o─-o─-o─-─-─-─ WITHOUT THORN THE ROSE ─-─-─-─o-─o-─o

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling. I do not own any rights to Harry Potter, but nor am I making any money off this. If anything I'm losing money…as well as sleep…sanity…

Warnings: Some slight slash in this chapter.

o─-─-─-─-─ 3. CRIME AND PUNISHMENT ─-─-─-─-─o

Harry slept on the sofa that night so as to hear James when he came in, but he didn't wake until a rapid pounding on the front door startled him from a dream of flying without a broom. Glancing at the mantle clock, he saw that it was past noon. Harry stumbled to the door and drew it open, rubbing his eyes against the bright light. For a moment he couldn't make out the faces, only dark silhouettes against the light.

"All right there, lad?" a deep, gravelly bass voice asked.

"Dad?" Harry asked.

"He's at the Ministry, Harry," a familiar voice answered. It was Arthur Weasley, Harry realized as his eyes finally adjusted. "Can we come in?"

"Er," Harry hedged. "I'm not supposed to let people in when Dad's not home, but…well, I guess so."

"Thanks, lad," the bass said kindly, and Harry stood aside while the two men trooped inside.

"Well, Harry," Arthur said as he settled onto the sofa Harry had recently vacated.

"Can I get you some tea?" Harry inquired politely.

"No, thank you," the bass man answered. "I'm Kingsley Shacklebolt, by the way."

"Dad's boss," Harry said quietly. The man nodded.

"Yes. I brought Arthur along because you know him, although he's not with the Aurors. Speaking of that, you really shouldn't let strangers into your house, young man. There are still Death Eaters out there who were never captured."

"The wards will throw out anyone who tries to hurt me," Harry replied irritably. The man had wanted in and admitted to using someone else to get it, and now he chastised Harry for allowing it?

"It only takes one spell," Kingsley intoned solemnly.

Harry shrugged. "There's a confundus ward to keep anyone planning serious harm or kidnapping from even finding us."

"Harry," Arthur began, cutting Kingsley's diatribe off. "Please sit down and we'll get to the point."

Harry sank warily onto a squashy gold armchair.

"Kingsley?" Arthur asked. Shacklebolt grudgingly settled on the edge of the sofa next to Arthur.

"I don't know how to tell you this, Harry, so I'm just going to tell it straight out." Harry swallowed a sudden lump of fear in his throat. Had James been hurt? Killed? "Your dad was drinking in a bar in Diagon Alley last night, and he got into a fight with one of the other patrons. They traded spells, and, well, one of your dad's spells went wrong, and hurt the other man."

"I-is my dad okay?"

"He's fine," Shacklebolt answered in his gravelly bass. "But the other man isn't. He's dead."

Harry gasped. He could literally feel the blood draining from his face, leaving him cold and shaking. "Is—is my dad in trouble?"

"Yes."

"Is he going to Azkaban?"

Shacklebolt and Arthur exchanged a loaded glance. Shacklebolt answered. "We know from witnesses' reports that Auror Potter was provoked and acted in self-defence, but because he'd been drinking, a simple incarcerous spell that should only have restrained the man instead became a lethal garrotte that sliced open an artery."

Harry cringed, yet, somehow, though he felt no affinity for such an act, something deep inside him fluttered in excitement, even as he tried desperately to stamp it down.

"Normally, that kind of act would land a man in Azkaban for two years," Shacklebolt explained. His voice darkened as though he didn't approve of his next words. "However…strings have been pulled on your father's behalf. He'll only serve two weeks, and it'll be in the ministry holding cells rather than Azkaban."

Harry released a gust of breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"I know this is a lot to take in, Harry"—Arthur broke off as Harry cut in.

"Who was it?"

"I'm sorry?" the ginger-haired man inquired with politely raised eyebrows.

"Who did he kill?"

Arthur frowned. "I'm afraid that information is held in confidence at the moment, per the family's wishes."

Harry read between the lines: we're hushing this up, and we're not going to let a kid ruin it. He scowled, but only slightly, since he understood the reasoning and the cover-up benefitted him.

"I know this is a lot to take in, Harry," Arthur continued, "but there are several things we need to do now. First of all, we need to find a place where you can stay until James can come home. I'm happy to offer my home, of course," he added hastily.

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I'll stay with Uncle Remus," he said. "He said I'm welcome whenever."

"Remus Lupin?" Shacklebolt asked.

"Yes. He's dad's best friend and my godfather."

"Fine," Shacklebolt nodded. "Well, pack a suitcase, and we'll all floo over so I can have a word with him."

"Er," Harry stammered, flushing, "the floo's been—it's broken." Shacklebolt and Arthur exchanged another significant glance, and Harry knew that he hadn't fooled the two adults.

"I'll side-along you, then," Arthur offered, smiling wanly.

Shacklebolt grunted as he stomped the way to the front door. "I'll be outside."

─-─-─-─-─o─-─-─-─-─

After a fortnight that seemed to last a month, James returned in a cloud of green soot and sparks in the fireplace at Remus' house. He was garbed in black and white striped rags, and looked both thinner and grimmer than when Harry had last seen him. Harry saw him floo in from a vantage point in the hallway, and he promptly hid himself in the first likely spot—Remus' bedroom—so that he wouldn't be the first one who had to talk to James. When he was satisfied his father hadn't spotted him, Harry pressed his ear to the jamb to eavesdrop.

"Prongs," Remus said sadly. "You look like an escapee from Azkaban."

"Let me borrow some clothes, Moony," James begged. Their footsteps came towards the bedroom, and Harry quickly hid in the closet, crouched down amongst Remus' shoes, his head between two pairs of robes, and watched as the men came into the room. What had possessed him to hide rather than say hello, he wasn't sure, but the impulse was deep and powerful, and Harry never bothered fighting impulses such as that.

"Where's Harry?" James asked.

"He said he was going outside to play with his snake."

"That bloody thing. Wish I could bash its brains out."

Harry had gone out and played with Lady, before coming back inside without Remus' knowledge.

"Here," Remus was saying. "Give me those rags so I can burn them. They stink." There was a pause during which James handed articles of clothing to Remus, who levitated and incinerated them. "Scourgify," Remus murmured, waving his wand over James' bare body with perhaps a touch more swish and flick than necessary, evidenced by James' flinching. "James, what on earth were you thinking?"

A spring squeaked as James stretched out on the bed with his arms over his face. "I wasn't thinking, Moony. He attacked me—I fought back. If I hadn't been drinking…" The sentence didn't need finishing.

"James…" Remus began, then sighed. "You have a son. Sometimes I feel like I look out for him more than you do."

"You don't know what it's like!" James snapped, then dropped into a quieter tone. "I thought I would die when I lost Lily. I've tried to live for Harry…I've tried to be a good man for his sake, but…it's hard. It's so hard. I miss Lily. I miss…" There was a snuffling sound, and in a very quiet voice that Harry had to lean closer to hear, James said, "I miss when Harry was a baby. He's so strange, now, Moony…I don't understand him anymore. He likes snakes better than people. Do you know, one day I saw him playing in the woods with a dead bird? A dead bird. I just wanted a break."

"James," Remus murmured. Harry, watching through the crack between the closet doors, saw Remus kneel and put his hand on James' shoulder. Harry's father was stretched out on Remus bed, face buried in Remus' pillow, completely naked. Remus rubbed James' back, looking away from him.

James rolled over, gazing longingly at Remus, took the man's hand, and held it to his lips.

"James…" Remus murmured, withdrawing his hand with a strange look in his eye that Harry couldn't recognize. "Don't."

"Please, Moony…I feel so lost. I need you."

There was a moment of silence.

"If you don't have any shame," Remus said in a low tone, "how about trying for some decency?"

This time the look in Remus' eyes then was plain—it was pity.

─-─-─-─-─o─-─-─-─-─

The next day, they ate breakfast together at Remus' table. The werewolf served up bacon and scrambled eggs on chipped, mismatched plates, and told Harry he needed to put some meat on his bones.

"I have to tell you both something," James announced flatly as Remus set the food on the table. James stared at his food, seemingly afraid to meet anyone's eyes.

"What is it?" Remus asked softly."

"I'm being reassigned at work."

"Where?"

James swallowed. "Azkaban."

Remus' hand slipped a little as he set a plate in front of his friend, and James' hand shot out to steady it. Remus sat down slowly, eyes on his hands, which he steepled in front of him. After a long moment during which the silence seemed to stretch as taut as piano wire between then, Remus spoke in a flat voice.

"How long?"

"Five years," James answered gravely. "I was offered a choice between two years in a cell or five years guarding them. So. It could be worse. They've even made me a Captain. I'll have my own house. And Harry can come with me."

"James," Remus pointed out in a biting tone. "You can't take a child there."

James set his jaw. "Why not? Chief Warden Oakes has three daughters and they all live there."

"James, it's Azkaban. Being sent there is a punishment. A punishment which Harry doesn't deserve." Remus' tone cleared indicated that James did deserve such a punishment.

James ground his teeth. "Remus, you know the Wizarding Family Code as well as I do. If I don't reside with him for three out of every four days of the year, I risk being declared an unfit guardian."

"You will be unfit if you force a child to live in that gods-forsaken pit of Hell!"

James slapped his hands flat on the table. He met Remus' gaze with a look as hard and sharp as a knife. "I will die before I see my son in the hands of Lucius Malfoy."

Remus looked suddenly confused.

"My cousin—Narcissa. Surely you remember her?"

"She's not your closest relative. Don't you have an aunt? Anyway, Andy's older than Narcissa," Remus argued. "The guardianship would go to her first."

"Lucius Malfoy would cow the others into standing down. As far as Andy is concerned, the petitioning family has to prove financial stability. Andy was disinherited. She makes knuts. Between that and Ted's injury flaring up god-knows-when, I'm not even sure they could support Harry, let alone prove it to a court packed with Lucius' cronies."

Remus seemed to deflate. He sank back in his chair, shoulders slumped, and frowned morosely at his plate full of congealing food. "You're right. But I want those fourth days, James. Every one."

James nodded. "Of course." He glanced apologetically at Harry. "Harry, lad…son…I'm sorry. Can you forgive me for doing this to you?"

Harry was startled to be called on in the midst of such an adult conversation, and blinked several times before answering. "Forgive you for what?" he asked, genuinely wondering.

"For dragging you away to a—what was it? A godforsaken hell-hole? I swear it's not so bad, really. There are a few other officers' children, and the island is actually quite pretty. Chief Warden Oakes showed me pictures. It looks just like the Shetland Islands. Very green and misty."

Harry shrugged. "I don't think you need forgiving for wanting to be my guardian."

James sighed in irritation. "No, I mean…do I have to spell it out?" He stood up abruptly, raking his fingers violently through his already wild hair, to stand looking out the window as though there were something he had to see out there.

Harry glanced up from under furrowed brows at Remus, who grimaced sympathetically. Harry felt a sudden surge of kinship with the werewolf. They had both been wronged by James' selfishness; both wanted to be just as selfish in return; both would probably forgive him; and both would quietly feel disgusted with themselves for doing so.

"I…said some things I didn't mean," James began, his voice indicating he wasn't enjoying himself. "We both did," he added, quick to remember Harry's offense.

"I meant mine," Harry muttered.

"You did?" James asked quietly, his voice strangely hurt, and Harry's anger peaked suddenly. It was so unfair, the way his father could say the most cruel and hateful things without hesitating, and yet have the gall to think himself a victim when the tables were turned.

"Yes!" Harry shouted, tensing tighter than a wound spring. Sudden frost crystallized over the forgotten breakfast. "If you want to go around calling me a snake, and pushing me into coat racks, and cutting other people's heads off because you're drunk—then you can go and get yourself BLOWN UP JUST LIKE MUM!"

With that, Harry shoved off from the table and ran at the top of his speed from the house, disappearing into the thickest of the woods before anyone could catch him—not that anyone was trying. They were too stunned, he could tell. He could sense souls, see them as it were, all the time now, even when he wasn't trying. James and Remus were sitting stock still where he had left them, though both their souls were aflutter with agitation. They wouldn't stay frozen forever, though, and Harry wanted a head start.

─-─-─-─-─o─-─-─-─-─

Back at the breakfast table, James tried to put his hand over Remus', but Remus withdrew it before he could, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning at the floor sorrowfully.

"Don't you ever just…get lonely, Moony?"

Remus closed his eyes, face twisting, and hissed, "Of course I do. You proved that. I'm only human—or less than it, rather."

"Don't tell me you're still waiting for—him."

Remus twitched. "No. No, but…ah, I can't explain. You wouldn't understand."

"Tell me. Moony."

Remus answered slowly, picking each word carefully as though sounding his way through an unfamiliar melody. "It's as though…I've eaten ambrosia…and now all mortal fruit, no matter how tender and ripe, tastes like ashes by comparison."

James was quiet a moment. "But…a man has to eat. And if you just keep at it, you'll forget what the—ambrosia—tasted like. And…other fruit," he tilted his head to refer to himself, "will start to taste sweet again."

"That's just it," Remus answering, lifting his gaze to meet James'. "I don't want to forget it. Sometimes I lie awake at night, terrified I've forgotten just—the exact colour his eyes were, what his voice sounded like, the things he used to whisper in my ear…I put the memories in my pensieve and become paranoid that they've changed since the last time I viewed them." Remus sat forward and put his hand on the table again. "Do you think memories can change, James? Do you think, if I ever met him again, that I'd still know him? Do you think he would still call me Moony…?"

James' brows drew together. "Moony…you can't live like this…"

Remus withdrew again, shutting his friend out. "I'd rather die in a dream than live in Hell."

"You need help, Moony. Let me help you."

Remus looked at James incredulously. "Help me? You? You can't even help yourself."

"Don't," James pleaded, eyes filling with tears. "Don't. Not you."

Remus gazed stonily at his sometime friend. "When you said you wanted to die after Lily did, I understood that. In fact, that's the only reason I've forgiven you as much as I have. But when you lay a hand on Harry, I can't forgive that. I can't understand that."

James' tears spilled over, and glistening tracks spilled down his cheeks. He buried his face in his arms and clutched as his hair as if he would pull it out by the fistful. He let out a great bestial cry that was faintly muffled by his shirtsleeves, and then shook with sobs. It had always been his way, Remus remembered with sudden clarity, to bottle everything up until with a great explosion, great violence and great angst, it all came pouring back out at once.

Remus closed his eyes, closing the lid on his own box of memories, and crossed the kitchen to take his friend in his arms. He stroked James' hair, rocking him and rubbing circles on his back.

You don't deserve the luxury of crying, Remus wanted to say. But he remembered sleepless nights when he'd shut himself away from the world, shut out friends and loved ones, lashed out at helping hands, wanting only to be alone with his ghost. And so, instead, he said,

"You can't help how you feel, James. But you can help what you do about it. So cry as much as you want, but when you're done crying, go throw yourself on your knees and beg for your son's forgiveness. Before it's too late."

"Will you—will you help me?" James pleaded, raising a reddened and tear-stained face.

"I can't be his father for you, Prongs," Remus whispered, cupping James' face. "The gods know I've tried. But I know you love him. I know, for all his strangeness, you see Lily in him—just as I do. And you remember what she said about love?"

James smiled tremulously. "'Love isn't something you feel, it's something you do.'" She had shouted those words at James once, during a very public fight at Hogwarts. He looked down, ashamed, then back up. "I'm so afraid. What if I fail?"

Remus chuckled bitterly. "You've already failed, Prongs. How could you possibly get any worse?"

James stared, then laughed, at first quietly, then loudly, then almost hysterically, until Remus pressed his friend to his chest and held him tight, soothing him with gentle words. At last, when James had quieted, Remus said,

"James, your son is probably crying just like you are right now. And he doesn't have anyone to hold him."

James took a deep breath, nodded, and stood shakily. Then, sudden as lightning, he took Remus' face in his hands and kissed him, chastely, on the mouth. "I know I can't be him, and God knows no one could ever replace Lily, but—even if we have to eat ashes, at least we could eat them together. Promise me you'll just…just let me in sometimes?"

Remus felt as emotionally wrung out as an old dishcloth, so he simply nodded and sank into a chair. "Go, James," he exhorted.

James went.

─-─-─-─-─o─-─-─-─-─

Harry ran, and ran, and ran. Around him, trees cracked with thundering booms as their sap froze solid and expanded. Birds dropped from the sky. The hearts of mice froze in mid-beat.

At last his legs gave out beneath him, and Harry collapsed to the forest floor. Somehow his luck had managed to carry him to a small clearing carpeted with moss, and so he was cushioned by cool green verdure when he stretched out, panting, on the ground.

After a time of catching his breath, during which the world seem to swim around him, and the ground seemed to tilt dizzyingly, Harry rolled onto his back and stared up towards the sky. The weather was always cool at Remus', but the sun shone brightly through the canopies of green above him. Harry watched the leaves sway, and let the bird song, the whisper of the wind in the trees, the tinkle of the stream in the distance, and the deep, dense scent of the forest overwhelm his senses.

Green light, he thought. I floated in green light. He could almost feel the sensation of that treasured memory, the swaying, as of being in a sea, the certainty that he was a part of everything that surrounded him, and that he would soon dissolve into that gentle current, that soothing sway. He had always held onto that memory, as a touchstone to calm himself when he wanted to burst; as a common thread about which all other memories were woven; as a wish to someday feel that free and serene again. Now he once again let that feeling carry him away for a moment.

Suddenly Harry's eyes snapped wide open. "Green light!" he exclaimed. "Green—like Avada Kedavra." James had once mentioned seeing a flash of green from where he lay frozen in the stairwell when Lily was killed. Harry's mind lit up with a dozen ideas at once. "It was real," was the chief one, followed by, "My soul was knocked out" then "I almost dissolved!" and "Where would I have gone?"

Finally, from somewhere so deep inside that Harry scarcely recognized his own voice, sounded the idea, faintly, "I wish I had dissolved. Then I would be free."