Thigmotropism

thig-MO-truh-piz-uh-m | noun

1: oriented growth of an organism in response to mechanical contact, as a plant tendril coiling around a string support

She was so still. The girl sat in the corner of her cell, back pressed into the damp stone wall. One leg was stretched in front of her. The other was clutched against her chest, her arms wrapped around it, her face pressed against her knee. It was too dark to see the blood or the bruises, but he knew that they were there. Having been graciously invited to each of her torture sessions, he knew where each bruise, where each slice in her skin lay. He didn't need to see her to visualize the blood smeared and dried across her skin.

Silently, he crossed the dungeon to her cell. A whispered spell opened the lock and he slipped inside. She didn't move or acknowledge him, though she must have heard the hinges creaking as the door opened and closed behind him. Jesus, she hadn't died, had she?

"Miss Granger," he called quietly, moving across the floor to crouch beside her. She twitched only slightly at the sound of his voice. "The Order is on its way, Miss Granger." That seemed to get her attention better. He saw her arms tighten around herself, but she still did not look up at him. "I'm afraid that I am unable to pass along a wand, but I will leave your cell unlocked. The moment that you hear the commotion upstairs, you are to run. Do you understand?"

Slowly, her head rose, and his insides squirmed at the swollen, bloody mess of her face. Without conscious direction, his hand rose to touch the side of her cheek. She flinched, but he shushed her, sending a tendril of magic into his hand. Her swelling faded, though the skin was still mottled with angry bruises. She met his eyes as he dropped his hand to his side. The amount of fire still in them surprised him.

"I can't run," she said, her voice low and raspy. Her throat must be raw from the screaming.

He stared back at her, running through what he had seen them do to her. While her injuries were not to be taken lightly, he did not recall anything that would prevent her escape. She had been crucioed, sliced open, and physically beaten, but not in a way that would preclude such movement.

"You must."

She shook her head slowly, her eyes squinting shut and one hand rising half the distance to her head before she thought better of it. "I can't. My ankle is broken. That foot was sliced to ribbons." She paused, opening her eyes again to look him in the eyes. "I believe I've also got a concussion, but I could work around that."

"When did this happen?" There must have been a session that he'd not been notified of. He cursed inwardly. He had been charged with at least keeping an eye on the girl, though Minerva was well aware that he was unable to stop anything that was happening to her.

The girl shrugged. "Yesterday? Last week? A few hours ago? I've no idea. Time moves strangely here."

He sighed, extracting his wand from his coat pocket. He'd have to try to heal the ankle and foot if she was to make her escape. "I am not a healer, you understand. I'll do the best I can," he assured her, "but Poppy may have to fix my work when you're out." He turned his attention to the leg that was stretched in front of her. He ignored the dark splotches dried onto her jeans and instead turned his attention to the slices covering her foot. She wasn't wrong – the foot was hamburger. He kept his face neutral as he worked to heal as much as he could. When he came to the swollen mess of her ankle, he paused. "I am unfamiliar with the healing of bone breaks," he admitted. "I am concerned with healing it the wrong way and Poppy being forced to re-break the bone."

"Just do it," she told him weakly. "If she has to re-break it, it will be less painful than having it broken the first time." Her jaw clenched at the memory.

"What happened?" he asked, turning his attention back to the ankle.

"Dolohov," she ground out. He was poking at the injury and he could tell that it was painful. "He snuck down here when no one else was around. Had some fun on his own."

His whispered spell resulted in an audible crack. Her scream of pain was stifled quickly, turning into harsh pants against the hand that he had pressed over her mouth. He turned to stare intently at the stairwell, listening for the sound of feet coming to check on the noise. One of her hands touched the back of his, not attempting to remove it, but covering it. He glanced at her. Her eyes were closed, and her head was reclined back against the stone wall. Her nostrils flared with each breath. After a few moments of silence, he relaxed, removing his hand from her lips. It didn't seem that anyone was concerned with screams from the dungeon.

"Miss Granger, is there anything else that you need me to heal urgently before your escape?" He was well aware of Antonin Dolohov's particular brand of violence. If she had a concussion, it was likely from being thrown down onto the stone floor with a particular purpose in mind. She searched his eyes. He wasn't sure what she found there, but a shaky breath left her.

"He raped me," she told him in a small voice. He nodded, sickened, but unsurprised. "I'm alright, though. It… can wait."

He nodded again. "Did he use a contraceptive spell of any kind, Miss Granger?"

She shook her head. He immediately brought his wand to her belly and cast the strongest contraceptive that he knew of. She didn't know how long ago it had happened. If conception had already occurred, it would do nothing to abort the pregnancy, but it may yet be in time to prevent such a horror.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He nodded. "When you hear the fighting, run. Do not walk." He moved to leave her but was surprised when she reached out to clutch his hand. Her eyes held a touch of panic as she looked at him. He sighed. "You will be fine, Miss Granger. I will be watching out for you as you make your escape."

She bit her lip, nodding slowly. "Thank you," she repeated again.

He left the cell unlocked, as promised, and left the dungeon without a backward glance.

oOo

The Dark Lord had not been pleased with the escape of their prized prisoner. He had not been pleased with Severus for his apparent lack of knowledge on the Order's planned raid. As soon as he was able, Severus snuck from the Manor and apparated to the Order's headquarters at Grimmauld Place. He swayed when he landed on the front steps and clutched the hand rail to steady himself. He didn't know whether Poppy had finished tending to Miss Granger, but he would gladly wait in an infirmary bed until she had.

His first step over the threshold was greeted by the girl's scream – a sound which he knew unfortunately well by this time – so he supposed that Poppy had not yet finished. Was that the re-breaking of the girl's ankle? Likely. He made his way unsteadily toward the sound, using the wall for support. No one he passed in the hall said a word to him or offered him assistance and he ground his teeth. Bloody ungrateful is what they were. Thankfully, the makeshift infirmary was on the ground floor of the old house.

He finally arrived at the door of what was formerly the library and pushed it open with his shoulder. He was so focused on keeping his balance as he crossed the open floor with slow, careful steps to an empty bed a few down from where Miss Granger was occupying one of her own, that he didn't notice their sudden silence. He lowered himself onto the white sheets with a low groan. From where he perched on the side of the bed, he could see the two women watching him. He was aware of the mess he looked. He looked down at where his hands were pressed against the sheets. There was a dull brown smear from them. He wondered suddenly if he'd left handprints on the walls.

He waved a bloody hand at the mediwitch. "I will live until you are finished, Poppy. Tend to Miss Granger first."

"I would like to take a break," declared the stubborn girl. "You've just broken and healed my ankle. I need a few moments."

Severus rolled his eyes but began to strip out of his outer garments as Poppy strode toward him. When he came to his button-down shirt, which most assuredly was no longer white, he paused, glancing toward Miss Granger uneasily. She had the good grace to look away from him. She clasped her hands in her lap and stared down at them instead. He undid his buttons quickly and clenched his jaw as he peeled the fabric from his broken skin.

Poppy went to work on him and he eyed the girl across the room. Every so often, she glanced at him, caught him watching her, and blushed, looking away again. There was still blood all over her skin, but the cuts that they belonged to seemed to be healed. The swelling of her ankle was rapidly decreasing as her body realized that it was no longer broken.

"Was I in time with the contraceptive?" he asked, his voice loud in the quiet room.

The girl flinched. He felt Poppy's hand clutch his shoulder, where it had been resting.

"Contra-" She looked sharply to Hermione. "Now that should have been mentioned, Miss Granger."

She nodded. "I was getting to it. Professor Snape did the important part."

He grunted impatiently. "Maybe I did the important part. I may have been too late."

"In which case, there would be nothing that Madam Pomfrey could do," she said firmly. "I wouldn't kill a baby just for the crime of being his."

"Hermione," the older woman said gently, abandoning Severus, "he might have hurt you. I'll need to perform an exam."

Severus waved his wand over his shirt, cleaning the blood from it as best he could, and buttoned it swiftly. Standing stiffly, he turned to go.

"Please stay," the girl called, a note of panic in her voice.

He turned his head to look at her and saw genuine fear in her eyes. He looked to Poppy next, who shrugged her shoulders and nodded. Slowly, he moved to her side of the room and pulled a chair up beside her bed. He dropped his battered body into it.

"Why?" He would stay, but he was curious why she had asked him to.

She blushed and blinked at the tears in her eyes. "You saved me. I… feel safer with you here."

Poppy pulled a curtain around the bed and held out a white sheet. Shivering, Hermione pulled one end up around her chest while the mediwitch adjusted stirrups at the end of the bed. The girl held it together right up until the moment that Poppy prodded her most intimate of places with her wand. She gasped and threw one hand desperately toward Severus, who grabbed hold of it purely by instinct. He kept holding it tightly until Poppy was finished repairing the damage that Dolohov had indeed done to her and withdrew.

It was a great relief when the mediwitch announced that Hermione was not pregnant. Thank Merlin that wasn't a bridge the girl would have to cross. Severus had no doubt that she would stick to her word and refuse to abort the child of her rapist. After her pelvic exam, Severus quickly extricated himself from her grasp and left the room, hoping not to see her again for several days at least.

So it was with great confusion and exasperation that he found her outside his temporary bedroom at headquarters that night.

"I couldn't sleep," she admitted.

He moved aside to allow her into the room. "I am not going to cuddle you all better," he growled.

A small smile crossed her face. "Of course not. You're the greatest git to walk London in a thousand years."

He nodded once. "As long as you are aware." He paused, watching her fidget. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt and grey pajama bottoms that had seen better days. She seemed to be bearing weight well on her previously broken ankle. "Why have you attached to me? I was there for your torture. You had to have seen me. You cannot possibly associate me with good things, Miss Granger."

She shrugged, looking down at her feet, which he noticed were bare. The big toenail of her left foot was black. It would likely fall off. "You saved me," she repeated. "You healed me. It was the first touch that didn't hurt me in more than a week. I think I might have been a bit delirious when you came to me this morning."

Merlin, had that only been this morning? He sighed. He certainly knew of the tricks the mind could play when one was exhausted, terrified, and in pain. He supposed that to her, he must have been an angel who swooped in to carry her away to safety. "You should forget about that and go back to your room."

She nodded. "I just wanted to say thank you. You saved my life."

He shook his head. "I was following orders. The Order, the people who conducted a raid on the known residence of the Dark Lord, saved your life. I merely allowed for you to take advantage of the distraction."

She stepped toward him. "You were punished because of my escape."

"I was punished because the Dark Lord is a psychopath who enjoys violence."

"Still," she insisted, "thank you." She reached him and wrapped her arms around his back, pressing her face against his chest.

He didn't know what to do with his hands. Was he expected to hug her back? Before he could decide how to react, she was moving away from him.

"Good night," she said softly. The door clicked shut behind her.

He stared at the door, puzzled. He felt no attraction to the girl, but he did feel oddly protective of her. Perhaps, he thought hesitantly, he had gained a friend today.

A/N: This is obviously not also today's word, but it was driving me nuts just sitting partially complete in the folder. Therefore, a very happy un-birthday (or maybe birthday if you're really lucky) to all of you.