Look around trying to figure out a plan

Hermione's eyes darted around the lavishly appointed room, but it wasn't the opulent decor she was seeing. She was seeing a cage. A gilded, silk-lined cage, but a cage nonetheless. The Imperius Curse had made her a willing prisoner, eager and joyful in her servitude. Now, the curse was gone, and the cold, hard bars were all she could perceive.

Plan. She needed a plan. Her mind, once a well-oiled machine of logic and strategy, felt like a bucket of shattered glass. Each thought was a sharp, cutting edge. Escape. Get help. Find Ron. Find Harry... what's wrong with Harry?

The thought of Harry sent a fresh wave of nausea through her. Harry, her best friend, had done this. Had watched her, trained her, pimped her out. The betrayal was a physical pain, a hole in her chest where her heart used to be. Harry were her friend, and Harry betray her.

Her gaze landed on a heavy, crystal ashtray on the end table. A weapon? No. Too clumsy. A distraction? Maybe. Her eyes scanned the room again, cataloging exits, potential weapons, anything. The front door. The windows. A fire escape on the balcony. Her mind, despite the trauma, was beginning to reassert itself. The tactical assessment was a familiar comfort, a small island of her old self in a sea of violation.

She heard a key in the lock. Panic seized her. She scrambled off the sofa, her movements clumsy, and ducked behind a large velvet curtain, pulling the cash from her lingerie and shoving it on the table.

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