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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.

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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to Harry Potter. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Three

Harry awoke with his head buried in Caspian's wild, russet mane. A pleasantly masculine scent filled his nose. He could tell even in his lethargy that his brother still slept. The deafening snores were a bit of a give-away, Harry thought cheekily and with an impish smile on his lips.

He extracted himself from the tickly mop without really wanting to, but knowing that he should get up and ready some breakfast for them all before they set off once more. His brother grunted at the loss of heat and proceeded to flop onto his back lazily and snore louder still.

Harry glanced sleepily at his other siblings; they were still resting and seemed impervious to the snores. Harry knew he had always been a light sleeper, mostly due to the crippling nightmares that kept him always on the brink of waking, but he could not understand how they could sleep through that racket! Harry was disappointed that the dreams had continued to haunt him even last night when he had fallen asleep the happiest he could ever remember being.

He gazed fondly at the mass of muscle and sweat that was Caspian. Caspian loved him. Harry grinned, on a complete high. His brother loved him!

He pulled on some warmer clothes than what he had worn to bed the previous night and pulled back his unruly hair in a piece of leather. He mused as he worked that it was getting a bit long and resolved to ask Richard to trim it for him, or just cut it all off if that made it less of a hassle. Richard had always cut his hair for him.

He went to gather water from a beautiful stream nearby. He stopped for quite a time gazing at it in wonder and confusion. The grey water chuckled over the rocks like a ribbon of liquid silver.

Harry found it fascinating that the stream was so whole and complete, never-ending, and yet he knew that if he dipped his hand into the cool course, a little pool of the sparkling potion would come away with ease from the rest of the whole.

He wondered how it was done, what the river was exactly. It did not seem natural at all that you could not point out the different parts of it; like a leaf on a tree and its trunk and its roots.

It was whole, and then it was not, so easily manipulated by the enemies it encountered: here, a rock approaches, and now, a lone spear of water slips through the air, and now, it is falling and merging back into the current with ease, no longer a spear, sliding apart, identity lost.

"But," Harry thought with a start, "it is the water that has beaten the rock! The rock, so strong and solid, has been outsmarted by the slippery water! The jealous rock would wish to stand obstinately and attempt to halt the flow of the clear water and steal its freedom. But look! The water has found another way and the rock hunkers low in the liquid, hiding in shame that it was so easily defeated by another so insubstantial. And the water still laughs along, unconcerned by the cruelty of the rock, forgiving it unconditionally with pity in its swirls and eddies."

Harry's brow was crinkled in thought, but when he emerged from his reverie he smoothed the skin in haste, remembering that his father had warned him that expression would give him wrinkles.

He crouched gracefully to retrieve the water. He dipped their drinking bottles into the stream reverently, muttering an apology as they filled with the pure substance. He stared sadly at the full and capped bottles; the water seemed to lose its hypnotic magic when still and held prisoner.

Harry brushed aside his distracting thoughts and, carefully balancing the pot of water he had filled for bathing, moved lightly back to the camp.

As he emerged from the formidable wall of evergreens he noted that no-one else had yet risen. His head tilted back to take in the narrow slit of sky visible through the canopy. He estimated that it was perhaps five or six in the morning; he wasn't sure though. Paul would know better as he was an eager hunter.

Harry had never been permitted to leave the manor during the lunar change, but his brothers went hunting in the forest frequently over the three-day period when they were all stuck as wolves. Paul always came back with the most impressive kills and often was seen to be reading books on hunting and survival skills.

Harry wondered absently, as he attempted to relight last night's fire to heat some water for cooking, what his brothers wanted to do when they were older. He knew that nothing great was expected of him; if he was lucky he would be mated to someone in a good position to provide for him and any children that they may have together. If he was not so lucky then he would have to find a job where they employed submissives. Harry shivered in the cool air as he recalled one of their first Personal and Social Development lessons in school.

The block that was being taught was Work Experience, and all the dominants were given several lectures from people from different working backgrounds to inform them of all their "diverse and exciting career prospects". All the submissives were removed from the room, around half the class although only two of them were boys, including Harry. Harry had been excited to hear the topic of their lesson, and had felt a sort of desperate eagerness to hear what his future could hold. A tall female dominant, rarer than male dominants and more common than male submissives, had strode into the classroom. Harry had thought her very beautiful and very strong at the same time. Her voice was clear and commanding. As she began to speak, Harry had felt a sort of fluttering in his belly and had found himself sitting forward in his seat and tense across his shoulders as he waited to hear what exactly he could do with the rest of his life, away from his father.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Harry had felt a huge, painful lump form in his throat and he wondered in a panic if his Adam's apple had swollen or burst. If they were unfortunate and did have to work, they could only expect employment from establishments such as strip clubs or whorehouses, perhaps even a bar if they had good connections. Harry had felt all his hopes for his life slip away in that thirty-minute lecture from that cold and beautiful dominant.

Harry squeaked in pain as a violent bubble of boiling water skipped out of the pot and splashed across the back of his hand. He had not noticed the water boiling and was crouching too close to the fire.

He jumped, startled, as Richard sprung from the tent wielding his dagger. There was a strangely fierce light in his eyes and his murderous gaze fell upon Harry, whose eyes widened in fear. Harry lost his balance and fell onto his backside into the soft and moist soil. He could hear his heart thumping louder and louder in his ears and his breath was coming faster and faster as Richard charged at him, the dagger still raised.

Harry clenched his eyes shut and his shaking fingers dug into the cool soil in anticipation of what was to come. This was it; Richard was finally acting on their father's orders and was going to end him here in the wood where no one would ever come to his aid. Harry thought of the thick, undulating bands of muscle that encased Richard's body and knew with a sinking feeling that there was no way that he could fight him off. There was a stabbing pain in his heart when he realised that Caspian's "admission" of love could not possibly be true; he had only said it to hear it said back, so that he, his brothers and his father could laugh at his foolishness and delusions later, when his body was rotting in the ground.

A second undignified squeak escaped his throat as he felt the full weight of his brother crush him to the ground. He wished furiously that at least in his dying moments he could show some substance. His whole world became darkness as the hulking body blocked out all light.

His heart was pulsing sickeningly in his ears and he could feel the flutter of the delicate skin on the underside of his wrists as the red, syrupy blood rushed through his veins.

Richard was so heavy on top of him, crushing him into the dirt; he was certain that at any moment his frail body would snap under the dominant's incredible weight.

Harry waited for the sharp pain that would end his life. He was uncertain as to where it would strike him on his body, and that seemed to make the stretching seconds even longer and more unbearable; not knowing which part of himself to brace and prepare, being taken by surprise.

His fearful eyes tightly clenched shut and his face screwed up in expectation of the blow, Harry's mind suddenly fell upon the memory of the river and knew that he could never hope to be as it was.

He felt tears of anger and self-hatred leak from the corners of his eyes and cursed his perpetual ineptitude to the belly of hell.

Harry was so consumed that at first he did not understand when Richard whispered in his ear, "Harry, are you alright? What happened? Was it an animal or a werewolf?" His voice was unnaturally high and urgent. Harry did not understand what was going on and his breathing remained ragged and panicked, adrenaline sweeping through his body.

Harry heard the shift of the tent material and the snap of a twig. "Richard? What on earth are you doing?" Caspian's booming voice soared through Harry's brain and he dared to crack open his eyes. He heard Caspian loping towards them.

Richard was surveying the trees with a practiced eye and his knife was still raised. Harry noted uncertainly that it was not pointed at him.

He still could not see Caspian, but could hear him and it sounded as if Paul was approaching also.

"Fucking hell, Richard! You're crushing him! All fucking fifteen stones of you!" Paul's shriek reassured Harry and he relaxed a little; Paul was going to help him, although it didn't look likely that Richard was going to kill him any time soon anyway. What the hell was wrong with everybody? Or was this the result of something that he had done?

Richard glanced down at his brother in surprise as both Caspian and Paul hauled him off of Harry. His eyes widened as he took in his distinctly squashed-looking baby brother.

"Oh, shit! Harry, I'm sorry!" Paul hissed reproachfully and Richard added hurriedly, "Excuse my bad language!" and offered a veiny hand that Harry accepted warily. He allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and immediately backed off from the others. He noted sadly that Richard's "bad language" was probably the most open thing he had ever said to him and definitely one of the first apologies that he had ever received. People seemed to close up emotionally around him, even other submissives, saying little and never meeting his rarely offered gaze, yet staring constantly.

Caspian descended upon him, checking him over for wounds and dusting him off rather violently. Richard was still scanning the area with alarmed eyes. "Watch out, you guys. Harry was attacked-"

"Yeah, by you!" Caspian cut in angrily.

"No! I heard him cry out and I ran out to protect him. Admittedly, he got flattened in the process, but you can't expect a submissive to protect itself. I was just trying to help and give him some cover!"

Harry froze. Richard... His eyes snapped to the other raven-haired man's apologetic and worried stare. He was protecting him. Did he care too? Harry swallowed, ashamed. Why must he always think the worst of people? Richard was right, he couldn't protect himself. He wasn't a dominant and he wasn't like the river. He was just helping him and of course, he, Harry, had jumped to the wrong conclusion.

Caspian's calloused hands stilled on his left hand where he had been burned. He turned the tiny palm over in his own bucket-like hands and glared at the wound icily.

His coppery eyes arrested Harry's gaze. "Who did this to you?" Could he not protect his little brother even when their father was not here? He was so useless! He had let Harry down again!

Harry understood now. His brothers did care for him, but they were scared of their father. Harry could understand that: he was scared of him too. His whole body flooded with warmth as he took in the three pairs of worried eyes fixed upon him; there was anger there too, but for the first time in his life he truly believed that it was not directed at him.

Harry shook his head. There was no attacker; neither animal nor werewolf. He had just been daydreaming, again, and had been foolish enough to be burned by the boiling water. The warmth in him was washed away by the cold waters of guilt as he realised that he was being pathetic again, a burden causing his pack unnecessary concern.

Paul was getting impatient. Why couldn't he just speak like a normal person? He loved his brother but he could be frustrating, especially at times like these when they could all be in danger. "What do you mean?!" he snapped.

Harry visibly flinched and his gaze dropped to his toes instantly. Caspian glared at Paul with venom that the older man had not known his brother possessed. Caspian turned his back to Paul in disgust and Paul felt a searing pain in his chest.

Caspian placed a soothing hand on Harry's soft cheek, skin so often stained purple, black, red, yellow, green. Now its reflective quality gave it a pearlescent glow. He spoke in smooth tones despite his inner rage and panic. "It's okay, little one. How did you get that burn? Who hurt you?"

Harry chewed his bottom lip and pointed, embarrassed, at the violently quaking pot of water. There was a moment of silence as the older brothers tried to work out what their silent charge could possibly be indicating. Then Richard ventured slowly, "Your attacker was... a kitchen appliance?" Harry nodded ashamedly, even though inside his head he was thinking, 'Of course not! What do you think it did, jumped up and bit me? It was the water!'

Caspian hesitated, then burst into peals of laughter, clapping Harry on the back. Harry's eyes widened and he nearly lost his balance. Paul joined in and so did Richard. Harry's cheeks burned, mortified, and his eyes stung with hurt tears.

Paul gasped, "He may be pretty, but his mate will just have to accept his failings as a cook and hire a chef!"

Harry twisted the hem of his baggy t-shirt in his shaking hands and allowed a few tears to fall as his brothers laughed at him.
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What Are You Worth?