She looked at the papers on the table and accioed them all over to her.  Whatever else she'd do, she'd make sure he never did find the answer he was looking for.   Maybe she could find it.   She could sit in her room at Grimmauld Place and read these over while she felt the ache slowly return to her bones, and the knife's edge slowly return to her nerves, and maybe those agonies would be sharp enough and hard enough and brutal enough to drown out the pain of her heart.