Spinning around, he unleashed a sharp ribbon that gouged the walls as it zoomed forth, forcing Fiamette to leap over it. He didn't let up, chaining spells together and sending deadly magic buzzing down the corridor. The wood-paneled walls were getting razed, and splinters hurtled through the air.
She ducked and weaved, evading the jets of light by mere inches. During those instants when the noise from the blasts was at its lowest, he could hear her laughing. She kicked a vase into the path of his Bludgeoner, covering herself against the fragments with a wing, then vaulted over his conjured chains.
A twirl of his wand, and a lion rose from the debris, rushing down the demolished hallway. Unlike his father, Transfiguration was never his best skill, but he appreciated its utility in distracting his opponents. He returned to casting curses, hoping to catch the damned bitch off guard.
Fiamette didn't bat an eye, rising to the ceiling and incinerating the charging lion with her unholy flames. She then folded her wings and dived toward Harry, twisting in the air to avoid his last spell.
He swiveled and ran, mentally cursing Grimmauld Place's high ceilings. Sprinting down the entrance hall, he glanced over his shoulder just in time to dodge another black firebolt that instead scorched the tiled floor. He ducked around the staircase and into the kitchen.
Fiamette landed to enter through the doorway, and he held his breath, waiting for the right moment. As soon as she crossed the threshold, he gave a mental command to the house's wards, causing a magical circle to light up beneath her feet. She swayed, then leaned against the jamb, clutching her forehead.
Lips twisting in a victorious sneer, he sent the numerous knives in the kitchen soaring toward her; then, for good measure, he conjured five silver daggers out of thin air and fired them off at once.
Fiamette stomped her foot, making the circle fizzle out as a floorboard shot up and blocked several knives. She dropped to the floor, covering herself with her wings, and a sphere of black fire surrounded her, incinerating the daggers. Even Harry's next curse disintegrated with an angry hiss. He stared in astonishment, then frowned and began chanting a lightning conjuration.
Moments after the barrage ceased, the black flames sputtered out and Fiamette's wings folded back. She sprang up, thrusting her hand forward and returning one of the conjured daggers to him in a single graceful motion.
The blade skewered his right palm, and he dropped his wand with a cry, hot blood trickling down his fingers. Following Fiamette with blurry vision, he grabbed the handle and yanked the blade out. She appeared content to let him be since she had her own wounds to tend to: some of the knives from his attack had gotten through after all, piercing her shoulder and thigh.
Sensing an opportunity, he dashed forward to grab his wand. Fast as lightning, Fiamette ripped a dagger out of her shoulder and flung it at him. Its bloodied blade sank into the wooden floor with a twang, missing his fingertips by inches.
He blanched and stumbled backward, glaring at her. "Is it too much to hope the silver'll kill you?"
She flashed her fangs. "Don't take me for some lowly imp! It may slow down my healing, nothing more."
For a time, both of them stayed in place. Fiamette had pulled the second dagger out of her thigh and was tossing it in the air while Harry's gaze darted from her to the wand on the floor.
Coming to a decision, he pretended to dive again, only to jump back as soon as she reared her hand to throw. Reaching under his vest with his intact hand, he drew a spare wand.
"Confringo!"
His aim was poor and the spell came out weakened, but the exploding kitchen counter forced her to shelter under her wings. Wrenching his gaze away, he aimed his wand at his bleeding hand and hissed as the battlefield healing spell forcibly knit his flesh.
In a rush of displaced air, Fiamette burst out of the cloud of debris and rocketed toward him. He ducked as he transferred his wand to his dominant hand, but it nearly slipped from his blood-slick fingers. Fiamette didn't give him time to recover, twisting mid-air to deliver a sweeping kick.
He blocked with his forearm, wincing when the impact jarred his bones and pushed him backward. Grabbing her leg with both hands, he spun and threw the demoness with the momentum. He glimpsed the incredulous look on her face as she hurtled through the air, slamming into the fireplace hard enough to fracture the marble mantel. Reaching for his dropped wand, he grimaced when his muscles screamed in protest.
She grasped the sides of the fireplace and pulled herself out, cracking her neck. Bruises mottled her tan skin, and her hair was grey with pulverized marble, but her predatory grace remained.
"That was not a human's power," she said, her cat-like eyes wide.
"Re'em blood." He rubbed his aching wrist. "It only lasts a short while—maybe you should come back when I'm weaker."
She barked a laugh. "Don't insult me, mortal. Let's pit our full strength against each other and see who prevails!"
She shot forth, hair streaming behind her like a crimson banner, and he was forced to block with his sore arm again. As she bounced off his guard, he lashed out in retaliation, his fist glancing off a wing that got in his way.