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What Are You Worth?	By : kati Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Fenrir Views: 109052 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 17
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 11

Nothing was said as they made their way out of the room. Caspian stared after his little brother and the huge man who ruled them all. He gaped, but knew that there was nothing he could do.

The heavy doors of the dining hall closed with a low boom. Caspian slowly turned back around and gazed unseeingly into his lap. He had failed. Again.

---

Fenrir shook with unexpressed rage. He needed to hit something. NOW.

He watched through narrowed eyes the small figure clamped between his fingers, and his rage at once abated and grew in strength.

His face! What had they done to his face?! Someone had attacked his mate! It was unthinkable! Inconceivable!

His heart clenched painfully as he heard a quiet sniff and he felt bony shoulders shake almost imperceptibly beneath his palm. How could this happen? He closed his eyes momentarily; he had not even known his mate for a full day and yet already he had failed to protect him. So useless.

He shortened his long strides to an almost shuffle in order to match his new companion's gait as he led him to his own chambers.

He was relieved, of course. When he had looked up from an extremely boring conversation he'd been having with his Beta, Lucius, to find the epitome of beauty glancing shyly in his direction with a blush colouring his cheeks, his stomach had done a back flip. Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to call it a gold-medal-winning Olympic gymnastic performance.

The first thing he had taken in were the eyes; huge and lovingly carved into a face that was all angles and smooth, white skin. They were the most vivid green he had seen on a person: the colour of summer grass.

From so far away, he had not been able see all the details that he had wished to see. However, as he had watched the boy - for he couldn't be older than his teens - sharply look away when he was caught staring, to then worry a lush lip with sharp teeth, he had known that he could spend days watching and memorising that face.

But when he had turned to address a dominant sitting by his side and with an arm slung carelessly over his shoulders, Fenrir had seen it. A huge, ugly bruise was blooming over his mate's cheekbone. It was the colour of storm clouds and looked very, very sore.

Ice had pored into his body. His first thought had been: 'Who did it?' Had it been that mug with his arm around him? Or perhaps it had been one of the others who looked so similar at their sides? Whoever had hurt the beautiful boy before him, he was going to kill them. Without fail.

The same rage that he had felt upon spying the mark of the assault still flowed through his veins. Now they were approaching his rooms - no, their rooms - and still the boy was upset. Fenrir had thought that removing him from the presence of people who had hurt him would make him feel better. And had he not been watching Fenrir closely? Didn't he want to be alone with him? He didn't understand and was becoming more and more anxious.

He guided the small body past all the guards on duty around their rooms and into the large antechamber. It had vaulted ceilings and was rather cold. There was a fireplace that was seldom lit dominating one wall. Large, luxurious furnishings were scattered throughout the room; large in order to accommodate his considerable size and weight, and luxurious just because he could.

Fenrir watched for his sable-haired mate's reaction to the splendour hopefully, but when he refused to even look up Fenrir felt his stomach clench in disappointment and fear. Was his mate unimpressed? Was he angry with Fenrir for something? He gulped past the lump in his throat painfully and coughed to clear it.

The boy flinched.

"This way."

In that moment, Fenrir had never despised his wretched voice more. It was gruff and hoarse and not in the least soothing or pacifying. Fenrir hoped his mate could look past his outer imperfections to the - to the what? The burning desire for world peace and love within? He despaired. He was as flawed beneath his skin as he was outwith it. The only thing he had to offer his lovely mate was power, luxury, and money. And apparently, these were not things that impressed him.

He pushed open the mahogany doors to the bedchamber. He was more at home in there than in the lonely antechamber. The bedroom was smaller and the ceiling far lower. The walls were panelled with a rich cherry and the bed, the first of its kind in the whole of his empire, dominated the room. It was draped in varying shades of scarlet and was Fenrir's favourite place to think.

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away from his mate's warm shoulder. The boy was still examining his feet. Fenrir stooped to see his face through the thick, black hair that hung around his pale visage like a dark halo.

Fenrir's face crumpled and he straightened back up again. He was crying. His hands twitched nervously and he chewed his lip in worry. His first instinct was to comfort him, but as he reached out a shaking hand to pull him close, he stopped and retracted the appendage. The boy was angry with him. He wouldn't want to be touched by him!

He dithered, uncertain as to what to do. This wasn't his area of expertise; leading and killing was.

"L-l-lo sient-to," Fenrir's eyes widened. What a sweet voice.

There came a gasp.

"I... I mean th-that - I am sorry, Alpha. I am n-not want-t-ting t-to... make you - emmm... sad? No, no, I mean..."

The boy picked and yanked at the skin on the backs of his hands.

"Emmm, I mean... enfadado, enfadado," He was muttering to himself and seemed very frustrated. "Angry!" He seemed finally satisfied, and suddenly it dawned on Fenrir that his mate didn't speak English. And, it appeared, had a rather bad stutter, or perhaps that was just a result of nerves.

He spoke slowly, "I am not angry at you. I am angry at the people who did this to you." He reached out a hand and with one finger, stroked the bruise. Fenrir heard him gasp quietly and he quickly stole his hand away, angry with himself that he had harmed him further.

The boy raised his head and peeked out between his bangs at him. Fenrir didn't think that he'd understood him, as there was a little crease between his eyebrows that he assumed meant that he was trying to remember the meanings of the words spoken.

Fenrir tucked the dark hair behind the boy's little ears and leaned down and forward so that their faces were close. He could feel the warm, shallow breaths of his mate upon his skin, and a bright bubble of delight rose within him at finally being able to touch his mate. His skin was very soft. It was strange to him that something he had never before desired could mean so much to him now.

He noticed that the boy was chewing on his lip again, and congratulated himself for discovering a habit. He would do his best to get to know him better than anyone else on earth.

He looked into his eyes and smiled. The boy's eyes were wide with wonder and his lips parted into a round 'o'. Fenrir smiled wider and stroked the unharmed side of his face, tracing the sharp cheekbone lovingly.

"What is your name?"

This phrase was one that he seemed to understand a bit better, as he replied almost immediately, "Harry."

This confused Fenrir, as Harry was obviously not British, but yet had a British name.

"I am Fenrir."

Harry frowned, but Fenrir didn't understand why. The confidence that had been building within him as they had talked shattered and he wondered what he had done wrong. He smiled tightly and stood up. He held out a hand to the boy and said, "Come."

Harry stared at the hand with confusion in his eyes. He frowned deeper. Fenrir was getting quite upset now. This was exactly the way that he had been last night too. He didn't seem to trust him at all and didn't even want to touch him. Why wouldn't he want to touch his mate?

He sighed and moved to sit upon the bed by himself. The boy remained where he was and lowered his head once more.

"Who hit you?"

There was no response, so he tried another wording.

"You have a sore cheek? Harry? Your cheek is sore, yes?"

The boy murmured, "Yes."

"Who made your cheek sore?" The boy looked up, but didn't understand.

Fenrir pointed to his own cheek and reiterated, "Who? Who, Harry?"

Realisation dawned in his eyes and he reached up to touch the bruise.

"Emmm... I - I c-cannot t-tell you."

Fenrir blinked. Couldn't tell him? Why the hell not?

"Why not?" He lowered his voice to a hiss. It always intimidated people more than shouting.

Only after he had done it did he realise that it probably wasn't the nicest thing to do.

Harry burst into tears. He stood in the middle of the floor and sobbed into a shaking hand. The other gripped his waist in a defensive gesture, and his legs clenched together.

Fenrir gaped. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to touch him, hold him, press kisses to his neck and face, stroke his back, and soothe him with reassuring whispers into those little ears. But that was not what Harry wanted. Harry didn't like him and, it seemed, was absolutely terrified of him.

At that moment there came shouting and the sounds of a commotion from the antechamber. Fenrir frowned. That couldn't be right; he had guards preventing anyone from entering their chambers.

There came a battering upon the door and it was flung open. Harry didn't seem to notice and remained distraught. Fenrir leapt to his side and shielded the vulnerable figure from the sight and harm of the intruders.

There were three of them, although two looked rather reluctant participants, as they hung back and glanced around the room nervously. Fenrir stooped into a low crouch and a fierce snarl worked its way up from the caverns of his chest and out past his bared teeth.

He wouldn't allow any harm to come to his mate. At the moment he was unhappy, but Fenrir knew that with some patience and better communication, they would get to know each other better and Fenrir would be able to make him happy. He had to believe this.

Fenrir recognised the trio as the wolves who had been with Harry at the dining table. What did they want? Surely Harry would have told them that he, the Alpha, was his mate, so why were they interrupting them? Or was it an attack?

He kept his guard up and used his hand to nudge Harry further behind him and out of harm's way.

This movement caught the eye of what seemed to be the leader of their group. He was a handsome dominant with a wild mane of copper hair, and Fenrir thought that he could discern some similarities between the bones of his face and Harry's. Were they relatives?

The copper-haired wolf clocked Harry, cowering behind Fenrir's broad form, and he growled. Fenrir felt Harry peek around him and he glanced down briefly to see if the intruders met with his approval or not. If not, they were due for a one-way trip to the dungeons.

However, Fenrir noted the flash of recognition in the green eyes and also some measure of relief. Fenrir tried to ignore the latter emotion, but it was difficult.

"C-Cas?" His mate's dulcet tenor was the loveliest sound that Fenrir had ever heard. He wondered if he would cease to admire the noise if they both survived into their thousands. He thought it unlikely.

Harry sniffled softly and attempted to conceal the fact that he had been weeping only seconds ago. Fenrir slowly stood up, but refused to move from in front of his mate.

The wild man growled, "What have you done to Harry? Why is he crying, you beast?"

Fenrir noticed one of the others, the tallest of the trio, closing his eyes with an expression of the utmost pain clouding his features. The other, the burliest but shortest, blanched and stared at his comrade in disbelief.

Fenrir was satisfied that some of his subordinates, at least, still treated him with the respect, fear, and reverence he deserved.

Fenrir gave his most condescending sneer and countered, "What are you doing in your Alpha's private rooms?" He paused. "Do you have a death wish, my friend?" He narrowed his eyes and allowed a cruel smile to flit across his lips.

The man ignored his intimidation completely, and instead peered around him to address his mate. "Harry? Harry, cómo estás?"

Fenrir's breath caught in his throat as he felt a pair of small hands gently twine themselves in the material of his shirt.

"Est-t-oy muy... muy bien, hermano." Fenrir enjoyed the soft lilting and bubbling of his mate's native tongue, but wanted to know what they were speaking of.

"Speak in English unless you want my guards to cut your tongues out."

The leader scoffed. "We took care of your guards. They were as green as grass! And I will talk to my little brother however I please."

Fenrir scowled. This was his mate's family? How annoying; this meant that he couldn't carry through his threat of harm, not unless he was willing to further distress his mate and forever tarnish their already uncertain relationship.

He took comfort in the gentle pressure on his shoulders from the, probably subconscious, tugging that Harry was exerting upon his shirt hem. His skin burned where the warm fingers brushed it.

He sighed. "So, you are my mate's family. This was not the first meeting that I had envisioned, but then, I had not envisioned my mate to be as striking and beautiful as he is. I suppose one must accept some bad with the good."

The brothers, Fenrir assumed they were as they were all roughly the same age as the wolf he knew to be Harry's sibling, stared.

The one that had spoken remained stiff in his aggressive crouch, but his mouth was open in shock. He looked between his brother and Fenrir, with astonishment being the only clear emotion in his face.

The other two wore similar expressions of stupefaction and no one moved.

Fenrir frowned. They didn't seem t be aware that they were mates. Harry hadn't told them? Why not? Was he ashamed?

He glanced down to his hip where Harry stood. He was swaying lightly and looked exhausted. Fenrir wanted to pick him up and tuck him into their warm bed, but knew that this had to be resolved now.

Harry was wearing a look of extreme confusion and worry as he gazed into the faces of his brothers. Fenrir reached down and threaded his long, thick fingers through the soft, bouncy bed of sable locks. His fingers tingled and the state of his mate's worry was made apparent as he failed to frown at Fenrir.

A choking sound guttered its way out of the leader's throat.

"Harry? Why didn't you tell me?" Fenrir was pleased to see that the wolf seemed to have come to his senses and was now obeying his orders. He looked devastated. Fenrir understood that he probably wasn't any reasonable person's first choice of mate to their baby brother, but did he have to be so rude about it?

Fenrir could tell that Harry didn't understand by the little crease reappearing.

"Talk to him to in his tongue if you must, but tell me what you are saying."

He stood up straight and wrung his hands. The man spoke with hurt etched deep in his voice; his eyes were large and pleading.

Fenrir watched his mate. He was frowning deeper than ever and was worrying his lip once more. He replied in his juddering and wary way, confusion lacing his voice.

His answer seemed to confuse the man and the hurt in his face drained away.

"What did he say?"

The man looked up at him and frowned, suspicion behind his eyes. "I asked him why he didn't tell me that he had found his mate."

Fenrir wanted to know the answer to this question also. He made soothing circles with his fingertips upon Harry's scalp.

"He said he doesn't know what I am talking about. He said he hasn't found his mate."
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What Are You Worth?