They read, napped, read some more, rekindled the fire, feasted on bacon butties, made love again, and silently listened to the winter wind howl by the leaded glass windows. They had somewhere to be that night, and Snape in particular had the weight of a great task looming, but for that morning and afternoon, the time was their own.
As the sun set, they rose. The evening's planned events took possession of their agenda.
Snape was not one for occasional formality. On any given day his sartorial choices were impeccably fitted and fastidiously made - to the point that Anezka even accused it of being 'fussy'. However, despite that, dress robes were a display he was uncomfortable with. What he wore daily was both practical and above reproach. Worn as a shield, no one could ever judge him for shabbiness or evident poverty. He had spent too much time doing that in a previous life. Somehow dress robes, despite being more lavish, more elegant, more tailored, more everything, invited critique. It was the wrong color, or season for such, or that it was clearly made by a haberdasher that was no longer en vogue. It was pretension and posturing, a strange competition. It was demanding of attention, when he sought the opposite. But there he was, donning them much to his chagrin.
After a very crowded shower - sharing the ludicrously small stall was a necessity for rationing of warm water and not at all anything to do with a casual comfort of companionship - Snape had excused himself to dry off and dress in the curtained-off sleeping area while Anezka quickly let her entire toilette explode across the small shower room.
After he finished with the last of his buttons, he spared a covert glance over his shoulder. The bathroom door was partially unlatched, and through the narrow margin, he could see that a towel was still turbaned around her head, various potions and lotions were scattered around chaotically, and she appeared to be stabbing her eye lid with a pencil, all whilst singing some horrible Christmas song that suited her entirely. " 'It was christmas eve babe, in the drunk tank…'" She caterwauled, indicating to Snape that her attention was truly rapt and she would not notice what he was about to do.
He pulled his leather valise close. The main body of the bag had carried his dress robes, and if looked at briefly, would appear as nothing but ordinary. Knowing that his next steps needed to go completely unnoticed and that this would probably be one of his last moments alone before leaving, he moved quickly. There was a small hidden zipper in one of the folds of the lining, and upon opening it, it was clear that particular pocket had been enchanted with an undetectable extension charm. As soon as he opened it, the glint of silver and ruby in the dying light of day made his adrenaline fire up, his body finally on full alert.
Looking around the room, he tried to make a quick determination of what he could reasonably hide the sword in to transport it to the party. It was the one part of his plan that had been left up to chance, and he hated that fact. None of his plans were ever left to chance, but this one had otherwise fallen into place seamlessly with very little fore planning or thought.
He had needed an excuse to leave the Castle that would not evoke questions, a cover for if he was seen or traced anywhere near the Forest of Dean, and an alibi of where he was to be. An invitation to a High Society event held at an estate mere miles from the edge of the Forest, to be attended by the powerful and well heeled who could attest to his presence there, and to be accompanied by an unpredictable ditz who could prove to be either apt distraction or ready excuse, depending on her mood, all clicked in his mind the moment he heard Phineas Nigellus announce Potter's location to him, late on Christmas night.
Leaving early in the day, ostensibly on 'errands', had given him cause to carry a bag for his dress robes. No one ever thought to search or be suspicious, making smuggling the sword out of the castle as easy as opening the doors and walking out.
But getting it from here to the party was the only question mark. He could hardly take his satchel to the party with him, but in front of him laid the answer. Scattered on the bed was a collection of shoes, wraps, and one lone decorative clutch purse. He hated the idea of the Sword, such an important artifact, and integral part to the end of everything in general, being out of his possession, but it would accomplish what he needed and should, god forbid, it be found, it wouldn't be on him.
Well ... that should have been an incentive, but his gut twisted at the thought.
The dangerous position she would be in should that happen was one he wasn't sure she would be able to wriggle out of. He had no intention of telling her his plan to start with, but he quickly consoled himself if she didn't know, she wouldn't have anything to hide and would be able to honestly claim ignorance. His using her without her knowledge might just save her should the worst occur.
It was a cold justification, he knew it, but he did not have the luxury of time to dwell upon it.. Snatching up the beaded bag, he quickly went about the enchantment to expand it to just the correct size to fit the sword, listening carefully as she careened into the second verse of her song to make sure that she was still not likely to see what he was doing.
He had just finished his spell, and was dropping the sword into the newly expanded bag, as her singing and footsteps neared " 'you took my dreams from me, when I first found you…'"
He had managed to drop the bag back to the bed, just in time, so that she didn't see it in his hand, but clearly noticed something. "Were you looking at my bag?"
"Why would I? I hardly think it goes with my outfit." He quipped. He knew the cagey answer would do little to assuage her curiosity, but outright denial would have her seeing through the lie instantaneously and she could probably torture an answer out of him more successfully then Voldemort.
Luckily, Anezka barked a laugh, and seemed to let the question go, for which he signed a silent breath of relief. "Can you lace up my back for me? I tried, but I nearly popped my shoulder out of it's socket trying to twist far enough back for it." She demonstrated haphazardly how her thin arms couldn't reach.
"Do you even realize you are a witch?" His hand gesture went first from one of absolute confusion, to a frustrated pinch of the bridge of his nose, to waving her forward and her nonsense away,
"I do, actually, much to my mother's chagrin." She turned around and presented her bare back to him, inciting a roll of his eyes as he grabbed the ends of the lacing ribbon and set to work, somewhat in disgruntled disbelief that he was actually being asked to do such a menial and tedious thing. He didn't really notice how she was dressed until she spun around and gestured as if to invite his judgment.
On the list of things he would never admit out loud to her, how he felt about her when he saw her dressed formally were chief amongst them.
When she was in her normal, everyday garments, he could rationalize the fact that she would actually want to be with him. While he was inarguably surly and unattractive, she was a mess; more than a small bit mad and her style represented that keenly. In those conditions, they felt at least somewhat equal.
But when he would think back to the events he had attended before with her - the Argent's, the Yule Ball - and now seeing her dressed thus, he couldn't help but wonder why she would give him the time of day. She was young, beautiful when she put her mind to it, well connected and associated with some of the best families in society - while he was. . . well . . . himself.
At any rate, He had no basis for which to judge if the dress was stylish, or sophisticated enough, but he knew she looked well in it. "I suppose I shan't be too ashamed to be seen with you."
Refusing to be damned by faint praise, Anezka bobbed in a facetious half curtsey, nearly tripping on the layers of silk tulle that were stacked at the base of her dress. After wrapping up in a pristine white fur stole that was certain to be very warm, but that far too large around her thin shoulders, they both headed towards the door. "You are forgetting your . .. bag" The nonchalant wave of hand and feigned stumbling over correct terminology, he hoped would make it seem like his only concern was criticizing her absentmindedness, and not any real interest in the item itself.
She looked at him inscrutably for a moment then laughed at herself, shrugged and claimed she would lose her head if it wasn't attached. She picked up the purse, and opened it. Of course she could not see the extension, she hadn't done the charm herself or been told about it, but she certainly seemed more interested in the bottom of it then could be considered normal. "Ok, smokes, keys, and my lucky Gilderoy Lockhart bobble head."
"Why do you. . ." Snape could not bring himself to finish the question. "Nevermind, I do not want to know."
"What? He's lucky!" Anezka scoffed defiantly as she pushed past Snape, towards the stairs
"The man's reported condition in St Mungo's is perhaps evidence to the contrary." He followed, but quickly his longer stride had him walking past her, taking the first step before her.
"That's why I carry the bobble, not the actual person. D'uh. Besides, from what I gather he was extraordinarily lucky, up until that, y'know, last time." Lockhart's tenure as Defense professor had begun and ended the year prior to Anezka's arrival at Hogwarts, but it was still talked about, and the man's fraudulent nature was becoming something of common knowledge in the time since.
As she made her first tenuous descent of step, Snape found his hand lifting to hers. On any normal occasion, he'd leave her, or anyone for that matter, to their own devices, but what gentlemanly manners his mother had instilled in him had been brutally reinforced for years by the high expectation of his more aristocratic housemates. Perish the thought of letting Narcissa Black open her own door! The stairs here were particularly poky, steep, and uneven, and he'd seen Anezka trip over her own feet on a flat surface, not even drowning in long hemlines and bunches of fabric, and he couldn't risk her breaking her neck, he had too much riding on the evening. Sure Sev, whatever you have to tell yourself, rather than just letting yourself have good manners and be charming for a change.
Mercifully, Anezka took the hand without comment, appreciative or jocular, and descended, lightly holding his hand for balance, as if it was perfectly customary. Instead, she just continued to whitter on about how she and some of her classmates had started to refer to students who obviously cheated to get good grades, while clearly knowing nothing as "pulling a Gilderoy".
Having reached the street without incident, Snape took a few steps away from the threshold, mostly to give her voluminous skirts the clearance they needed as she turned to lock the door. From his peripheral, he noticed her watching the back of his head rather than looking in her decorative purse that she was rummaging in.
While he had confidence that his charm was undetectable, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern at her obvious suspicion, all while continuing to feign obliviousness. Seemingly undaunted by his nonchalance, however, she was still watching him intently. With wide gestures she held the bag out in front of her, and dropped it to the ground, quirking a dark, damnably expressive eyebrow, only after it hit the ground with an echoing clang. "Whoops. So clumsy."
With an uncustomary grace she crouched down an retrieved the bag, still maintaining a laser stare at the back of his head. "Who knew my keys would be so noisy."
He risked allowing himself a flinch, but felt that she would probably still notice it somehow despite being turned away from her. "With your vagabond-like penchant for carrying random detritus around with you, I wouldn't be at all surprised if you had somehow stuffed an entire rusted out Morris 1100 in there."
Her laugh was genuine, even if her piercing gaze let him know in no uncertain terms that she had sniffed out that he was up to something. "Oh, now that IS an idea. Would be ever so handy to have a car and not have to worry about parking meters."
"Do you know where we are going?" It was a change of subject, but a pertinent one at least, so Snape was hopeful it would go unnoticed. As he had never RSPV'd, the Myriddans never arranged a portkey, as had been offered on the response card - another compelling reason to accompany their Granddaughter.
"Yeah, It's been a while but I think I can manage just fine." She said after giving the now locked door a final jostle to confirm it's security. Before he could think twice about what was happening, she linked her arm through his, and pulled her wand out from a pocket hidden in the fold of her skirt. "You ready?"
He gulped back a sudden fear. "You do have your Apparition license, don't you?"
"Of course I do!" He somehow knew the assurance of her answer hid some darker truth. ". . . in Romania."
Before he could even begin to question whether or not there was a level of parity in the two countries' testing standards, and even if there was, did she speak enough Romanian for whatever course she had taken to have been effective, he felt the world tighten around him as the spell took effect. All he had time to do was to clench tightly to her arm and hope to God the mission didn't fail because he got splinched doing a side-along with this lunatic girl.