[ HFD Chapter 5 ]
Fiamette beat her wings, sending a gust of wind into his face and distancing herself from him before landing on the floor and springing forward, her clawed hand outstretched like a spear. Harry dodged, but she nicked his side. He grabbed her by the wrist and threw an elbow in her face, but she blocked with her other hand and used the leverage to pull herself free.
Closing the distance, he swung wildly and grinned when he felt something crack under his fist. The blow lifted her into the air, and she cradled her left hand upon landing. He kept up the offensive, making up with power for what he lacked in finesse. Unfortunately, she was on her guard now, dodging his clumsy attacks rather than attempting to deflect them, and he was tiring. He had trained, but he was no martial artist.
Sensing his diminishing strength, Fiamette grew bolder, probing his guard with fast, light attacks. As he struggled to block, she jumped and delivered a roundhouse kick that sent him reeling. A flurry of lightning-quick jabs to his torso followed, and only his dragonhide vest saved his ribs from shattering. Gasping for air, he punched blindly, but she ducked and swept his legs from under him.
Eyes widening, he rolled away to avoid another thrust that embedded Fiamette's claws in the floor. He scrambled to his feet and kicked mightily as she guarded with her wing, sending her tumbling backward with a ripped-out floorboard stuck to her hand.
Planting his feet firmly, he reached for the spare wand. He had to finish it quickly: he wouldn't last against her in a contest of physical strength, especially now that the effects of the Re'em blood were fading.
He drew a circle in the air, then crossed it with a jagged line. Watching Fiamette shake herself off and stand, he jabbed his wand in her direction and growled, "Fulminare!"
Knowing what to expect, he shut his eyes at the last syllable, but the flash dazzled him even through his eyelids, and the deafening thunderclap left his ears ringing.
He opened his eyes, blinked at the branching scorch mark on the floor, then looked up. Fiamette was in the air and swooping upon him; he swerved away with a yelp that sounded far away in his ears, but her gleaming claws sliced straight through his wand.
Harry stared dumbly at the silvery unicorn hair poking out of the stub in his hand before a kick connected with his chest and sent him flying. His back hit a wall hard enough to rattle his bones, and he slid down, mouth gaping like a fish. Wheezing in a breath, he winced at the stabbing pain in his flank.
Fiamette collapsed to one knee and was struggling to get up. After several tries, she managed to rise, but made no attack, limping in a semi-circle before him. Despite her battered appearance, she wore her broadest smile yet. As her lips moved, he struggled to parse the words, his hearing only partially recovered.
"...I can barely feel my leg. Hadn't I taken to the air, it might be me lying defeated at your feet. You've put up an impressive fight... for a human."
Harry surreptitiously flexed his limbs one by one to make sure he would be able to move while his eyes searched for a weapon. Hope surged within him when his gaze landed on his original wand, the rare combination of holly and phoenix feather, still lying beside the silver dagger buried in the floor. He faced Fiamette in order not to give himself away.
"See, you can amuse me if you but try. Not that you ever stood a chance, of course, but it was a worthy attempt. I haven't had a brawl like this in decades, and never with a mortal." She sized him up, her expression hardening. "Alas, all good things must come to an end. Any last words?"
"Just two." He raised a trembling hand and flipped her the bird. "Get. Fucked."
Fiamette threw her head back and cackled until stopping abruptly and clutching her side. "That's the spirit, Harry!" she said, wiping away a tear. "I'll implant your soul into a behemoth and make you battle in our arenas on my behalf. Perform well as my gladiator for a few centuries, and you may even ascend into a full-fledged demon."
He watched her cup her palm, a black whirlpool forming above it, and tensed. His best opportunity would come when she was recovering after her throw.
"I'm told the agony of burning to death is unspeakable. You can tell me all about it later." She flung the black flames at him.
He leapt out of the way, but his right leg seized up, and he fell hard on his knees. The black fire streaked through the air and hit him squarely in the chest.
Face screwed up, he awaited the annihilation Quirrel had been subjected to on this day exactly seven years ago—but there was only heat and an almost pleasant tingling. Glancing down, he saw the demonic fire eat right through his enchanted robes and armor yet leave his flesh intact. He poked his burning vest and goggled when the flame fizzled out as it came in contact with his fingertip.
"A protective enchantment? No—no, it can't be!" A look of horror crossed Fiamette's face. She slung another firebolt at him, but he slapped it his palm without thinking, and the hellfire was extinguished. "The cursed Peverell blood runs through your veins!"
"The Peverells?" he croaked, crawling toward his wand. As his fingers clenched around it, a heartening warmth surged through his arm, and he rose to one knee, training his trembling wand on her. "What of them?"
"Your ancestors called themselves demon hunters and eradicated my kind from Earth," she spat. Her fiery gaze appraised his defiant posture, and she raised a quivering claw before lowering it and taking a deliberate step backward. "No matter; I'll return to strike at you when you least expect it. Live looking over your shoulder—you wore my mark once, so I'll find you no matter where you hole up."
She hobbled out of the kitchen, keeping her eyes on him until she was through the doorway. Groaning, he planted his palms heavily on the floor; it had taken all of his depleted strength just to hold up his wand. Had she decided to fight...
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