He fancied the alarm in her eyes genuine, but her voice showed no sign of it. "Not even close. You mortals are naive to think you know anything about torture. We perfected it into an art form! Our masters could make you spill your darkest secrets before so much as touching you."
"Splendid," he said blandly. "I know little about it, true, so I figure we start slow. Simple."
He crossed the room, her slit pupils tracking him unblinkingly, her shoulders drooping a fraction as he passed the rusty iron maiden; she had to have been posturing after all. He bent over his box to retrieve its rather more harmless contents.
Craning her neck, Fia stared incredulously. "This is the brutality you're going to subject me to? Feathers?"
He suppressed a grin. "Don't knock it till you try it."
Despite her scornful words, he could see her tense as he strolled behind her back. Her fiery hair was still bound in a ponytail, exposing the nape of her neck; perhaps he'd start there. Raising one feather, he brushed the tip against her skin.
The muscles of her shoulder twitched in reaction, and he smirked, letting go. The enchanted feather hovered where he left it, imitating him as it gently tickled her.
He circled her, trailing feathers across her exposed skin in search of more sensitive spots: her collarbone, her slender waist, her bellybutton. She watched him with an almost indignant expression on her face.
"Honestly, I'm embarrassed for you," she scoffed. "Whatever it is you're trying—"
Her breath hitched as a feather skimmed up her armpit, and he grinned as he left it to do its work. "You were saying?"
She glared, her cheeks coloring slightly. "What are you going to do—tickle me to death?"
"Would it work?" he asked distractedly as he trailed the third feather down her slender leg. Her inner thigh just below her shorts elicited a shiver unlike the ticklish jolts earlier, and he left a feather there.
"Don't be ridiculous." Her voice came out an octave higher, and she averted her gaze.
Encouraged, he continued adding and adjusting the feathers. He wanted her on the edge rather than bursting with laughter. Varied, unpredictable stimulation she wouldn't get used to.
Stepping back, he admired the fruits of his labor. Fia's cheeks were flushed, her body alternatively tensing and relaxing as the chain holding her up by the wrists jangled. Noticing his glee, she straightened up and glowered, but couldn't help squirming when a feather swept across her taut belly. Growling, she swatted at it with her tail.
Harry glanced at the last feather in his hand—yes, why not. Stepping behind her, he contemplated the hole under the waistband of her shorts that accommodated her limber tail. Experimentally, he whisked the tip of the feather against its base.
Her tail stiffened, and she let out a squeak. Grinning, he taught the feather to glide around the unexpectedly sensitive spot before leaving it to its devices. Her tail fluttered side to side, but there was no escape from the relentless teasing.
When he faced her, she was biting her lip and glaring at his toys.
"Well?" he said. "Feel like becoming my obedient slave yet?"
"Go bugger yourself," she said, squirming.
He shrugged. "Your loss. I'll just leave you to ponder things for a while. A couple hours should suffice." He stepped in, so close he smelled her sandalwood-like scent. "Don't count on it, though. I'm so exhausted from yesterday, I might just go to bed and leave you to stew overnight."
She reared her head and tried to ram her horns into his face, but with the chain holding her back, it was little more than a tap. "Do your worst, human."
Wrapping his hands around a horn, he wrenched her neck backward and leaned in to whisper into her pointy ear. "Be careful what you wish for."
The way her eyes widened helplessly was immensely satisfying.
****
In the end, he didn't go through with the threat and dropped by several hours later. Fia raised her head as he descended the stairs, but her glare was spiritless. A flush colored her skin, her chest was heaving—and were those tear tracks on her cheeks, or just sweat?
He rotated the winch to lower the chain, then waved his wand to unclasp the manacles. She groaned, swaying on the spot, then narrowed her eyes at him as if daring him to taunt her. Her legs trembled as she rubbed her wrists.
Wordlessly, he led her to the wall and attached the shorter chain to her collar again; her resistance was only perfunctory. Stepping back, he conjured her a blanket.
She reclined carefully, making sure there was enough slack in the chain, and gave him a baffled look. "You're letting me rest?"
"Only until tomorrow. Sleep is important." After years of nightmares, he knew that better than most.
"Your attempts are an insult to the word 'torture'," she said with vague indignation. "You can't possibly think this would break me."
He yawned, snuffing out the lamps with a gesture. "Yeah, yeah."
"You're weak! Soft! Pathetic..."
He trudged up the stairs and shut the door behind him.
****
The next day, Harry came at noon carrying a platterful of sandwiches. Ham, cheese, bacon, tomato—his elf Melly had prepared some for every taste. He set it down, picked one at random, and nibbled on it, casting side glances at his prisoner.
Fia watched him with a hungry intensity. She did drink the water Melly brought her, he knew, but left the nutritional potions untouched, and he was getting worried. Well, only insofar as her fainting from starvation would rob him of the thrill of attempting to break her.
He finished the sandwich, brushed the crumbs off his chin, and picked up the platter. "Fancy some?"
Fia remained silent. Taking that as an invitation, he walked up and extended the food towards her. Slowly, her hands reached out to accept it, and Harry's lips quirked up at the small achievement.
As he stepped back to give her space, she sprang to her feet and slung the platter at him. The sandwiches splattered wetly on the floor, while the silvery disc whacked him on the forehead; he staggered back and rubbed his brow, finding it slick with blood.
He gave Fia a glare, then set about cleaning things up, her taunts falling on deaf ears. Once the mess was gone and his forehead no longer bleeding, he addressed her again.
"I admit, I'm rather averse to wasting food. A consequence of my childhood, perhaps."
"Is that why you were such a runt during our first meeting? Poor wittle baby not getting enough to eat?" She sneered. "Blame your own weakness! If your begetters aren't providing, you go out and pilfer what you need."
The spike of anger faded quickly as his Occlumency kicked in. What had he been thinking, opening up to her? He sighed. "Remember, you brought this upon yourself."
He spoke no more as he unchained her collar, clamped the leather manacles on her wrists, and attached them to the chain in the middle of the room, again forcing her to stand upright with hands raised overhead. She merely stared haughtily, secure in her perceived victory. His ire rose.
"Diffindo."
A jet of pastel green sliced the shoulder strap of her tight bodice, leaving her skin intact. She peered down, and her composure cracked at last.
"Hey! What are you doing?"
"Escalating. My first attempt was too soft, you've said so yourself." He tapped his wand against his palm. "Perhaps, if you were willing to apologize..."
"Get bent," she spat.
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