Getting Harry Back

Author's notes: No warnings in this chapter. Enjoy the worlds of callings & house-elves! "Getting Harry Back" is building to the actions that drive to story's end.

My apologies for the delay in posting. For almost two months, I've tried to make my computer compatible with FA's new system. I think I've got it, with much kind help and with purchasing a new Microsoft Word, which I hope will avoid the garbage that plagued the posting of Chapter 21, for which, dear readers, please accept my most sincere apologies.

My heartiest thanks to my betas: privatemaladict (Read her "The Greatest Kind of Magic"), bufo_viridis (Read his "Gremlins" & "Visits"), and azazello (Read her "Therapy" and, on ashwinder.net, "But You Alone").

I hope you enjoy "The Calling". And as always, please review.

Chapter 22
The Calling

Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life;
Such a Way, as gives us breath;
Such a Truth, as ends all strife;
And such a Life, as killeth death.
George Herbert
The Call
Set to music by Raph Vaughan Williams

"Just another of my sleepless nights." That's what he told himself, though he knew better.

Snape looked around his dark, unquiet sitting room. Unquiet, normally, because of what he brought. And what he stirred up. When sleeplessness came - "And these nights, it seems to be my regular companion." - Snape preferred the dark. Indeed, on those nights he could read, he charmed his book so that the pages lit themselves, just enough to read by, but not so much as to disturb the darkness. "Darkness," he thought, "bringing the sense, not of home, but of the lair."

"And I prefer, I even like the unquiet." Certainly not for the comfort of small, familiar noises - Snape had never valued comfort. Not even for the broken quiet. "There are times that I find silence excellent, most excellent. In truth, it's not the unquiet I like, but the disquiet." He smiled, though not a friendly smile. "The disquiet that I create."

"But not this night's disquiet." His smile left. "Because it's not of my making. Nor is this a night for reading. Damn that Potter," he softly swore. This was worse, much worse, than that insistent disquiet a few days earlier, when he felt Harry's distress. It had come from what happened after Snape arrived at the Burrow. "When I acknowledged that duty, and it became...." Snape shuddered; he hated the word. "A calling." He scowled. "Damn," he swore again.

In the way of callings, it was no longer just from Harry, but also from inside himself. He loathed what that calling awakened - feelings and stories. He gave cynical smile. "My ghost stories."

Snape had always viewed ghosts with even more contempt than the fully-alive. He found them just as stupid, just as insufferable, plus he suspected them of existential cowardice. "Frightened of the Great Unknown," he sneered. Snape didn't seek death now. But once he had fulfilled his duties - "Ah," he thought, "and what ghosts are there." - avoiding death would not be high on his priorities.

"But my ghosts within...." He gave another mirthless smile. "They're never a tiresome lot, are they? And they're often more alive than anyone around me. I suppose I should be grateful. Whatever has become ghost within me, at least they're all distinctive. Sparky, in their own ways, not at all dreary. My life has seen to that."

In the old days, he'd tried blocking the ghosts with various potions. Of course, he'd run into "trouble". "Which itself became another ghost." Before that, he'd done his blocking with Old Ogden's Firewhisky, in the earliest days, stolen from his father's ample supply. "And what charming ghosts are there."

But now.... "We have come to terms. Or at least I have come to terms with them. Their terms, I suppose." Their terms being, "If I'm able to block them through reading, I may have my peace. If not, they will have their run."

Snape sighed. Tonight was an "if not" night. "Many thanks to Potter, or rather, Potter-Weasley." Snape couldn't see that Harry had improved any with his hyphenated name. "Just as vapid, arrogant and appalling, and infinitely more intrusive," he spoke into the room's disquiet. "With this calling, intrusive on a level I should never have believed. Why I must endure--"

Feeling anger give way to hate, Snape abruptly reined himself in. "My newest duty - part of my calling," he said, his voice oozing sarcasm, but not resentment. Or if some resentment, then only fleeting and only at himself. For once he'd assumed a duty - and Snape admitted only self-chosen duties, nothing imposed - while he often performed those duties acerbically, he never performed them resentfully. Or less-than-fully.

"Duties and ghosts - the twin pillars upholding my life," he said. "Often not so separable. Especially, it seems, with my newest duty. And that dratted calling."

It was one thing to care about a duty. With the meticulously constructed walls inside of him, Snape had created a safe, at-a-distance duty-caring, one which often brought a focus. "And, when I'm lucky, a moment's excitement, driving away life's tedium." Something more than his usual haughty superiorities and petty bullyings. "Sometimes it even drives away life's resentments and the ghosts."

And his inner walls were good, though they required frequent attention and maintenance. "Yet the skills I learned were so useful, even necessary in my Higher Occlumency. But however great and subtle my skills, while they've been adequate even for the Dark Lord, himself, they've never been dependable on my ghostly nights. And now with this calling...."

Snape knew the problem. He found himself caring not just correctly about the duty. He felt a surge of hate and, he had to admit, even fear. "But called to care about the person."

Caring about the person. That, of course, had been what his walls were for. Or rather, against. That was why they were so painstakingly constructed. Above all, Snape had foresworn person-caring, this for good and abundant reasons. "For good and abundant ghosts," he said wryly. And being called, he knew that, among other things, "Potter" or "Potter-Weasley" were no longer. Though he would never admit it to anyone but himself, much less ever say it aloud, now there was "Harry".

And that called Harry-caring had awakened so many past carings, past loves, regardless of how good his walls and skills. Snape's eyes turned sad, staring in front of him and seeing what wasn't there, only, as he well-knew, what was inside of him.

"Ah, mother," he said, "you've come to check on me. How thoughtful. Have you brought Lily as well?"

Snape knew that he was in for a night of it.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Oh, Harry," Hermione fussed, "are you certain it's safe? Or that you're up to it? You've had such a lot of shocks and changes this past month. Maybe you should wait?"

Shortly after visiting Cedric's grave, the trio were alone and talking at the Burrow. Hermione had stayed the rest of the second bonding week and beyond. Harry noticed that he felt more settled, more at home with Hermione at the Burrow, especially at night. And Hermione had seemed relieved. "You're my family, too," Harry told her when she'd asked if Harry wanted to be with just the Weasleys.

Throughout his Community Bonding Week - all the people during the day and all the practicing at night to bring his family better within him - Harry had felt more and more urgency about visiting his first parents' home at Godric's Hollow. He'd tried to push it aside, to put it off. But that urgency stubbornly grew until Harry knew that he, quite literally, had to go.

So he told Ron and Hermione. Their reactions were predictable.

"Hermione, if I don't go now, I'll be at Hogwarts, and then I won't be able to go until Christmas. And... it really doesn't feel like waiting that long is a good idea."

"Harry." Ron was ultra-protective. "You go, I go. No discussion."

He smiled. "Sure, Ron. I'd like that. Thanks."

"Harry?" Hermione asked. "Maybe you should talk with your mum and dad? Maybe even with Professor Dumbledore? I think they need to know. And if you do go, I'd like to go, too. Please?"

Ron punched Harry's shoulder. "Part of being a family, mate."

Harry told his parents, but that didn't settle anything. Mum was firmly opposed, short of being accompanied by the Order of the Phoenix, the Wizengamot and the entire Hogwarts Faculty, not to mention all the Aurors, active and retired. But Mum's fears didn't lessen Harry's urgency. He felt that he couldn't back down - he had to go. Dad suggested that they talk to Dumbledore. It took awhile to bring Mum around, but shortly afterwards, Harry and the Headmaster were meeting with Hagrid, his mum and dad, Remus, Ron and Hermione.

"From your wound, you say?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes, sir. It came even before I opened up with Ron and Hermione this summer. Please, sir, it feels really important, and really important to go soon."

The Headmaster closed his eyes, and Harry could feel him checking inside, as always, along with Hagrid. When Dumbledore opened his eyes, he looked at Hagrid, and they nodded. "Molly," he said, "I know this frightens you, but I think that Harry may be right." He hesitated. "Hagrid and I can both feel that he is called."

An uneasy silence. On Dumbledore's face, Harry saw seriousness. On his parents' faces, he saw glints of shock and fear. "Sir?" he asked, knowing that he needed to know, yet dreading another burden. "What's... called?"

The old wizard sighed, looking very tired. "In a way, Harry, a calling is a type of divination, involving, as it does, the future. The future calls us, it insists that we be present, somewhere and in some way, and that we act. Or it requires that we take on a duty, a commitment to something or someone. Perhaps it can be said that calling is not for the sake of ourselves, but, indeed, for the sake of the future, or at least for the sake of something larger, something greater than ourselves."

Harry didn't like where this was heading. "Like a prophesy?" he forced himself to ask.

"Again, in a way, yes. But calling lacks the specificity of prophesy. Prophesy, of course, comes in words, whereas calling comes in feelings, strong and not-to-be-dissuaded feelings."

Harry saw that fit, but he felt that there was more. "Are callings... Ancient Magic?"

"Not precisely, Harry. Like the future, from whence they come, and like prophesy, callings are closer to wild magic, with its unpredictable mix of light and dark. Again, where prophesy tends toward an understanding of a single happening, calling leads us to unforeseeable actions, often many actions, and for ends which we also cannot foresee. But we are committed, regardless of what it takes. For when someone, some ideal, some place calls, we give ourselves over to that and we must go, knowing that there is both light and dark."

Harry was now beyond alert, well beyond. He understood what had brought his parents' fear.

"You see," Dumbledore continued, "often, perhaps even usually not just a good comes of it - though there is no certainty that good will come. But...." Dumbledore sighed. "Callings have their costs, Harry. Sometimes even... their sacrifices."

That last word didn't fade into the silence which followed. It shrieked and wailed like a banshee.

Mum finally said, with utter firmness, "Arthur and I are going with Harry."

"Me, too, sir." Hagrid said, not a whit less firm.

"As am I," Remus added.

The old wizard smiled. "And I am certainly going. I suspect - Harry, Molly, Arthur - that it might be good for Harry's entire, shall we say, extended family to accompany us. Unless you object?"

Mum stood for strength in numbers.

* * * * * * * * * *

Calling or not, there was still the Hogwarts party for the house-elves. That, too, had its urgency which Harry felt no less keenly. "Maybe," he thought, "in a way, it's also a calling?" No, that didn't quite fit. "More like, somehow, it's part of the Godric's Hollow calling." That felt right, though he didn't know why, and he realized that the calling, while it was to Godric's Hollow, was much more than that - a more he could feel, but not yet clearly know. It also felt right, the same kind of calling right, that he should not only give a party, but present a gift to each house-elf. Which led him to Hermione.

"Not a single book, not one has ever been written about house-elves!" Hermione was indignant. "We enslave them, but we know next-to-nothing about them! They do our dirty work, but except for that, as far as we're concerned, they don't exist!"

"Hermione." Harry tried to be soothing. "I really agree with you now. Hey, if anyone's grateful to house-elves, it's me. Right?"

Hermione held her huff for a moment, but then relaxed and smiled. "Sorry, Harry. It's just so unfair, so wrong, and I get started...." She shrugged, and her face turned concentrated as she went into data mode. "You want to know what they'd really like?"

"Absolutely. Isn't there anything you've found about house-elves and what they like?" Harry and his friends operated under the assumption, generally correct, that if Hermione didn't know it, it wasn't known.

"Actually, Harry, it isn't just that wizards haven't tried to learn about house-elves. House-elves are pretty secretive, too. There are a few references, mostly long ago, to their music and dancing. But I don't know if anyone has seen that in hundreds of years. And about their magic, we know almost nothing except that it seems closely connected to physical things - rocks, water, the earth, air, mountains - and that each house-elf's magic is a bit different."

"Isn't there anything they all seem connected to or like? I mean, in three days I can't sort out what each house-elf might want. I don't even know their names."

"Well...." Hermione scrunched up her face. "There are a couple of references to iron, not exactly as something sacred, but as something that brings them all together. In the few house-elf rituals observed, all the implements were made of iron, and some ornaments, too. And their religious beliefs seem to have something to do with the night sky. Not like centaurs; they don't do that kind of studying. But the night sky is clearly important to them."

Harry pursed his lips and he was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled. "Thanks, Hermione, that gives me an idea." He thought some more. "Are there any wizard recordings of house-elf music - dancing or singing?"

"Yes. At Hogwarts, in a special room, at the top of a tower above the library. It has many house-elf instruments. I've heard that house-elves come from all over to hear them. Some of their greatest musicians are recorded there." She frowned. "I've tried to listen to the music - it's in a special room - but.... Well, Dumbledore wouldn't let me. He talked about respecting the house-elves' privacy. I guess that room is kind of like a church to them. I tried to ask Dobby about it, but he looked really embarrassed and.... He didn't exactly lie to me, but he certainly found ways not to answer my questions. It's the only time he's ever kept anything back. So there must be powerful rules about not telling."

Harry frowned a very determined frown.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Harry Potter is wanting to go to The Room?"

The house-elf elder was clearly stunned.

"Yes, Sir," Dobby answered respectfully. "He is wanting to listen to our music." Dobby paused. "He may even be... called there."

The elder stared at Dobby, who, with a bow and that head twist, opened himself up to the elder's deepest inspection. After some time, the elder withdrew into thought. Finally he said, almost to himself, "That may be right. It is at least a part of his calling."

"And Reverend, Sir?" Dobby waited for acknowledgement.

The wizened house-elf looked at him.

"Harry Potter's name is now Harry Potter-Weasley."

* * * * * * * * * *

Harry stared at the large gold bowl. Like a Pensieve, it was filled with some clear liquid, and it sat in the center of a great table in the middle of a large room. The room, itself, was filled with what were obviously musical instruments and with many other, smaller bowls - all on shelves. Unlike most off-the-track rooms at Hogwarts, this room and everything in it was beyond clean. The wood shone, the metal gleamed. Fresh flowers - many different kinds - lined the top shelves. And strangest of all, the uppermost walls and the ceiling were an enormous translucent, faceted dome, ending in a point. This dome looked not so much like glass, but like a huge crystal. And this crystal transformed light into a warm glow.

The room felt more magical than the Headmaster's study.

Harry took a deep breath and raised his wand. "Apparecium Zolby."

Mists formed in the great bowl. They rose and came together as a life-sized house-elf, unlike any Harry had ever seen. He wore well-made clothes - an embroidered tunic and matching hat, with an iron belt-chain and a fine iron-link necklace from which hung a large green stone. Unlike other house-elves, Zolby looked at Harry as not as a servant, nor even as an equal, but as a clear superior. Harry knew that, like Dumbledore, Zolby was not only powerful, but wise.

Without thinking, Harry bowed, with that little head-twist, automatically giving himself to Zolby.

The house-elf acknowledged Harry's bow with a smile, and with a similar but briefer head-bow - a small, not a full giving. Harry felt himself being appraised. "I am pleased to meet you, Harry Potter-Weasley."

"How do you know me, sir?"

Zolby's smile grew. Harry noted, again similar to Dumbledore, a mysterious impishness. "Perhaps later," Zolby replied. "What do you want?"

Harry was taken aback by the house-elf's abruptness. He swallowed and took a deep breath. "Well, sir, you see I'm very grateful to all the house-elves who--"

"I know about that," Zolby interrupted, firmly but not unkindly. "And I know about the party you and your family are planning. Again, what do you want?"

Harry blinked and took a moment to reorganize his mind. "I wanted to ask you, sir, if you would sing at the party and...." Harry swallowed again. "If you would teach me to sing a welcome song?" He said the last with a near-wince.

Through their link, Harry felt Zolby.... "He's more than just exploring me. He's testing me." Harry felt Zolby's testing go deep inside, though not forced. "It's not like Occlumency. I could block him easily at any place, at any time. And...." Harry did some of his own testing. "He'd respect that. He has more than enough power to force himself, but he wouldn't - I can feel that."

Harry found himself, in his own small way, testing why Zolby wouldn't. He felt Zolby welcome him. "That's all right with him, if I blocked him," Harry realized. "In a way... he wants me to test that. He's... he's not just testing me, he's teaching me. He's opening himself, a little at a time, to teach me."

A wave of profound gratitude washed through Harry, and he felt himself opening up to Zolby with a completeness he'd never imagined possible, even with Ron. He felt Zolby follow Harry's opening up, and.... "He's leading me inside myself. He's leading me to where I need to go."

Then he knew. "He's teaching me myself, those parts of me where...." Harry bit his lip. "Where I know I need to go, but... where I've been afraid to go. And now, because he's leading me, maybe I can go. For at least a little way."

For a time, Harry and Zolby explored Harry's wound, and a part of his wound that Harry sensed led toward that Dementor-snake, but.... "It's not where the snake can go, at least not now." Deeper and deeper, farther and farther, Harry followed Zolby. "I'm making it more me or something like that." There were no specific memories, "but I can feel sadness and fear coming from memories. And those memories...." Harry shuddered again. "They're not far off. In a way, they're with those feelings, just not so I can see or hear them. Yet." Harry shuddered a second time, a shudder that came from feeling that "yet" pushing and from knowing that he wasn't ready for that "yet". "I'm going to have to be ready. If Dumbledore's right about my wound and about my fighting Voldemort there, I'm going to have to be ready soon."

They came to a place inside Harry's wound - not where Harry wasn't willing to let Zolby go, but where even with Zolby, he found himself unable to go. Shame flashed through Harry's body, and he tried to hide. But he noticed that Zolby stayed open with him, neither pushing nor withdrawing. "He's not judging me. He's testing me and he's teaching me, but he's not judging me." Harry felt Zolby's patience, his acceptance, his smile, and then Harry knew:

"With his love, in a way, he's... calling me."

Feeling Zolby's love and his calling, Harry found that he could take a few more steps. As he went forward, he felt the "yet" of those memories, their sadness and fears pushing in on him, harder and harder. Suddenly, Harry faced a wall, not of "yet" but of "No!".

He stopped, absolutely unable to go on.

Harry tried - he tried and tired. He felt Zolby and his love. In a way, they were already through that "No!". But he couldn't make himself go into that wall, he just couldn't. There was just too much "No!" Harry hung his head in shame; and he felt that shame envelop him. He knew that he had, for lack of courage, failed Zolby's test. Worse, he had failed Zolby.

"No, Harry."

Harry brought his attention outside of his body, and he saw Zolby looking at him with sad eyes and a smile. "You have not failed, either you or me."

"But I couldn't go on," Harry protested. "I couldn't follow you; I couldn't make myself."

"True," Zolby answered, "quite true. More: you know that you will soon need to go through that wall to what's behind it. You know that you are called there."

Harry hung his head and nodded, shame forming its own wall between him and Zolby.

"Harry." Zolby's gentle voice came through the shame wall. It didn't force, but it lifted his eyes until they looked into Zolby's. "You didn't need to go now. You know you didn't." Zolby lifted his eyebrows. "I encouraged you to go, you felt that. And, yes, through me, you felt called. But I didn't need you to go - you felt that, too. If I'd needed you, if I'd been in any danger, you would've gone. I know, you see, because of how much you've given yourself to me. Come, now, Harry. You can feel that within yourself. If Ron or Hermione or any of your family or friends had needed you, you would've gone - instantly and without thought."

Harry felt that what Zolby said was true. As he felt that truth, as he felt his own truth, he realized Zolby was, again, teaching - no, more than teaching - he was part of calling him to his truth and to his own worth. With that, he felt more coming together and healing. For a time, Harry just absorbed this. He let this flow throughout his body and work its way into the depths of his mind and heart and wound. And he felt Zolby.... "He's letting me take him inside of me. This is his way of giving himself to me."

Harry saw Zolby smile and give Harry, now, a much deeper bow, with that little head twist. He felt Zolby and all he'd taught him fully merge with his, Harry's body. "It's like twinning with Ron," he thought.

Zolby spoke again. "Harry. You felt that it was cowardice, your not going through the wall. That was wrong - not just because you would've gone had you been needed. In spite of the calling, there's a wisdom in not going, in not pushing that 'No!'. In a very real way, you respected that 'No!' until there's need." Harry felt Zolby's eyes move even deeper into him. "Until," he said more softly, "you know, and know deep inside of you, that it's time. You are called there, but you are not called there now."

Harry stared back at Zolby. "Wisdom? From me?"

"No. Not from you. Nor from me. But from within you." Zolby's smile was even gentler. "Magic's wisdom, Magic speaking its wisdom to you, from within your body. From within your most frightening and hurting places."

Harry watched as Zolby began to de-form back into a mist, a mist which returned to the Pensieve. Just before he disappeared, he spoke. "That's often how Magic speaks to us, Harry. That's often how it guides us from deep within ourselves - from our greatest hurts. And, of course, from love, ours or another's."

Now with only a glow, an aura left, Zolby's voice came one last time, almost an echo. "Yes, I will sing at your party, though we both know that it's much more than a party. That, too, is part of this calling, though we cannot see how it will all fit together. Come back later today, and I will teach you whatever songs you wish to sing. It won't be hard. The music, now, is already within you."

For a long time, Harry stared at Zolby's glow, which surrounded the Pensieve, a glow he also felt in his heart and his wound.

"So... what happened, mate?" Ron asked.

Harry could see and feel that Ron was relieved when he came out of The Room, rejoining his waiting family. He could also feel Ron checking him to make sure that nothing was wrong. Harry didn't know what to say. He was still just taking it all in.

Ron frowned at Harry's silence. "All right?" he asked with a bit more edge. Harry felt Ron checking him even more carefully. He was a bit surprised that he didn't mind it at all. In fact, Harry found that he automatically opened himself up to Ron, deeper than ever before.

"The moment you went in there, and that door closed...." Harry felt Ron's [shudder]. "I couldn't feel you anymore. And Mum and Dad couldn't, either. We would've gone in, but... Professor Dumbledore said that we shouldn't, that you were safe." Ron gave Dumbledore his best Avada Kedavra glare.

"So," he asked again, "what happened?"

Harry never found words to say it. But he discovered that he could let not only Ron, but also, to some extent, his whole family see it and hear it and feel it. And more: he could "give" them some of what Zolby have "given" him. Somehow in opening himself to Zolby, he'd been given a new pathway to magic and to sharing magic.

"No," he thought. "Zolby didn't just give it to me. I can feel that it, too, in some way, was already there, inside me."

Harry looked at his family. "All that practice we've been doing," he said, "trying to bring you inside to help me - it's like now...." He frowned. "It's not there yet, but... I know where we need to go."

Harry felt his family tentatively explore everything he opened to them. Harry let his family take as much from that everything, as much of him as they were able, though in their taking, nothing in Harry was diminished. And the more they took, the more of themselves they left within him.

Through their twinning, Ron absorbed all that Harry gave. He was struck again by Harry's unhesitating, unthinking honesty and generosity. "Whatever Harry has that's good, he never hangs onto. He always gives it away."

As expected, he felt Harry [startle] at his thought.

And even deeper - though Ron wouldn't have believed that there was an "even deeper" within him, within Ron - he wordlessly swore that he would protect this generous soul, that he would protect his Harry from whatever came along, no matter what it took. He knew that this was his calling.

"The least I can do," he thought, as always, not recognizing his own unhesitating, unthinking generosity, or his power behind it.

Hermione, too, felt Harry's magnificent honesty and generosity - his holding nothing back. She double-felt it - through her own Harry-link and through her love with Ron.

"With anyone else, I might've been jealous of Harry and Ron's twinning. But after all that my Harry's been through, I could never feel anything but happy for him because of what he gets from Ron. Ron and I - well, whatever he gets from Ron, he gets from me, too - I can feel that. So it's not just from Ron, it's from us. That 'us' makes it all right, even good. And it even makes 'us' stronger and closer - I can feel that, too."

She found herself, entirely to her liking, joined with Ron's unhesitating, unthinking generosity and protectiveness, joined with his calling - which was, of course, their calling. With that, she saw Ron turn and smile at her, his beautiful, grateful smile that was only for her - and better, only because of her. She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it. Then together, they looked at Harry, enjoying their special moment with their special Harry.

From her own secure place within the trio, she knew, with greater awareness and clarity than either of her boys, that they would need this and more for what was ahead of them. That's the only way she could ever think of it - not what was ahead of Harry, but what was ahead of them. All this they would face only as a "them", a "them" that she felt she "was", a "them" she was committed to, to whom she had given herself far beyond any sense of just Hermione.

Through his connection with Harry, Dumbledore felt all that had happened, not only in Harry, but also in Ron and Hermione. He felt it with a deep respect, bordering on....

[Yes, Albus,] Fawkes said, [I feel awe, too.]

[This is so much more than Magic's plan. These young people bring far more than what Magic put into them.]

[Do you forget? It's never just what Magic puts in us, however much or little.]

The Headmaster [chuckled]. [It is not Magic's gifts that brought my awe or yours, as you well know. It is what they chose to do with those gifts.] His [smile] deepened. [Most especially their giving those gifts away. Isn't that always the case, Fawkes? Not their giftedness, but their giving.]

Wizard and phoenix [nodded], nestled deep within their own giving.

* * * * * * * * * *

Following his urgent, even his called instincts, Harry asked Dobby if, as a special request, the house-elves would be willing to make music and dance.

"Oh, Sir," Dobby replied, "we is worrying that you might not like it. We is only knowing simple ways, not like wizard-folk."

"Dobby, my family and I will really like it, I promise. We want you to have a good time. We've heard that house-elves really like to sing and play music and dance. Is that true?"

"Oh yes, Harry Potter, sir. Singing and playing music and dancing is what house-elves is liking most of all."

"Well then, Dobby, please tell everyone that's what we want."

"If that's what Harry Potter is wanting, then we is wanting that, too."

"It is, Dobby, it is." Harry beamed, knowing they needed, perhaps even he needed the magic of their music and dance.

* * * * * * * * * *

Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength;
Such a Light, as shows a feast;
Such a Feast, as mends in length;
And a Strength, as makes his guest.
George Herbert
The Call
Set to music by Raph Vaughan Williams

In the Great Hall, Harry bowed again, at the end of his "Welcoming Song", which he sang in a high, slightly shaky tenor. The last sounds were echoed on their way into a warm silence by the magic in Hogwarts' stones. Not until the last touch of Harry-voice was fully gathered into that silence and magic, did the house-elves break into squeals, clapping and much stomping of small feet.

Harry blushed deeper and deeper as their approval continued. Only the enormous pleasure he felt cascading from the house-elves stopped him from trying to quiet them. Harry knew, with his own great pleasure - as Hagrid said, "in the best way" - how truly welcomed he'd made them feel. And he knew, with even greater sadness, how rare it was for these house-elves to feel welcomed. So nothing could have made him diminish or shorten their joy. For Harry knew that's what it was - joy.

A small, surprised smile came onto his mouth and into his eyes. "I've given them joy," he thought. He almost couldn't take it in, that he, Harry, had given joy to these house-elves, who had given him so much. "I've given them joy because I've made them feel welcomed." He paused, knowing that there was more. "I've made them feel that they belonged, that they belonged to me. I've given them joy, because I've given them my belonging."

In his mind, and sometimes in a growing corner of his heart, Harry realized that he was worth loving and - even more difficult to take in - that others wanted, even treasured his love. "But that someone wants my belonging." Harry was stunned - this was so much more overwhelming. It was like the difference between being hugged and being held - this difference between loving and belonging. Before the Weasleys, Harry had never felt that he belonged. And until now, he hadn't fully known belonging was something that he had to give. Yes, he'd felt glimmerings of this with Charlie and Percy, and even some with Ron. But Harry hadn't fully known what this meant. Here and now, awash in the house-elves' joy, Harry felt another piece of his life come together.

"It's all so new," he thought, "new worlds of magic - giving joy and belonging."

Without quite knowing how, Harry brought that belonging and joy into himself and wove them back through the house-elves and everyone in the Great Hall, binding them together and magnifying these shimmering Ancient Magics, Ancient Magics he could feel that he was also weaving into his not-yet-presented gifts.

Harry smiled as he felt his own joy. A joy long-forgotten until Sirius and the promise of godfatherhood, and then never trusted, never fulfilled. A joy never truly freed until he'd been claimed and brought into his family, until he belonged, first to Ron and Hermione, then to the Weasleys, and now even more. Harry wove those magics deep into his gifts, joining the love and gratitude already there. It waited in those rings to be reclaimed by him and by those about to receive them.

* * * * * * * * * *

"And so," Dumbledore continued, "I take great pleasure in announcing a new department within the Ministry of Magic." He paused for dramatic effect.

Arthur smiled to himself. "The old man certainly has a flair for the grand gesture, I'll give him that. That-" He smiled even broader. "-and a good deal more."

The Headmaster intoned: "The Department of House-Elvish Welfare, this to be co-headed by Mr. Remus Lupin and Mr. Bilius Weasley."

The shock took only a few moments to wear off before more squealing, hand-clapping and foot-stomping erupted.

Arthur sighed. "Dumbledore expended more political capital than Harry realizes. I thought that Fudge was going into cardiac arrest - more's the pity he didn't. Frankly, it was only when he realized that Harry planned to take his refusal to the Daily Prophet, that the Minister finally caved."

"But since the acceptance of You-Know-Who's return, Harry's got more capital in the wizarding world than the whole Ministry. And I'll bet Dumbledore grabbed this chance to insert another few Order members inside the Ministry." He shook his head. "Doesn't often miss a trick."

"Except when it comes to Harry." Arthur felt rage, which he knew would take time to fade. Harry stood again, looking even smaller in the magically expanded Great Hall. "I can see Harry's nervousness. Even more, I can feel it. Poor Harry." Arthur smiled. "He does so hate the spotlight. Given what's happened to him, and his age, I can hardly blame him."

Arthur felt a rush of protectiveness, even though he knew there was nothing to protect Harry from, other than his own feelings. Arthur chuckled at himself, his favorite chuckling target. "That is, my favorite chuckling target after Molly." He chuckled some more, but his chuckling faded off into sadness. "Harry," he thought, "I'm still adjusting myself to you - how much I haven't protected you, how much and in so many ways you still need protecting and-" Arthur forced his mind and heart to admit it. "-how little, how very little, in the end, I may be able to protect you." With this thought, Arthur felt a near-volcanic surge of protectiveness. "Oh, Harry," he said under his breath.

Arthur brought himself back to Harry's speech. "If all your anxieties were only this small."

"I know you've never asked or wanted anything," Arthur heard Harry say, "but I hope you can understand that... well, that it's really important for me to give you something. Even if it's just a little."

Protest noises were heard throughout the Great Hall.

"Please," Harry spoke over the sounds, "please hear me out. I... I know you don't like to think of getting paid. But that's not how I feel about this at all - I hope you can feel that." Harry said more softly, "I could never even start to pay you for...." He swallowed. "For all that you've done."

"Nor," Arthur thought, "could we pay you, Harry, for all that you've done, for all that you've suffered. And for all that you are yet forced to do."

"So," Harry continued, "I've tried to get you something that... well, that's not just for you but in a way, sort of for us? You know? Something that will bring us even closer together. 'Cause I'd like that a lot, and I think...." Harry spoke even softer. "At least I hope that's what you want, too?"

Arthur saw Harry look out into the Great Hall, his whole face filled with longing and uncertainty. "Some day, Harry, I swear I'll find a way to make you believe, all the way through your heart, how much you are loved and how much you are worth loving." He looked out in the Great Hall and saw countless house-elf heads solemnly nodding. "Even I can feel their love. Take that in, Harry, please, for Merlin's sake, take that in."

Through his Harry connection, Arthur felt his son ease, and, yes, even take in some of that tidal wave of love crashing over the dais in its rush to embrace him.

"Thanks," Harry said in a small, almost little boy voice. "And...." He smiled shyly. "I really hope you like them?"

Harry waved his wand. "Apparecium rings!"

The Hall was filled with house-elven gasps.

"They're all iron," Arthur heard Harry say with a hopeful, almost pleading voice. "They're made from meteors, from falling stars. Please put them on."

As they did, Harry brought out his own iron ring, also made from a falling star, and he placed it on his finger. With that, as Harry had asked, Arthur and all of Harry's family, took out their iron rings and put them on.

The Great Hall was hushed as everyone, as the very stones themselves felt the called Magic - up from the iron of earth's magmic core, down from all in the heavens that was iron. Arthur saw, and even more, he felt the glow surrounding Harry, a glow that, with these rings, Harry had unknowingly called to himself. A glow that Harry, always without thinking, passed on and gave away. Through his connection with Harry, Arthur felt him weaving that glow into everyone there. And through Harry, Arthur felt the magnitude of Harry's gift, a gift that Arthur could feel had more than a touch of Hagrid. Harry had woven, Harry had bound them all even more firmly to the earth, to the stars and beyond. And all those callings, all those weavings and bondings, became part of the larger calling.

As this great Magic settled in everyone, Arthur felt and heard, again, that same little boy Harry-voice, so uncertain, so grateful, so unaware of all that he'd done, say,

"Thanks."

Another pause, during which Arthur felt Harry gathering himself together. "Now, on to the feast." Harry's face brkightened. "And then to the singing and dancing."

Arthur knew he'd never forget the magical sights and sounds of that evening, an evening which did both what he had now come to expect and relish - expanding Harry's family even more - and an evening which did what he would never have believed possible - which bound him, Arthur, even more deeply and fiercely to this extraordinary young man who was now and forever his son and his calling.

But then Arthur had long known that his family was his calling.

Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart;
Such a Joy, as none can move;
Such a Love, as none can part;
Such a Heart, as joys in love.
George Herbert
The Call
Set to music by Raph Vaughan Williams

* * * * * * * * * *

"A calling," said the mouth under those hollow green eyes. "I like that - so droll. The old man, and all of them think this is a calling." The eyes turned. "Don't you find that amusing, Pet?"

The snake raised its triangular head and hissed.

"Yes," green eyes replied, "at last we're making our moves, aren't we?"

The snake hissed again.

"It won't be long now. Soon, Pet, very soon."

Author's Notes: My conception of Snape & his past comes largely from the work of Azazello. See, especially, her novels on FictionAlley, "Therapy" & "The Only Warmth", and her novel on ashwinder.org, "But You Alone". While after Book 6, she's renounced her Snape vision, I've decided to keep this story pre-Half-Blood Prince. For more on my thoughts about Snape, you can read my livejournal essay on Snape. It's on livejournal.com, where I'm also avus, posted January 31, 2005. (Yes, that's correct -- it was posted a year ago, in 2005, not 2006.)

I hope to send Chapter 23, "Something's Up", to my bripicker today, and I'd like to post it in about two weeks. In it, we see powerful & ominous forces gathering against Harry.

Again, I apologize for the long delay while I got the technical problems straightened out between my computer and FA's new system. My beta's and I really have been working on the story. Chapter 26 goes back for its second round with my first beta in a day or two, and Chapter 24 will go to my second beta this next week. This weekend, while my wife & I enjoy the spring sandhill crane migration in the Rocky Mountains, I hope to put the finishing touches on beta-ready drafts for Chapters 27 & 28, and to finish my first draft for Chapter 29. So the story progresses, even though there hasn't been much posting.

Thank you for your patience.

Please review. Your few moments spent really do help and encourage.

avus