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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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Harry and his siblings were bedded down for the night at the side of the human path. The path was empty now as no-one could easily drive the tent pegs into the impermeable mass.

Harry was exhausted. His feet felt strangely numb and thrummed with a pleasant heat. He tucked a slim leg between Caspian's own, safe in the knowledge that the contact was welcomed, and allowed his tense shoulders to relax finally. Caspian grunted sleepily and tightened his hold on his brother.

They had walked all day and had only stopped when they could no longer see clearly where they were placing their feet. Richard had taken first watch and now Paul was taking his turn. Harry had tried to argue that he, too, should take a turn, but had been defeated when Paul had cruelly walked away in the middle of one of the long silences that were scattered throughout Harry's sentences, unwilling to hear the submissive out and taking advantage of his condition.

It had hurt at first, but with Richard's and Caspian's outraged gaping and furious, wide eyes, Harry had for the first time felt a twinge of dislike for his eldest brother, rather than self-pity.

He had dropped his point and resigned himself to the fact that everyone thought him weak and incompetent. Perhaps, one day, he could use this perception to his advantage.

Harry fell asleep, content in strong arms, ready to meet his vicious night-demons.

The next morning they set off once again. "Only a couple more days," assured Paul. Richard and Caspian only grunted as they marched along the slowly filling path. They had set off rather early and it was only an hour after they had set off that others had begun to seep onto the path, yawning and faces slack.

Harry glanced at Paul's stiff back . It occurred to him that Richard and Caspian were punishing him for the previous night. This thought made him both grateful and guilty; Richard and Caspian were both standing up for him in their own odd way, but, because of him, Paul was upset.

Harry tugged on Paul's shirt gently. The elder Potter half-turned his upper body and cocked his head, inviting him to speak.

Harry just smiled. Paul's eyes and brow tightened in sadness even as his mouth softened in a smile.
Caspian watched the silent interaction with a pout. He would have to forgive his pig of a brother now.
He clapped his brother's shoulder, perhaps a little harder than was necessary, but the intention was clear. Richard, relieved that they were no longer fighting, echoed the gesture.

__________________________________________________________________________________

It was lunchtime when they saw the carriage. They had settled themselves upon the warm, dry path, along with thousands of others and had begun their meal. Harry nibbled habitually and the others devoured their food without inhibition.

That was when they heard the grumbles and complaints of people who were forced to pack up their things and shuffle out of the way of a golden carriage that was trundling along regally. It was lead by two pure white horses that lifted their feet delicately and threw their heads about as they bounced along, snorting occasionally.

The gold leaf of the carriage was set over intricate -- and tasteless, thought Harry -- designs of flowers and birds. It glinted in the noon sunlight, one flash of light catching Harry painfully in the eyes.

It was obviously the carriage of the Wolf Mother's Priestess. The Priestess, upon touching a werewolf, experienced a vision which told her of whom that werewolf was destined for. She was chosen by the Wolf Mother's Elders, ancient werewolves that lived in seclusion, piety, and prayer. Her powers derived from the dull bronze anklet she wore. It was set with amber and it was said that the ancient sap glowed orange when the Priestess experienced a vision. There had only been three Priestesses in recorded history and they had all taken their own lives. Some put it down to loneliness, as a Priestess would never have a mate. The current Priestess was six centuries old, or thereabouts, and was widely respected and revered.

The submissive driving the carriage -- all the Priestess' servants were females, so were usually submissive -- cooed to the horses and gently pulled on the leather reins curled in her hands. The horses slowed and then halted. Harry was disappointed when the carriage stopped directly next to them and therefore blocked out the warm rays of sunshine.

People observed the carriage curiously and all were surprised when the door suddenly burst open to allow a very fat young man about Harry's own age to stumble from the golden vessel. He landed with a cry and with eyes tightly shut upon Harry, who was too shocked to get out of the way. Harry's head connected with the path and a sickening CRACK leapt into the air.

The boy weighed an absolute tonne and Harry found that he couldn't breathe. The boy groaned, and then gasped as he was yanked off of the slight boy that had cushioned his fall by three sets of hands whose grip was sure to leave bruises.

Harry accepted a lungfull of air gratefully as the weight was lifted from his chest. He sighed as he sat up; people seemed to have a thing about crushing him. He hissed through clenched teeth as a sharp pain at the back of his head made itself known. He fearfully, not really wanting to know how bad it was, brushed a fingertip over the wound and felt a warm wetness there. He sighed yet again.

He looked up as he heard a loud voice from the carriage. His brothers were scowling but were admirably also helping the unfortunate boy who had tumbled from the ornate carriage to his unsteady feet. The boy was clutching his arm, so Harry supposed he must have hurt it in the fall.

A woman with sleek blonde hair tied up in a severe bun was descending a set of wooden steps that had appeared from the carriage door. She wore a worried expression upon her sharp and angled features.

She brushed the boy down, muttering to him in a language that Harry didn't understand. She seemed to be reprimanding him and taking care of him at the same time. When she was done she looked up apologetically at the three towering dominants and switched to English, "I am so sorry, he can be very clumsy sometimes." Her accent was thick and Harry couldn't really understand her very well. English was his second language and he only understood it when it was spoken by a native. Paul, however, did not seem to have this trouble and replied, also in English, "That is alright--"

The woman, who was submissive, seemed to enjoy talking as she interrupted, "Where is the boy who Rook landed upon?"

His brothers seemed to remember him just then and all hurried over to help him stand. Caspian inspected his head and growled. He moved over to Richard's bad and rooted around in the bag, then grunted in triumph as he pulled out a sheepskin drawstring bag. He stepped back over to his brothers and pushed Harry back to the ground with a heavy hand on his shoulder. Caspian settled behind his little brother and went about tending to his wound quietly and quickly.

Harry hummed and seemed to be quite happy to be fussed over in silence.

The crowd that had gathered to watch the scene was scattered by a snarl and a harsh glare from Paul. This was his pack (temporarily) and nobody was allowed to stare.

The woman led the boy, who looked extremely embarrassed, over to the group and addressed Harry, "I am so sorry that you were hurt. Please forgive us." She bowed and the boy lurched to do the same.

Harry smiled and nodded at them. Caspian poked his head over Harry's shoulder and snapped his teeth together in his face. Harry flinched but knew that his pack-mate would not regain his senses until he had satisfied the instinct to care for him, especially with the full moon only four days away.

Caspian snarled, "I am trying to stitch your wound here! Do not nod!" Harry desperately fought the urge to nod his acquiescence. Caspian went back to his work.

Richard put in, "Harry," he indicated the green-gazed boy, "has trouble speaking. Do not be offended if he does not answer you."

"Oh," the woman looked a little shocked. "I see... Well, Harry," she flashed a snowy smile at him, "this," she pushed forwards the mortified boy, who was gaping at Harry openly, "is my son. His name is Rook." She bobbed her head in encouragement at the nonplussed boy. Harry wondered what on earth was wrong with this lady. She was speaking very slowly and loudly, eyes wide and blue. The bewildered expression on his face only seemed to distress her further. "Oh, I am so very sorry that we have hurt an already disturbed boy!" She wailed dramatically, throwing her hands in the air.

Harry frowned. Disturbed?

Richard snorted, "He is not a simpleton, my lady. He simply does not speak often."

The lady ceased her gesticulation sceptically. "Hmmm... You are certain?"

Richard rolled his eyes and nodded emphatically, but seemed more amused than annoyed. This seemed to cheer her up drastically. "Well, then, Harry. This is Rook and I am Marylla. Pleased to meet you." She held out a slim hand and Harry shook it, still rather uncertain about this wild character. He had never met anyone like her.
He studied the overweight boy, her son. His mother's edgy features were lost on him, instead replaced by a round face and a small, sagging mouth. His eyes were large, Harry noted, but looked small in his wide face. They were a deep blue like his mothers', and his short, thick hair was the same platinum blonde.

Harry smiled at him and offered a hand, as was the custom of English-speakers as he did not know what the greetings of Rook's own people were. The boy seemed to be examining Harry as closely as he himself had been examined and did not notice the hand until his mother elbowed him. He jumped and his eyes fell upon the soft palm and delicate fingers. His face flushed red and he hastily grasped it, letting go almost immediately.

Caspian seemed to be done with his wound and got up to put the supplies away. Richard helped Harry to his feet. Paul began, "Well, it was nice to meet you--" a soft yet commanding was heard from inside the carriage. It was the same foreign language that Marylla had spoken.

A woman who looked exactly like the smiling Marylla poked her head out of the carriage door and took in the group before her. She looked curious, and gracefully descended the steps. She wore a loose cotton robe and her long, clean hair fell freely down her back. A glint of orange caught Harry's eye and his gaze fell upon the anklet that hung loosely around a slim ankle.

His head snapped up to meet the calm, blue gaze of the Priestess.

She met his gaze quizzically. Harry gaped stared for a moment longer, but then realised how rude he was being and dropped his head jerkily.

The Priestess raised an almost indiscernible eyebrow, and addressed her sister in English, "Who are these people?"

Marylla looked embarrassed and Rook scuffed his feet noisily. "They were taking lunch, I do believe, until Rook," she placed a comforting hand upon his meaty shoulder, "stumbled from the carriage and landed upon this boy." She jerked a thumb in Harry's general direction.

Paul sighed loudly. "I am sorry, Priestess, but with all due respect," he made a shallow bow, "we really must be going. We have already wasted too much time." He stooped and heaved his heavy bag onto his back. Harry took the hint and hastily began to pack all their food into Caspian's bag.

"Wait," Marylla commanded. "We would be honoured if you all would ride with us. Rook here has gotten very bored all on his own with only his mother and auntie. I'm sure he would appreciate the company of another male submissive his own age, at least for the duration of this journey."

Richard and Paul both looked tempted by the offer and the prospect of no more walking with their heavy packs, but Caspian declined, "No, thank you. Harry finds new people somewhat distressing." Harry pouted. Distressed? Disturbed? What was with all the insults today? He looked up and coughed.

Every head turned to look at him.

He took a deep breath and addressed Marylla, "I w-w-would l-love... to... ride w-with you." His vowels were long and unnatural as he struggled to form the following brittle consonant. His statement was quiet and hung low in the air in a way that made the tall dominants to stoop unconsciously.

Marylla clapped her hands in delight and looked to her sister for permission almost as an afterthought. The Priestess studied Harry intensely and nodded sharply without looking away.

Caspian frowned but allowed himself to be ushered up the wooden steps which creaked under his weight.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Later, when they were all introduced and seated in the small but luxurious carriage, Marylla struck up conversation with Richard, who seemed to be quite enamoured of her.

There was only one room in the carriage with two benches along opposite walls and one door to Harry's left.
Harry was perched tensely in Paul's lap as there hadn't been enough room, especially with three bulky dominants, and Harry was definitely the lightest. Harry felt acutely uncomfortable with using someone else as a pillow and hoped that he wasn't causing poor Paul any discomfort. He stared out of the small window in the carriage door and allowed himself to move with the swaying motion of the golden carriage.

Harry did not look up from his study of the passing throng of people and so did not notice the intense scrutiny he was under.

The Priestess was a quiet, serious woman and seemed to allow her vivacious sister to do most of the talking. Paul did not like her, nor the way she was staring at his baby brother, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. Her white-gloved fingers curled and uncurled in her lap restlessly as she gazed as if she was itching to grab something.

The Priestess' nephew, Rook, seemed to be more concerned with being caught than his stoic aunt was. His eyes were wide and fascinated as he fervently stole glances at Harry's form, before he hastily lowered his gaze once more, blinking rapidly. Paul noted with slight disgust that the boy was sweating profusely. He was wedged between his two slim female companions, neither of which seemed in the least bothered by this.

Marylla was babbling freely across from Richard, who listened most attentively. "We stopped so that Rook here could stretch his legs. We've travelled such a very long way and he gets the most awful cramp, so he needs to walk it off." Paul suppressed a snort. This boy certainly could do with a good long walk, not to mention a whole lot less food.

Paul hoped that his own mate would not come from a rich pack like this one, as rich ones were usually overweight with spoiling. It was also something of a status symbol; a pack would overfeed their submissives to show that they were successful enough to do so. Paul could see the tactical benefits to the pack, but he pitied the poor submissives who had to bear such a burden, as well as feeling slightly disgusted by them. Their own pack was very rich, but after the death of their Mother, there was no way that James was going to pamper Harry.

He gave Harry's too-thin thigh a gentle squeeze, probably exactly where his tattoo encased the limb like a slender, satin ribbon.

Harry turned his head slightly to see his face and cocked his head with a shy smile. When Paul only smiled back and Harry saw that nothing was required of him, he turned back to his careful study of the world.
Paul followed his gaze and wondered what thoughts filled his baby brother's head, so rarely expressed. Harry really was an enigma. He sighed and rested his head upon Harry's shoulder and closed his eyes to rest.
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What Are You Worth?