Harry whistled a jaunty tune as he climbed down into the basement the next morning. While still shaky from the aftereffects of Re'em blood, he had healed his injuries and consumed several restorative potions that were already working their magic.
"Good morning," he greeted Fiamette with a smile.
Huddling in her corner, she silently tracked him with her amethyst eyes. In addition to being disheveled and dirty from yesterday's fight, her knuckles appeared freshly bruised, but he wasn't worried about her escaping: the walls were enchanted to withstand a rampaging giant.
He came up to her, sniffed loudly, and waved his hand under his nose. "Ugh, you reek." It wasn't even true, but he was certain it would get a rise out of her.
"Whose fault do you think that is!" she snapped.
"My bad," he said, grinning. "Here, allow me to rectify that—Aguamenti!"
She shrieked and sputtered as he directed the stream of cold water over her. A few Scouring Charms, and her tan skin was left squeaky clean if slightly reddened. He washed the soap suds away with more conjured water.
"Y-you dumb brute," she said, teeth chattering. "I'll remember this!"
He chuckled. Drenched head to toe, wet hair clinging to her skin, her murderous glare wasn't nearly as effective. When he channeled a hot wind at her, she leaned into the warmth with an involuntary sigh, her hair billowing out.
He ran his eyes over her immaculate body, not a single bruise in sight. "Your regenerative powers are really something."
She stuck her chest out. "Ha! Anything would seem impressive to a frail creature like yourself."
He snorted. "What does it say about you that you got defeated by one?"
Fiamette crossed her arms and pouted until he finished drying her. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as she raked her fingers through her windswept hair. "So, how come a naive little boy like yourself owns a house with a basement full of torture implements?"
"I inherited the place from a Dark family and thought it would be a shame to toss them. They add a certain ambiance, don't you agree?"
Her nostrils flared. "As a matter of fact, I do. This place smells of most delicious suffering."
"I'm glad you approve, because you're going to stay here for a while. It won't feel long for an immortal being like yourself, I'm sure." He snickered at her disgruntled look. "Go ahead and settle in, I'll come back in half a day or so."
"You're... leaving again?" She stared in confusion, the tension in her shoulders loosening.
"Us mortals have these things called jobs, you see. I really need to come in today, but don't worry, I'll take a few weeks off so we can spend more time together." He patted her on the head in the way of farewell, then yanked his hand back when she snapped at him like a rabid dog.
"Wait," she called out as he was leaving. "What if I need to... there's no..."
He glanced over his shoulder. "Yes?"
"I need to use the restroom, you wanker! Do you get off on humiliating me like that?"
He blinked at the accusation. "Actually, I didn't know demons needed to go to the loo. Huh. Guess you lot have to eat and drink too." He furrowed his brows, then waved his wand and conjured a bucket. "Use this until I come up with something better. My house elf will take care of the cleaning."
She gaped at it before unleashing a litany of expletives insulting his parentage, questioning his intellect, and belittling certain bits of his anatomy. Harry shook his head and marched up the stairs as her swearing switched from English to what didn't sound like a human language at all.
****
Evening found him circling the basement to layer enchantments over each corner as he consulted a thick volume he brought with him for reference. Gleaming violet eyes watched him from a shadowy nook.
"What are you doing?"
"Oh, you're going to like this." He snapped the book shut. "The spellwork's meant for hospital patients, prisoners, pets during transit—not sure which definition best applies to you. Basically, it removes your need to eliminate waste. Isn't that amazing? Magic still manages to surprise me to this day."
She shook her head. "Bloody crackpot."
"You wound me, Fia," he said, putting a palm over his chest. "I'm doing this for your comfort."
Her eyes narrowed. "Don't call me that."
"Aw, why not? It's cute." He smirked when her tail flicked angrily. "That reminds me, I brought you a nutritional potion. I have no clue what demons normally eat, but if you can tolerate our food, it shouldn't do any harm."
He produced a bottle from his inner pocket, uncorked it, and took a sip to show it was safe before offering it to her. Fiamette edged closer, chain jangling, and accepted it. She sniffed the bottle before pressing it to her lips and upending it.
He watched in satisfaction until she suddenly jerked forward and spat the potion in his face. The empty bottle conked him on the forehead. He jumped back, sputtering, and raised his wand to clean himself off.
"The hell was that for!"
She crossed her arms. "As if I'd accept anything from my captor. I have my pride."
"Then I guess I'll start working on you earlier than I planned. I would've given you a break, but you brought this upon yourself, Fia." He gave her a dark look, and she shivered, even forgetting to complain about the shortening of her name.
He returned not ten minutes later, clutching a small box under his armpit. Pointedly ignoring his captive, he unreeled a long chain from a winch and levitated it through an iron ring on the ceiling.
Leaving the end of the chain dangling in the air, he set the box down on a table and lifted the lid to retrieve a pair of leather manacles. Unlike the other implements, these were brand new.
"What are you going to do?" Fia sounded meek, anxious, but he couldn't be sure it wasn't an act.
"Discipline you until you learn your position," he said evenly. "Extend your hands."
Backing into her corner, she folded her arms defiantly.
"See? This attitude is exactly what we need to fix." He rapped the manacles with his wand, and they flew toward her, clasping snugly around her wrists.
She gasped, in surprise rather than pain. After all, he purchased the handcuffs in a specialty shop, the kind you couldn't enter unless you were of age, and they were all about pleasing their clientele rather than hurting them—although, to be fair, there was some overlap.
He exploited her distraction to unbuckle her collar from the chain tying her to the wall and dragged her into the middle of the room. Once she began resisting in earnest, it was too late: he affixed the chain that linked the manacles to the thicker one dangling from the ceiling.
The winch creaked as he turned it, pulling Fia's shackled hands upward until her arms were fully extended but she was still standing comfortably on her soles, if unable to take a step in any direction. His pulse quickened, as much from nervousness as from anticipation.
"What should we start with, hmm? The cat o' nine tails?" He glanced at a multi-tailed whip ending in cruel barbs. "The wooden horse? The Catherine wheel? The iron maiden, perhaps?"
She remained silent, her gaze downcast, but her tail wagged agitatedly. He grasped her cheeks and forced her to look him in the eye.
"Would any of it—all of it—even come close to what you had prepared for me down in your plane?"
_____________________
A/N- 50% Discount for New Year's on Patreon
Read 30+ Advance Chapters
patr*on.com/greg01