Lickspittle

LIK-spit-l | noun

1: A contemptible, fawning person; a servile flatterer or toady

"-And your paper on recognizing kelpies was inspired. Relocation over extermination. Brilliant, absolutely brilliant."

His long blonde hair was entirely too Malfoy-esque for her liking. "Recognition and Relocation of Scottish Death Horses" had been the actual title of the paper he was spewing vague praises to. Hermione doubted if the well-groomed man with his perfectly coifed hair had even read her paper. Likely, he had asked his buddy, who was seemingly trying to appear inconspicuous as he glanced at them every few seconds from the punch bowl, but failing miserably. She'd have rather talked to him. Politely, she nodded along as the man continued to prattle.

"-Such good work you've done with your name," he said. "So many war heroes simply faded into obscurity, but you. All these years later and you're still appearing faithfully at these balls. Always looking divine, I might add." He allowed his eyes to rake down her frame and she rolled her eyes. "I'd like to take you to dinner."

"Mister…" Gods blast, she'd forgotten his name. "Er – I'm afraid that I am not looking for a romantic relationship at this time." She glanced around the room for a familiar face.

The man laughed. "I get it. You're a strong, independent woman. Even strong, independent women need to eat." He winked.

"No, thank you," she said firmly, edging away from him. The only familiar face that she'd spotted wasn't ideal but at least he would keep away this idiot and the many others here like him.

"If you change your mind, you know where to find me." She didn't, actually, as she had tuned out that part of the conversation, but no need to inform him of that. He grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. "I would be honored to escort such a beauty as yourself any time."

She gave him a small, polite smile and retreated from him. An expressionless mask of indifference greeted her approach and she sat beside her old professor wordlessly. No one would dare talk to her here.

"Using my presence as a shield?" he asked mildly. "How Slytherin of you."

She shrugged. "I could not give less of a fuck."

Severus Snape snorted. "How lady-like."

"Again. Could not give less of a fuck." She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs at the knee. Her floor-length gown rustled at the movement. "How many years do you suppose they'll keep this up?"

"All of them," he answered dryly. "Until the end of time."

"Lovely. How many years do you suppose you'll keep this up?"

He raised one eyebrow in her direction. "All of them. Until the day I die."

She blinked in surprise. "Why?"

"I am the placid show pony." She could hear the contempt in his voice.

"Placid. Right. And I'm a runway model."

He eyed her. "In that dress? Perhaps so. Blue is a flattering color on you, Miss Granger."

She laughed. This was not happening. "No, you're shitting me, right?"

He rolled his eyes. "I am not 'shitting' you. Nor am I hitting on you. Fear not, you won't need to run off to find another shield. I am merely stating a fact. The sky is blue, wizards are idiots, you look nice in that dress tonight."

"And you are anything but placid."

He sighed. "It was a condition of my release that I attend the annual ball to be paraded around before the masses."

Ah, yes. While awaiting trial, Severus had done a stint in Azkaban. Harry and Hermione had worked tirelessly preparing witnesses, testimonies, and evidence to acquit the man. They had, of course, succeeded. Honestly, had Harry simply shown up and said "pretty please," they would likely have released the man on the spot, such was the hero-worship of the Boy-Who-Lived-Yet-Again at the time. She thought she had known the trial inside and out. How had she not been aware of that detail? It was a small thing, she supposed, but likely one that was viewed with a yearly dread.

"I'm sure that you love that," she said dryly.

He leaned back in his seat, eyeing her thoughtfully. "It isn't so bad."

She raised her eyebrows. "Now you're really shitting me. Have we been attending the same balls every year? They're awful."

"Ah, yes, well I have the benefit of hunkering down here in black and glowering at anyone who comes near. You, however, always seem to choose brightly colored gowns that light you up like a billboard. 'Here I am,' you shout. 'Please fawn over me.'"

"Why, Professor, I had no idea that you paid any kind of attention to what I wore." He merely snorted in answer. "Perhaps next year I'll join you in your black glowering."

"I would pay to see that, Miss Granger."

One year later…

Severus stepped into the usual ballroom and glanced around the room to see the usual people dancing the usual dances in time to the usual music. This was the tenth such ball he had attended since the end of the war and, by now, they all seemed to blend into one another. As he crossed the ballroom to his usual seat at his usual table, however, something new struck him. There she was, wearing a breathtaking one-shouldered black number, sitting in the seat beside his usual one, and glowering silently as he approached. It was good that he'd brought his wallet tonight. He had every intention of paying up.

A/N: In case any of you are actually checking me on these, yes, I know this isn't today's WotD. I had started this one a while ago and didn't finish it at the time. I couldn't bear to let it go unfinished so here it is anyway.

On another note, I've been thinking a lot about wild hamsters lately (because I work in a pet store and WHAT EVEN ARE HAMSTERS). This was a lovely and quite entertaining article of the taming of hamsters if any of you want a laugh.

www . npr 2011/04/10/135268583/how-the-wild-hamster-was-tamed