Much like fluxweed."

Harry's eyes widened and clasped his hands together in front of his body, not knowing what else to do. How had the man known what plant was wrapped all under the cloth?

"May I see?" the man asked.

Harry hesitated.

"My name is Severus. I'm a potions master."

Harry nodded and held out his hands, apologizing before he could stop himself or even figure out why he was apologizing.

The man studied Harry's face for a few more intense moments, before gently grasping the boy's hands. Harry's face heated, as he too studied his dirt-covered hands, and the raggedy bandages over them. He tried to keep them still, but they were sore and trembling slightly.

"You did a good job with the fluxweed," Severus said after a moment. "If you are amenable, I would like to treat you to a meal and assist you further."

Harry tried not to shrink under the intense look the man was giving him, even as his heart hammered from the compliment.

"I—I don't have any money, sir," Harry admitted.

"I would like to treat you, Harry. You do not need to pay."

Harry nodded and breathed through the dizziness that swamped his head when he bent to pick up his tool bag. The Everleeds were gone for the weekend and wouldn't know if he had taken a break.

As he slung the bag over his shoulder and fell in step with the man, he realized that he had never told Severus his name. He almost questioned how he had known, but Severus was already asking him how he knew about fluxweed properties, when it was a potions ingredient that was not introduced until the fifth year at least.