"Crudus Libere"
Hermione lay face down, her arm bent behind her in an awkward position. Slowly blinking back to consciousness, her mind fought to gain bearing on where she was. The smell of salt and fish assaulted her nostrils. Struggling, she twisted until her knees were underneath her. Checking to be sure that she was alone, she began to sit up only to be shoved roughly down again by the pair of boots that had remained elusive to her searching eyes. A sharp crack came from the arm still twisted behind her and she was momentarily blinded by pain. Her face was ground into the dirt as she slowly lost consciousness again. Struggling to focus, her eyes caught hold of the boots. Dragon hide, her mind told her even as they faded to gray.
The second time Hermione woke, the air, foul with the smell of decay, held no hint of salt. Distantly, she wondered why she had been moved. Lying still so as not to garner unwanted attention, she listened carefully. After a few minutes she allowed herself to move in little pieces. A sharp ache in her right shoulder reminded her of the broken bone; although why Lucius had not mended it lay beyond her grasp. Perhaps it was indicative of the treatment that she should expect as his captive. Pain for pain's sake. Groaning and rolling onto her side, she finally saw why she had been moved. Torches gave the cell an eerie ambiance, casting a faint wavering flame onto the manacles that lay above her head. Shadows danced, giving life to the silver spokes that covered the wall to her left. Leather straps crossed the large table that stood against the wall in front of her, stained black with dried blood.
Shaking, Hermione drew in a pained breath, but it didn't fill her lungs. Again, the oxygen wouldn't reach her. She must be under some jinx. She was going to die. Breathe. Belatedly, she noticed she was hyperventilating. In an effort to calm her searing lungs, she began to chant:
"Basilisk. Also known as the King of Serpents. The first recorded Basilisk was bred by Herpo the Foul, a Greek Dark wizard and Parselmouth. The Basilisk is a brilliant green serpent that may reach up to fifty feet in length…" After extolling the virtues of the Basilisk, Augurey, and Scandinavian Bowtruckle, Hermione once again felt calm enough to act rationally.
Sliding onto her belly, she used her knees and good shoulder to worm her way to the edge of the room. Shimmying up the wall proved to be much harder than she would have thought. After jarring her bad shoulder three times she was finally upright. Although what to do now was still a blank. Her feet, bound tightly at the ankles, allowed her no room to move. Peering down, she examined the rope. After a few moments, her astonished mind came to the conclusion that it was not enchanted.
Using the wall as a support, Hermione shuffled into the corner. Tucking her chin down, she caught a mouthful of her sweater in her mouth and bit down. The spikes on the wall were not as sharp as she had originally thought and after several minutes of attempting to loosen the binds around her wrists, her shoulder gave out. Falling to her knees, Hermione's face barely skimmed one of the lower barbs, piercing the flesh.
Several hours later, two robed figures swept into the room. Hermione lay on her side, unconscious once more. The cut on her temple continued to bleed steadily. A small pool of blood lay next to her, her robes discolored and damp.
"Foolish mudblood," Lucius nudged her with the toe of his boot, sneering when his actions elicited a moan of protest.
"What has happened, father?" the other pouted, his voice unsteady. "You promised to leave her to me."
"Quit sniveling. I have done nothing to her. She has cut herself on the blades. They have been immersed in a potion. Crudus Libere. Without the antidote, she will die. Unfortunately, the only one I know of that can produce such a complicated elixir is Severus, traitorous mongrel. How very unfortunate," he sneered the last word.
"But father…" The younger shifted his weight.
"Have all the fun you wish, Draco. The cut is small. She will live another three days at the least. You may have her now, while she is still alive," Lucius swept out of the room, angered. His plans were thwarted once more by this inferior chit of a girl. Even a single bout of Cruciatus would cause internal bleeding that would kill her in seconds. Hardly worth it. Better to leave her in pain, her mind swimming as his son defiled her body. Lucius would simply have to content himself with Severus. Though how to get to him, was still proving difficulty.
Hermione could not control her shaking. She was going to die… biting her lip, she concentrated on Basilisk's, blocking out the sound of the approaching footsteps. The boots stopped only a foot away from her head.
Dragon hide.