Seeking Answers Elsewhere

A/N: Many heartfelt thanks and much chocolate to my betas, Melusin_79 (who also Brit-picked) and Sahiya. Any remaining errors are all mine. Thanks also to Shalimar1981 for the early-on brainstorming.

Disclaimer: Not mine and not making any money.

Seeking Answers Elsewhere

“There’s just nothing here,” she complained later that evening. She swirled her glass of Firewhisky and took another gulp.

“Hermione, I know you think I’m pants at sympathy anyway, but what can you expect when you won’t even tell me what I’m supposed to be sympathetic about?” Ron asked.

“Oh, honestly,” she snapped. “What is it about the word, ‘Unspeakable’ that confuses you?”

He held up his hands.

“Fine, fine. Only you’ve said that bit about not finding anything about fifty times. Kind of sounds like you want help looking.”

She glared into her glass. She did want help. Not that he’d ever willingly give it, even if she were willing to explain. Besides, he could probably tell she wasn’t being entirely honest and that it wasn’t actually about her job at all. Still, even if she were willing to violate Severus’ privacy, there was no way she could tell him about that! They might have broken up even before the war ended, but he still didn’t deal well with any of the men she had dated since, and this would definitely drive him around the twist.

“Let’s say,” she began in a tentative voice, “that someone you knew had been hit with some horrible curse. A delayed-reaction kind of thing, so the one who cast it is long dead and can’t remove it. Not that he would.”

“Okay.”

“You’d think that there would have to be some other way to reverse it, but nothing anywhere covers curses embedded within each other, never mind with that sort of trigger.”

“’Mione, you’ve only had an afternoon to work on this. How can you be sure there’s nothing anywhere?”

“Well, nothing I’ve been able to….” She looked at him suspiciously. “What makes you think I’ve just started researching this today?”

“Well, you’re talking about Snape, aren’t you?” he asked softly after a quick glance about to make sure no one was close enough to overhear.

“What makes you think that?” she hissed back.

“A collapse like that? It’s the talk of the Auror Division,” he replied. “Not exactly a Department of Mysteries matter, either.”

She groaned. There were few things more certain to infuriate Snape at this point than to be the subject of gossip and speculation, and wouldn’t that just make things even more interesting?

“So why’re you working on this?”

“Well,” she stalled, “I’m not exactly. But no one else seems to be getting anywhere.”

Ron rolled his eyes at her.

“Aren’t you the one who accused Harry of having a, ‘saving people thing’?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“And aren’t there other people around better at curse-breaking?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“And didn’t he used to make you cry?”

“That was just the once…”

“So why are you doing this?”

Because she felt responsible? Because the Healers obviously had no idea what they were dealing with, and wouldn’t since Snape would never tell them exactly what was killing him and why? Because without his help, Harry’s sacrifice would have been in vain?

Ron might go for that last one.

He did.

“I still can’t tell you exactly what it is, Ron,” she began.

“But it’s obviously something Vo-oldemort did,” he interrupted, only stammering a little. “So, if you’re not finding anything in the scary Ministry Dark Arts Archives, why aren’t you asking another ex-Death Eater?”

She stared at him nonplussed.

“Well, you have to use whatever resources you have,” he pointed out. “I mean, this is important to you, right?”

“Yes,” she replied softly, her stomach giving a light flip that might have been guilt or possibly too much Firewhisky on an empty stomach.

“And, you’ve been keeping in touch with him, haven’t you?”

“Well, yes…”

“And, he’s got to have some resources at his disposal. You were both always much too fond of the library.”

“That’s true,” she admitted. With a deep breath she squared her shoulders and decided. “I’ll owl Viktor tonight.”

~*~

When they woke him the following morning for the next round of useless potions and pointless counter-curses, he was unsurprised to find Hermione Granger present. What was astonishing was that she said nothing until the Healers finished up and left him in relative peace.

“What the devil are you doing here, Mi … Hermione? Is everyone completely incapable of comprehending my desire to return home to die?”

“I’m here to get you out,” she replied, “but not to take you home.”

“And what fresh torture have you devised in the name of Gryffindor foolishness?” he sneered, his voice much improved since yesterday.

“If you’re going to play the House card, then I’ll remind you that Slytherins are supposed to prioritise saving their own necks,” she retorted.

“We are not, however, known for championing hopeless causes.”

“At least something they gave you must be helping. You weren’t remotely yourself yesterday. Elixir of Sarcasm, perhaps?”

“No, something they gave me must be prolonging the inevitable.” At least it had got rid of that hideous cough.

She rolled her eyes, then fixed him with a firm stare. Clearly, whatever she had in mind, she was completely set on it.

“We’re going to Bulgaria.”

“And why should I want to do such an imbecilic thing, even assuming I could survive the trip?”

“Viktor believes his library contains some volumes that may be useful.”

Viktor? Oh. Krum. Igor’s student. That was… possible. He tamped down the spark of hope her words had ignited.

“Then why does he not simply loan them to you by owl?” he sneered.

“Because they’re illegal to possess in Britain, and I’d like to still have my job and live somewhere other than Azkaban when this is done. Also, some are quite old and probably have worse odds than you of surviving the trip.”

“And why are you dragging me with you?”

She looked at him as though he had suggested he might enjoy a foxglove salad for lunch. That would actually speed things along, come to think of it.

“Severus, how much time do you estimate you have?”

“Three days,” he replied. “Four at the most. The curse was supposed to allow for a week of torture before death.”

She paled slightly, but pressed on. “That’s why you need to come. As soon as we identify what needs to be done, we shall have to do it immediately.”

There was little point in arguing with her, it seemed. Her determination was, in fact, dangerously infectious. He gritted his teeth and reminded himself repeatedly that this venture was most likely futile as she explained the Portkey arrangements she had made.