Steve did have to curb Hermione's desire to twirl away to Europe on the spot because for one, he knew from the stories she told him that she couldn't conjure food with her magic, and secondly, most importantly, he didn't want Stark butting in on their… trip? Mission? Pilgrimage? Whatever their journey was, it was a very personal one, and he would not suffer a single of Stark's crude jokes about it.
It was easy enough to sidetrack Hermione by mentioning making a checklist of all essentials anyway and they were now more prepared than ever, with enough food, warm clothes and mountaineering equipment to face a blizzard.
Steve also tried to get her to talk about the breakdown she'd had in the plane, just to make sure she was mentally ready to deal with whatever they found in the mountains, that she wasn't rushing into it when she had not fully processed her grief over Bucky's loss, but Hermione brushed it off, just like she had done when she realized she had lost her whole world by travelling to a new dimension… But that had worked fine for her. Right? It's what he had done himself after Bucky fell, if he had to be honest, and he was… fine? With a shake of his head, Steve vowed to not be as oblivious as he used to be back then, and take better care of her.
"Ready?" Hermione asked, holding out a banana this time.
"Do all of your portkeys have to be so ridiculous?" he asked.
"It's traditional," she answered before activating the magical banana.
Seriously. Travelling by banana. And here he had wanted to avoid Stark's brand of humour, but all thoughts of how similar those two sometimes were flew out the window when he saw the view now sprawling in front of him. Miles of pure white snow and mountains capped in grey clouds, valleys further down a dim greyish brown as they basked in the summer sun. It was breathtaking. Both of them stood silently for a few minutes on what Steve soon recognized as the ledge they had leaped off to embark Zola's train. It had happened days, weeks, or years ago depending on the person's point of view, but the very fact they were back to standing on this very spot once more was a surreal experience. Focusing on the slope facing them, Steve could make out the uneven break on the mountainside where the train tracks laid under a heavy layer of snow, Hydra's secret path obviously no longer in use for quite some time now. Steve's eyes wandered further, to where their other companion might still be lying in the cold, eternal snow.
"Do you think it's a mistake?" Hermione asked, breaking the silence. "It's so beautiful up here. Peaceful even. Are we being selfish? Do you think we should leave him to rest here?"
Steve was still mesmerised by the view. During the war, all he had seen was strategic advantages in the landscape, how to make best use of the terrain against their enemy, where to deploy, to camp, to retreat… But without the mantle of duty over his shoulders, without the burden of urgency, he could finally enjoy the beauty nature had to offer, and he agreed with her… to a point.
"It is beautiful, but it isn't home. Bucky never wanted to leave, and I can hear him from here yelling he'd rather be thrown in Brooklyn's foulest manhole than stay in this prissy, foreign snow-tomb."
Hermione choked on a laugh and leaned against him.
"That really does sound like our Bucky. Let's find him and bring him back home then."
It was easier said than done. Even with the help of magic, and by God would it have been an impossible task without it, pinpointing where exactly Bucky had fallen was difficult. It took days, a lot of teleporting and walking, trial and error, until Steve could finally say with certainty that this was the spot. It was like having a flashback : his memory of that agonising moment and reality aligning perfectly.
"He's down here somewhere," he said with a definitive nod.
"Alright. I'm going to cast the featherweight charm on the both of us. We should be drifting slowly down." She licked her finger and held it up with a slight frown. "But I'll tie us together first, just in case the wind picks up. Don't worry, I'll find this place again if that happens now that I've seen it, but I don't want to lose you in all this snow."
Steve smiled at her thoughtfulness. It was true even he felt dwarfed in all the vast expanses of snow, wide crevasses, unending cliffs and towering mountains. Hermione might survive on her own with her magic, but he would probably freeze again, then have to wait for another Stark expedition to come dig him up. He knew Stark would never let him live it down if that were to happen.
"Ready?" she asked. He gave a sharp nod of his head. "Keep your eyes peeled. He might not have made it… All the way down."
They probably made a strange sight, slowly gliding down a steep cliff with balls of bright lights surrounding them. For some reason he couldn't quite explain, Steve almost expected not finding anything. It had been so long ago… For Bucky, at least. He also dreaded finding his remains, seeing him like that… but it was the right thing to do. A soft gasp of surprise escaped him when he spotted a touch of colour, so alien in this black and white landscape that it almost jumped out at him.
"There," he said, pointing a finger at a rock that had snagged on a piece of blue fabric, pinned there in time by another jagged stone.
It wasn't as vibrant as the blue of Bucky's beloved coat, but Steve knew it belonged to him. Time, exposure to the elements, bleaching under the sun… It was a wonder there was anything left at all. Hermione summoned the scrap of fabric and carefully inspected it before giving him a nod. She folded the fabric in her breast pocket, then looked down, and they resumed their slow descent.
His heart was beating much too fast considering he wasn't exerting himself at all, but even that tush of expectation died down when they had made it all the way down without finding another trace of Bucky. They scouted the whole area in a widening circle. Hermione went so far as to melt the snow in the area to the mountain's bare stones. When they admitted defeat, they stood in a sort of snow pit.
"Nothing," Steve said.
"How can their be nothing?" Hermione asked, echoing his thoughts.
There should have been something. Fragments of his clothes, equipment, or…bones, at the very least. Something. Anything. Especially with that scrap of his coat they had found above.
"Could the wind have carried him further away?" he asked.
"We've already searched far past that parameter," she replied with a frown.
"Scavengers?"
Even he didn't believe in that explanation, but it was the only way he could rationalise the lack of a body.
"There would be…" Her fingers waved around the area. She cleared her throat. "Scavengers are messy."
Steve sighed and sat on a boulder Hermione had uncovered from the snow. It was starting to warm up under the sun, so he invited her to sit next to him.
"I don't understand," she sighed once she had settled against him, her head resting against his chest.
He watched her, eyes closed to soak in the sun, her curls more copper than brown in this light, but she was as beautiful as the day they had met in a dark alley. It felt like they had lived so many lives already since then, they had seen so much, wonderful and terrible both, most of which he would have thought impossible not so long ago…
"Do you think… Could Bucky have made it out alive? After he fell?"
Hermione stiffened in his arms, and she sat up straight to look at him.
"You're serious."
Steve nodded.
"It may be the only explanation. I mean, I survived the ice. You're here despite all odds, so maybe…"
"I don't know, Steve. You have the serum and I have magic. Bucky…"
… was just Bucky. Sweet and funny, caring and loyal, but only human.
"I want to believe, but…" she looked up. "I'm not sure anyone could survive that fall, then just walk it off-"
She seemed to have frozen in thought. Steve gave her a minute, but then became worried.
"Hermione?"
She blinked, then a manic spark appeared in her eyes.
"There's another kind of scavenger that might explain why we can't find anything. Humans. What if someone else found Bucky and took him?"
Dead, or alive? Steve didn't want to get his hopes up, both because he had never heard of a soldier being found or rescued in these parts, and because this had been enemy territory as far as the eye could see. Besides, what were the chances someone just happened to be in the area? It was quite isolated, despite Hydra activity. Steve sighed. Their impossible task of retrieving their lost love had just become even more difficult. It was as if Fate didn't want them to be reunited.
"There's a spell I've never tried." Hermione was wringing her hands and avoiding eye-contact. Steve could already tell he wouldn't like what she would say next. "It's a bit on the darker side…"
Oh boy, if she was skirting around the issue, it was probably a lot worse than she made it out to be. She must have read the apprehension on his face when she glanced at him, because she rushed through her explanation before he could shoot it down.
"Only because it invokes shades, but that's just superstition, it has nothing to do with necromancy or anything. It's just… taking a peak into the past."
"Really?"
Seemed pretty straightforward. So why was she so worried?
"Yes. We have a good conduct, too," she explained as she took out the piece of blue fabric they had found.
"He did love that damn coat," Steve said.
Hermione cringed then slowly unfolded it, revealing a darker stain on an inside seam.
"Is that -"
But Hermione didn't need to answer. He knew it was blood. Bucky's blood. That's why this spell of hers was dark magic. Not because of the result, but because of the means.
"Isn't dark magic dangerous for you?"
"I can handle it," she said, her voice like steel. "It's worth it. We'll know. I need to know."
Steve did too, but he was worried as well. He didn't want to risk part of his beating heart in order to find the other missing part, one which had probably stopped beating a long time ago to boot.
Steve opened his mouth, ready to dissuade her, to tell her they could find another way, a safer way, but Hermione cut him off before he could utter a single syllable.
"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. Nothing you can say at this point will change my mind."
Hermione had crossed her arms in front of her, and Steve knew the battle was lost before it had even begun. She was as stubborn as she was brilliant. It was part of why he loved her so much, but it also made protecting her an impossible mission at times.
"Fine. But if anything looks to be going wrong, I'm throwing you over my shoulder and running down this damn mountain."
She tried not to look too smug, but he heard her stifled laugh as she buried her head in his chest. Steve basked in the hug then reluctantly let her go, observing as she prepared something that looked more like a witch's ritual than the magic she usually performed with her wand. There was chanting, and drawing on the ground with her own blood, candles and smoke… To be honest, it made his hair stand on end, especially when the air around them turned darker, thicker, making it harder to breathe or see. Only his trust in Hermione kept the doubts and fear at bay. He waited, keeping an eye on Hermione in case the ritual backfired.
Then it happened. As clear as day, Bucky fell in front of them with a muffled thud, snow that wasn't there flying around before settling back on his unmoving form. Steve couldn't move, could hardly draw a breath.
Bucky. Broken. Bloody. Steve was glad for the snow covering him. He wanted to remember his oldest friend with his cocky grin and swagger, his perfect hair and mischievous sparkle in his eye. Not… this.
So they had been right. Except Bucky hadn't survived the fall. Steve should not have got his hopes up. He glanced at Hermione, tears rolling down her cheeks while she kept chanting the strange litany of words under her breath, and he tried to gather enough strength to go to her, when suddenly, he heard a groan and he stared back at Bucky in disbelief. He held his breath, waiting, waiting, until he heard it again, a grumble of pain, an almost imperceptible rise of his body as he drew in breath, a twitch of his foot.
Steve gasped, remembering he needed air too. He waited, hating that he couldn't do anything to help him while his stupid, idiotic self from the past stayed on that damn train to complete his damn mission. Doing his fucking duty like a good little soldier while his friend, his love, lay there, agonising. While he needed him. He had needed him, and he wasn't there.
God, he hated himself. He was such a selfish bastard. His eyes stung, blurring the terrible image in front of him and he wiped them away reflexively, surprised to find he'd been crying. He didn't deserve to cry, so he kept his eyes on Bucky, willing him to keep breathing, hoping against hope his life didn't end here, cold and alone.
The image flickered just as Hermione's chant faltered.
"Hermione?" he asked, checking her over.
She looked… alright, apart from the fact she'd been crying. With a shake of her head, her focus returned to the shade of Bucky's form and her chant grew stronger, faster. Steve understood he couldn't interrupt her and turned his attention to Bucky as well.
Still breathing, thank God. Then he heard the crunch of feet on snow and he jumped to his feet, scanning the area for intruders, only to find a second shade appearing at eye level, walking on phantom snow, heading straight for their lost companion. Hermione had been right. She usually was.
What was more surprising was that his uniform and speech clearly showed he was a Russian. An ally, theoretically, although Steve couldn't say he'd worked or even met with any during the war. They had their own battles to wage on their front against the nazis in the West and the Japanese in the East after all. But the way he treated Bucky made his blood boil. Harnessing him like a piece of meat, dragging him in the snow without a care for his injuries or safety. If Steve ever got his hands on him…
The thought of bloody murder vanished when the phantom image did, the stranger and Bucky walking through the wall of real snow, out of the summoning circle. Steve turned towards Hermione to ask her if they could follow him, but she swayed on the spot, hand outstretched towards the blue scrap of fabric which suddenly burst into flame, black ashes scattering to the wind. Hermione fell to her knees, a gut wrenching sob echoing against the rocks. Defeated, Steve went to her side and picked her up. She was exhausted, barely able to keep her eyes open as she mumbled apologies to him. For what, he wasn't sure. He sure as hell didn't deserve any. Shushing her, he told her to sleep, that he'd take care of the rest, and what else was there to do but pick up their stuff and follow the path the Russian soldier had taken?
It was a path of sorts, Steve was surprised to find. Hr documented it as well he could while he walked so Hermione could look it over once she woke up. It had been several hours already since she had performed her ritual, but she was warm, her breathing regular, just sleeping from what he could tell. Still, walking with her in his arms, in the snow, while taking notes, wasn't the easiest of tasks, so he took shelter in a cave opening when the sun disappeared behind a peak, plunging the valley they were descending into darkness.
Making his girl as comfortable as he could, glad he had insisted on taking non magical equipment "just in case", Steve unfolded a map of the area, trying to pinpoint exactly where they were, where he had started, the path and direction they had been walking: it took them down the Eastern valley, towards the Austrian side of the Alps. It didn't explain what a Soviet patrol was doing all the way out there, but at least it was somewhat closer to their Motherland, as they liked to call it. More immediately, there was a small village a few more dozen miles down this same path, if the map was correct, and hopefully, someone there would remember Russians walking through sixty six years ago with an injured American.
The sweet aroma of coffee tickled his nose, right before bright sunlight burned his retinas. Steve lifted a hand to protect himself from the glare of the sun on the snow and peered around. Hermione was awake, a wan smile on her face as she handed him a mug of steaming coffee.
"Thanks, love. Feeling better?"
"Yes," she said, sounding sheepish. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I really mucked it up at the end."
"You did?" he asked with a frown. "Looks like you just pushed yourself too much. Nothing to apologise over."
"I lost the conduit. Bucky's coat. If I'd been quicker-"
Steve shook his head.
"What you did was amazing. And yeah, awful too, but at least we know. There's hope." He smiled at that, glad when she returned it. "He was still alive."
"He really was. I don't know how, but he was. I looked over your notes. I think you're on the right track. We might actually find him."
"Why wouldn't he contact us though? The whole world must have heard about me when I was found in the ice."
Hermione shrugged.
"Could be any number of reasons. Maybe he has his own life now, married, kids… We'd be hard to explain. Maybe he's angry at us for not finding him sooner. Maybe he doesn't remember us. Amnesia after that fall wouldn't be surprising. Or… How old would he be today?"
Oh. He'd be very old. In his nineties. Might have a few marbles loose. Might be claiming loud and clear he knows Captain America and Lady Liberty, but everyone is laughing at the crazy old man. If Bucky had indeed survived from his injuries, would they find him only to lose him again to old age? Why would the world be so cruel?
"Not getting any younger in any case. We'd better get going. Are you ready?"
Hermione packed everything with her wand and they walked down the treacherous path to the quaint little village they could make out in the distance from the smoke rising from several chimneys.
HINTERWERK, the sign at the entrance of the village proclaimed. Judging by the number of houses and the few cars or people in the main street, there couldn't be more than a hundred inhabitants to this place. The first couple of people they talked to gave them the stink eye and scuttled away as soon as they said hello, but they persisted, tried speaking in German as well as English, went so far to corner an old crone before she could make an exit, but no one wanted to speak to them, or those who did thought they were crazy once they had asked their questions.
Finally admitting defeat, they sat on an old stone wall and tried to decide what to do next, unfolding their map to see where the only road out of this village led to next.
It looked like another tiny village, and if it was anything like this one, it wouldn't help them any.
"Should we try looking into local history? Folklore? Old time gossip about a strapping young American wooing women around here?"
"Worth a shot," Steve snorted as he could very well imagine Bucky doing that, even covered in bandages. Even missing an arm. He sobered at the thought, but her idea gave him one of his own. "Romanoff used to work for the KGB, I think. I'll ask her if she can look into old documents of Soviet patrols around this area if that's okay with you."
"If you trust her," she replied. "Shall we head home for now then?"
"Not sure where home is right now."
"A hotel room until we find a place to call our own?"
"Sounds like a plan."
This time, the portkey was a spoon, slightly bent out of shape from their hard travel. With a sigh, Steve put his index to it and they twirled away from the bucolic mountainside, back to the noisy, smelly city they called home.