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What Are You Worth?	By : kati Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Fenrir Views: 109055 -:- 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
- 15
- 16
- 17
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I make no money from the writing of this story.

Chapter 16

Fenrir was filled with nervous energy. Harry had woken briefly twice more, and seemed more and more lucid with each awakening. The Mating Ceremony had already begun hours ago, but it would not be their turn to be officially recognised until the Priestess had finished with everyone with a surname before "G" in the alphabet. Then, it would be Fenrir's turn to be read, Harry's name would be called, and they would be able to retire to their chambers where Harry could sleep and Fenrir could care for him.

Many would expect to see their marks the next morning, as was convention, but they would just have to wait until they were both ready. Fenrir fingered the cloth covering his trunk-like thigh, upon which a thick band of inky skin was wrapped. Fenrir couldn't wait until the day he woke up with Harry's name etched there instead. Even more enticing was the thought of his name becoming part of Harry's body, forever asserting Harry as his alone.

His absent musings were pushed aside as Harry awoke again. Fenrir ceased his pacing beneath the high windows, and hurried to his side in three mammoth steps.

Harry was blinking slowly, turning his head slightly from side to side as if shaking his sleep from it. Fenrir crouched by his bedside and gently took his hand, the uninjured one.

"Hello, little one. How are you feeling?"

Harry cleared his throat and lazily focused his eyes upon his face. When he recognised him, he smiled sleepily. It was a true, true smile that warmed Fenrir's body from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head.

"I thought... you was Caspian, for a moment. A little moment. He calls... me that: 'little one'."

Fenrir cocked his head and frowned; that was annoying. That was his name for Harry.

"Well, Harry, it's what I call you now. Tell me how you are feeling."

Another open-mouthed smile.

"Okay."

Fenrir didn't know which statement he was answering, but pressed onwards.

"Do you feel sick? Do you have a headache?"

"Hmm? No, I don't think so. I think the drink you gave me helps."

Fenrir sighed in relief; that was good. Harry was going to need to make a, potentially stressful, public appearance any time now, and he wanted it to be as easy for him as possible.

He helped Harry sit up in bed and handed him another of the doctors' drinks. He drank it without complaint, but Fenrir could tell from the smell of the concoction that it tasted awful.

He waited until he had finished the whole thing and then made him up another. Harry's eyes flicked up in question as he accepted the second glass.

Fenrir shrugged. "Better safe than sorry."

Harry's brow furrowed at the strange saying, not entirely certain of the meaning, but gulped down the liquid nevertheless.

Fenrir had noticed, as he so often did, and explained the logic of the expression as he plumped up Harry's pillow and fussed with his sheets, tucking them more securely around his lean form and feeling his fingers to see if he was cold. Harry nodded at the explanation and beamed at the attention, despite his best efforts to quell the bubbling affection for the man fussing over him. It was nice to be looked after, and Harry entertained a brief fantasy of Alpha Greyback coming to his cupboard after he had been beaten when he was very much younger, and scooping him into his arms and whisking him away, never to return to that life. It was a sweet fantasy, but he put it away, knowing that it was foolish to live in the past.

Harry watched serenely as his mate settled back down onto his stool, the wooden seat seemingly tiny as the large werewolf dwarfed it. The tall man remained silent, and Harry allowed him that, keeping his questions to himself, as he seemed to be working himself up for something.

All of a sudden, his head jerked up and a question came leaping out of his mouth. "Did somebody rape you?"

It was shouted more than spoken, and several people's heads snapped up to stare at the couple. Fenrir turned to snarl at them, and they cowered in submission, before studiously ignoring them.

Fenrir reluctantly turned back to him, as if wishing that someone had picked a fight with him. He slowly sought out Harry's curious, and slightly alarmed, gaze with trepidation.

Harry blinked. "What is this? Rape?"

Fenrir grimaced, but tried to explain.

"When... someone wants to have sex with you..."

He was momentarily distracted by his mate's furiously blushing face - in different circumstances he would have liked to tease him about such a sensitive reaction.

"...and you do not want to have sex with them, but they make you. Do you understand?"

Harry's blush had faded away, to be replaced by a wide-eyed face that was shockingly pale.

Fenrir stilled at the reaction. No!

Harry looked down and away, his eyelashes casting dark scars of shadow down his face as the light from the overhead windows shone with an uncomfortable heat.

Fenrir forgot to breathe as he waited for Harry's response, but he felt that he already had his answer.

Into the crinkly air the submissive croaked, "No."

Fenrir did not relax, feeling that he was balanced on a tightrope: on one side there was a net to catch him, and on the other there was only a dark, broiling sea, stinking of sewage and dead bodies.

Harry might lie. He might, to make him feel better.

"I... I always fought them off."

Fenrir's eyes widened. 'Always?'

"I n-never want-ted to let them g-get me, b-because I w-wanted to be able to g-give my mate something. I am not attractive, or intelligent, or cultured, I cannot offer proper conversation even. So, I wanted to give them... you... something."

He trailed off, his voice barely a whisper and cracking.

Fenrir blinked. He reached out and lovingly placed a hand in Harry's unwashed hair and stroked his scalp, massaging and scratching.

"Who did you fight off?"

Harry's green eyes flicked to his face, and then away again.

"The p-people at my school. And my f-father's friends."

Fenrir chewed his lip to keep himself from screaming.

"How many people?"

Harry frowned, the familiar furrow appearing momentarily. Eventually, he shrugged.

"I do not know."

Fenrir pushed no further, but forcefully turned Harry's face to look upon his. When he only looked away, he ordered him to look into his eyes. He did, unable to defy him.

"Harry. Harry Potter."

Harry watched him apprehensively, fear in his eyes, but Fenrir knew it was fear of rejection, and not of him.

"Harry," he repeated, "I love you."

The pink mouth dropped open slightly.

"I love you more dearly and more fiercely than anyone else on this planet. And I know that you have a high opinion of me; so do you think I, this pack's only Alpha, would fall so hopelessly in love with someone who was not attractive, intelligent, someone who I could not have wonderful conversations with? Hmm?"

Harry did not blink, but he did cry. He clutched fervently at Fenrir's - his Fenrir's - shoulders with a fluttery grip, his hands still weak with the drug, and pulled the Alpha as close as he could manage. Harry pushed his head forwards and landed a kiss upon the shocked Fenrir's lips, who still held his head mostly still. With a small cry, Harry flopped back onto the bed and panted from the effort of forcing his head forward when his dominant had been intent on keeping it still.

He looked upwards with tears streaming down his cheeks, and he smiled a shy, hopeful smile.

His mate stared and stared and blinked and blinked, hands now loose around Harry's face.

And then Harry saw what he swore was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen; his mate smiled wide, so wide Harry thought his skin might split, and lowered his head eagerly to kiss his face in a frenzy. His eyelids, his nose, his chin, his ear, the corner of his mouth, his cheek, and finally, upon his laughing lips he placed his own, trembling with happiness.

He gently pressed down, wanting to disappear into Harry's body and live there, curled and sleepy, content with an existence that consisted only of his mate.

Both their lips were dry and warm and earnest, and their eyes were wet and salty.

- - -

Fenrir held Harry's hand in his own as he sat by his bedside. Servants had been keeping him updated on how long they had before the ceremony now, and the servant that had just left had told him that he had little time left.

He had answered Harry's questions about what had happened. Harry had been upset and worried about who would do that to him and how they had managed to get the drug into his food but no one else's that breakfast time. Fenrir had promised to interview the kitchen staff and get to the person who had laced his food with the drug, though he remained undecided about whether there was anyone else involved; they had no idea yet as to the motivation of the crime.

Fenrir had explained to him that it took many hours for the drug to become effective, and that the doctors had managed to ascertain that the only people that Harry had been alone with whilst the drug had been in effect were Fenrir, and Harry's brothers. Harry had vehemently defended them, despite being angry with Paul at that moment; he was certain that none of them would do that to him. Besides, they had been locked in their rooms for weeks now, there was no way that they could have arranged something like that.

"We should go and get ourselves cleaned up a little before the Ceremony; it will be any time now, Harry. I'll take you to the bath and stand guard while you bathe, and then perhaps you'll do me the same favour," he joked lightly, helping his mate stand.

The doctors and nurses made no move to stop them as they headed towards the exit of the Medical Wing. They were all rather glad to see them gone; Alpha Greyback was not the easiest of relatives to deal with.

When they were both clean and had had a little bread and water from the kitchens, Fenrir suspiciously scoping the staff the entire time, they made their way towards the huge doors that guarded the entrance of the palace. People bowed or nodded respectfully as they moved past, Fenrir trying - and mostly failing - to find the balance between matching his gait to Harry's and striding impressively.

As they moved through the town within the palace walls, which still had a large amount of already-mated couples bustling about it, the attention became even greater as it was very unusual to see their new, soon-to-be-official Lakta out and about. Harry nervously sidled closer to Fenrir - which was what he now tentatively called him in his own head - and shyly took his hand. Fenrir grinned, pleased, down at his overwhelmed submissive and returned his grip much more firmly. Harry smiled sweetly and looked away.

They moved through the fortified, outer gates of the palace and its town, and could immediately see and hear the vast crowd that came as close to the walls as a few hundred yards away, despite the actual altar where the Priestess would do the reading being much farther away.

The air was clean and smelled sweet after the recent rain, and the ground was slightly muddy underfoot. Fenrir absently noted that the field they were using for the Ceremony would definitely be ruined.

Soon they were part of the crowd, and it was difficult to make their way through the multitudes of excited werewolves as they were all facing in the Priestess's direction and could not see their faces to recognise their status.

Eventually, Fenrir grew tired of "excuse me-ing" and instead pushed his way through. One bulky dominant who rivalled even the Alpha's height and muscle whipped around when Fenrir tried to push past her, with Harry nervously hopping from foot to foot behind him, not liking the scene they were making. She obviously did not immediately recognise her Alpha, or the brilliant French Spring sun was in her eyes, as she was having none of it.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Her accent was thickly French.

She squared her shoulders as Fenrir was unmoved by her threatening tone.

"We're trying to get to the front, obviously." Fenrir growled, impatient and annoyed by the dominant's insolence.

She threw back her head of impressive red hair, slightly matted and its green beads signifying that she was a member of the army.

"We?"

She peered around Fenrir's bulk to inspect the submissive behind him. She smirked and straightened.

She raised an eyebrow. "Hoping that pretty piece of arse will be "The One"? How sweet." She sought Harry's alarmed stare once more and stage-whispered, "Hey, hot stuff, if things don't work out as you had hoped with this shit-bag then get in touch with me; I'd be happy to console you." She winked slowly.

The hand currently being held by Fenrir was suddenly gripped painfully tightly, and then the warmth and pain were both gone as his mate let go to lunge at the dominant in front of him.

Harry's eyes widened momentarily, but, upon seeing exactly what was happening, he screwed them shut and slapped his hands over his ears to block out the sick crunching, stomach-turning squelching, and the horrific cries of pain.

He didn't know how much time passed, but eventually he was lifted into strong arms that held him tightly against a hot chest. Harry could hear Fenrir breathing hard and a small bead of liquid dropped onto his forehead. Harry did not open his eyes or wipe it away; he did not want to know whether it was sweat or blood.

Harry could only hear silence around them and no other bodies against his, so he figured that the crowd must have made space to let them through. He didn't want to see their stares, so he buried his head into his mate's damp armpit and his eyes remained firmly closed.

After nearly ten minutes of walking, Harry felt a gentle kiss falling upon the crown of his head.

Fenrir's warm breath bathed his ear and his entire body shivered in pleasure, which he was certain his mate noticed, as a soft kiss was placed deliberately upon his ear lobe. The plump lips remained there, and Harry imagined that Fenrir's neck would probably be aching now from the position. He softly whispered in that rough, soft voice, "I am sorry. For all of that."

Harry whispered back, completely sincerely, "That's okay." He was well-accustomed to violence. He continued taking deep, soothing sniffs that filled his sensitive nose with the scent of his mate.

The lips were removed and Fenrir readjusted his hold on his mate so it was more comfortable for both of them.

Soon they stopped, and Harry opened his eyes as he heard a familiar voice shouting above the crowd.

His head perked up and he motioned for Fenrir to put him down, which he did so, albeit reluctantly.

He peered around the figures of the few people in front of him to see a podium of sorts. In the centre of the podium stood a roughly-hewn, clumsy stone altar. Even from afar, one could tell that it was ancient, and Harry gazed upon it with a sense of deep nostalgia, although he knew not for what or when, and imagined all the werewolves who had come before them who had been brought together at this very altar. He tried to imagine their lives, their hopes and their concerns, and what they had felt when they had stood here before him.

He pulled his eyes away, his mood extremely sobered and grave. He took in the three figures upon the podium.

Firstly, there was the Priestess. She wore the same robes as Harry had seen her wearing last, when she had read him and told him, "Do your best, and then do more." He wondered if those words' purpose had already been fulfilled - he had been trying very hard to change and get to grips with his new situation these past weeks - or if the events that would require him to remember them had not yet come to pass.

She was currently shouting out the name of a werewolf, but Harry could not make it out. The name was passed along through the crowd like a rising wave. Harry noticed one of the other figures upon the podium, a submissive, looked extremely nervous and was wringing her hands anxiously. She searched the crowd, meeting many werewolves' eyes, her gaze flitting from one to another, wondering, Harry thought, if any of them were The One.

The final figure upon the podium looked to be a bodyguard from his stance and hawk-like stare. He stood with his feet shoulder-length apart and his hands behind his back, surveying the crowd and the horizon with extreme concentration. Harry privately wondered what they expected might go wrong.

It took many minutes, but eventually a cry went up from an area far to Harry's right. There was cheering and jostling and a tall dominant began to make his way towards the podium.

The submissive on the podium froze immediately, her hands falling to her side and her gaze snapping to the man approaching her. Harry could see clearly the way she looked him up and down, searching his smiling face, and eventually he sensed the trepidation that he himself had felt tentatively being replaced by excitement. It looked like she approved and saw some kindness in him. The dominant, who was now making his way through the invisible barrier that prevented the one being read leaving the podium until their mate joined them there, spotted the change in her demeanour also, and he grinned wildly, looking slightly insane with happiness.

The dominant was now only feet away from his life partner, but they didn't seem to know what to do with themselves. She shuffled her feet shyly, and he didn't seem brave enough to come any closer.

Harry was intensely surprised by the Priestess's reaction; he had known her to be slightly cold, distant, and disinterested in the people around her. However, now she cheekily pushed the submissive towards the relatively slim dominant before her so that she stumbled into his arms. He caught her, she looked up with a blush, he smirked contentedly down at her, and then boldly leaned down to kiss her. The Priestess whooped and whistled as they kissed, and the shimmery barrier dissipated before the crowd's eyes, the energy released being reabsorbed into the amber anklet that the Priestess wore, which glowed an angry orange.

Harry frowned deeply, his nerves tingling with unease. This didn't seem like the Priestess that he had met at all. It was deeply unsettling to see her acting like this, at a time, presumably, when she should be behaving the most professional. He tried to rationalise, telling himself that perhaps this was the time that the Priestess enjoyed in her life the most, that she adored the bringing of people together. He had trouble believing that, however. The "Priestess's" behaviour reminded him uncannily of another blonde-haired, blue-eyed Russian.

He squinted at up her, desperately searching for the one feature in her face that would tell him whether or not he was right. He was lucky, as the bright sunlight was shining towards her and not him, and at exactly the right moment she turned her head as she laughed. There! Between her thin lips he could spy perfectly straight, white teeth, their brilliance catching the light and reflecting it noticeably. The Priestess he had met had had extremely bad teeth, their decaying and yellow state only being revealed to him once: the one time that she had smiled at him.

He was certain.

He tugged gently at Fenrir's sleeve as the new couple made their way down from the podium, arm in arm, and another name was called.

His mate stooped down to him so that his ear was aligned with Harry's mouth.

"Th-that is not the true P-Priestess."

Fenrir pulled away slightly to look into his face with raised eyebrows.

"What makes you think that?"

Harry chewed his lip; Fenrir obviously didn't believe him.

He tried again. "I have met the P-Priestess and her family. This is her sister, Marylla, not the true Priestess."

Fenrir frowned. "When did you meet the Priestess and her family?"

Harry held back a sigh of frustration. "Not important!" he whispered. He paused, shocked a little at his own rudeness. "Umm... I d-do not know how to explain. I will t-tell you later. P-please believe me. This is not the correct person."

Fenrir looked up at the woman on the podium, narrowing his eyes slightly. Then, he glanced back at Harry out of the corner of his eye with a twist to his mouth, and Harry knew that he had not convinced him.

He deflated a little at that, sad and disappointed. Fenrir had managed to convince him that his opinion meant something, but now, when it really mattered, it became clear to Harry that in reality Fenrir had only been humouring him, being nice to him.

His eyes fell to his feet, the soft-soled leather shoes covering them in need of repair, or perhaps replacement. He studied them carefully, finding all the faults and trying desperately not to cry.

He heard Fenrir take in a breath, as if about to speak to him, when suddenly a name was called out.

"Greyback, Fenrir!"

There were many excited mutterings and exclamations. All eyes fell to them, and Fenrir silently cursed; he had seen how upset Harry had been and he felt his heart ache with his little one's unhappiness. He wanted to reassure him but, despite this Ceremony being about bringing lovers together, it was far from an intimate setting and he could not make a scene.

He settled for an impersonal shoulder-pat, and made his way up to the podium. A cheer went up, and Fenrir could distinctly hear the raised voice of his Beta, Lucius. Fenrir wanted to smile at that; he knew that, despite his age, Lucius considered Fenrir his first friend and he knew that he could always trust Lucius implicitly. For the stoic blond werewolf to cheer in public, or at any time for that matter, then he must truly be very excited and happy.

He mounted the platform easily and took in the woman before him. He had never seen her before, but no one else but Harry had taken issue with her and there were some very ancient werewolves here. Harry must be mistaken, he was sure. The woman had the anklet and was using it with no trouble; she was certainly the Priestess.

She approached him with an almost feral smile, and suddenly he had misgivings. He couldn't put his finger on what it was that was giving him the slightly nauseous sensation though, and it was probably only because Harry's words were making him look for faults where there were none.

She was right in front of him now, and she reached out an ungloved hand to touch his cheek. Her hand was cool when it landed and he shivered slightly.

Her anklet glowed brightly, but he was captivated by her sickly flawless face; her lips drew into a wide smirk and her blue eyes flicked open darkly. He suddenly felt extremely uneasy as he observed the devious glint in her eyes and the sharp edge to her smirk. He drew back abruptly and searched for his Harry in the crowd. He found his green gaze without much effort, and he giddily thought that they were drawn together like magnets.

Harry's eyes were wide with panic, Fenrir saw to his dismay. He had seen it all too.

He looked back slowly to the still-smirking woman. The crowd was waiting with bated breath and in the silence Fenrir could hear the wails of the family of the dominant he had killed in the distance.

He waited for the name that would drip from her twisted lips with his stomach clenching painfully all the while.

She paused, drawing out the pain she was causing. Her eyes were bright with the delight of it.

She took a deep breath and opened her mouth wide.

Fenrir braced himself, hoping desperately for the name of his love to be cried out for all to hear.

"Mendeleev, Rook!"
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What Are You Worth?