Barbarism to Decadence.

The warm, undulating currents of sleep finally washed Vance up on the shore of wakefulness and his eyes fluttered open, a heavy feeling of satisfaction pulsing through his body. He groaned happily as he stretched out, shuddering at the relief that flooded through his twitching muscles. So absorbed was he in the varied pleasures of waking from deep, undisturbed sleep that for a moment he was unaware of his surroundings. When his eyes finally focused on the fireplace, a frown flickered across his brow and he sat up, looking around his living room.

"What in...Oh...Oh, no." His confusion swiftly and painfully twisted into crushing shame, and his stomach lurched wildly. He leapt to his feet and scrambled through his rooms to the bathroom, falling to his knees before his toilet just in time to keep from making a mess of his apartment. Tears tracked down his face as he heaved up the contents of his stomach, clutching the cool porcelain and sobbing. His actions the night before sent slivers of glass slicing through the tender meat of his heart, self-loathing and disgust spiraling through him until he was drowning in them.

When his stomach finally calmed, he flushed and fell back, barely registering the pain as the back of his head came in contact with the tiled floor. He stared up at the ceiling, shivering and sobbing harshly, sickened by the way his body responded to the brief flashes of memory that went flickering through his mind. His body warred with his mind and soul, one urging him to seek out Phineas and indulge in more of the young wizard's skills, and the others utterly horrified by the very thought. The sly, persuasive voice of his baser self whispered through him, sending pulses of need to his groin as it coaxed him. The boy seduced you...he wants you. What's the harm in taking what is so willing and delectable?

He rolled over onto his stomach, shoving his growing erection painfully into the floor and hissing to himself. "Shut up! I'll not become that...that kind of a person." He staggered up to his feet when the pain and the chill worked their magic, stumbling through to the kitchen. He would have to tell Severus what had happened, as well as the Headmaster. He couldn't keep this a secret, but first to be told would be Severus. If he wanted to take personal justice for the abuse of his student, then he should be allowed to do so. If Albus found out first, then he might thwart Severus' attempts at vengeance.

He made himself a pot of coffee and carried it to the table, his heart calming now that he had a plan, and means to the punishment he knew he deserved. He would sit and drink his coffee, then he would go straight to Severus and inform him of his unforgivable actions. It would make the man's hate solidify further, but he would not allow his desire for the man to dictate actions he knew were correct. Besides, after what he'd done, he didn't deserve love from a man like Severus Snape.

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"Severus, I'm afraid I've received word from Professor Price that you will need to take over his classes for the day, as he is ill. Will you be able to do so on such short notice?" Albus quirked a brow at him, a certain knowing twinkle in his eye and a slight smile touching his lips.

"Yes, Albus." He murmured cooly, then watched intently as the man left his classroom, his mind busily working over this new information. Perhaps what had happened last night had seriously injured the young wizard? He'd reacted so strongly to the climax that Snape had briefly considered fetching Poppy, but the humiliation of first revealing his deception and the obsession that had triggered it, and then the fact that he had seduced the beleaguered professor was too much. He now began to worry that he might have risked the young man's health for his own selfish reasons.

He sighed as his first class filtered in, deciding to visit the handsome American when his day was completed, to make certain he was not suffering needlessly. Of course, his thoughts were occupied with the young man the entire day, which made him even more irritable and short with his students. Most took no notice, but a particular curly-headed, clever little witch took note of Snape's surliness and added it to the fast-forming puzzle in her mind.

At the end of Potions, the last class of the day, she lingered over putting her things away, and once the rest of the students had gone, she fixed her gaze intently on Professor Snape. Even his scowl couldn't put her off as she lifted her bag and strode forward, heading for Price's office door in the rear of the room, hissing to the dark wizard as she strode by him. "Phineas Verdey." She was satisfied when he twitched and then hurried to follow her into the office, closing and locking the door, before asking dejectedly. "How did you figure it out?"

Hermione dropped her bag and whirled on him, tears prickling in the corners of her eyes, but she fought them off and glared at the older wizard, feeling darkly pleased by his fear. "Phineas means serpent's mouth, and was the first name of P.T. Barnum, the famous Muggle hoaxer. And Verdey is a form of verity, which means truthful. Not only that, but you really need to learn to hide your more telling mannerisms when you're pretending to be someone else. You stand and sit too straight, and you don't talk at all like a teenager. Really, unavoidably detained?" She practically spit at him, feeling so angry she was glad she didn't have her wand in hand.

She watched as he dropped his eyes, savoring the look of shame. "Are you going to tell him?" He asked softly, sounding strangely defeated, which she hadn't been expecting at all. She found a sliver of sympathy in her heart and tried to squash it, muttering. "What? How you were playing him for a fool? How he was being lied to and used for your own amusement? I think you should be the one to tell him, don't you agree?" She watched his face and was dismayed to see guilt written all over it, even as he flinched at her words. Oh, no...hell, he genuinely looked remorseful. She sighed and moved away, sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs.

"Did you just do this because you wanted to toy with him, Professor Snape? Do you know how much he cares for you?" She stared at him, feeling bad for revealing Price's secret, but needing to know if Severus was just screwing around. Really, who were the adults and who was the child here? "No...I just...wanted to be around him. He...cares for me?" Snape's voice was quiet, tangled with emotion and confusion and he peered at her as if she were crazy. She rolled her eyes and stood, grabbing her bag and shoving past him to leave with a muttered. "Talk to him, Professor. I'm not going to play Cupid."

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Vance looked up from his final cup of coffee, his nerves on edge due to the ten or fifteen others he'd drunk since he'd woken up that morning. In fact, he was thrumming with so much energy he thought he could beat a werewolf in a foot race. He smirked at his thoughts, though there wasn't any humor in the expression, and rose to his feet. It was a little later than he'd thought and he needed to see Severus now, before he lost his buzz and his nerve. He pushed away from the table and headed for his door, running a hand back through his hair as he snatched his robes from the back of his couch. He looked up and stumbled to a halt when the door opened suddenly to reveal the very man he'd been about to hunt down.

"I...am sorry for barging in, but...I was afraid you'd refuse to answer the door." Severus spoke with an unusual hesitancy, but Vance felt his heart leap, his golden gaze traveling over the conventionally black-clad form with a little smile. Gods, if anyone could make Puritan wear look sexy, it was Severus Snape. He blinked as he recalled what he'd been leaving to do and he nodded, swallowing thickly. "Come right in. Close the door, we need to talk." He tilted his head, noting an odd expression on Severus' face, wondering suddenly if Phineas had told him.

"Before you say anything, Vance..." The cool, silken words were cut off abruptly when Severus grabbed his left forearm with a wince, inky eyes widening in fear. Vance rushed forward, his mind instantly flooded with remembered information about heart-attacks, his arms wrapping about the older man as he murmured. "It'll be okay. I'll get you to Poppy." Severus shook his head firmly, but before he could speak an oppressive, aching darkness closed tightly around them, yanking them through a pinhole and away from Hogwarts.

Vance came to on his back, disoriented and fighting to regain his breath after the highly unpleasant form of travel, wondering how the wards at the school had been penetrated. Severus was climbing to his feet beside him, having recovered far more quickly. He sent a brusque, warning glance down at Vance and then strode forward to the center of the room. "My Lord, as you can see...I was not alone." Snape's voice was flat and yet respectful, icy but laced with a hint of submissiveness. It made Vance inwardly cringe, but he forgot it quickly in the dawning realization of what had happened and, more importantly, where they were.

He sat up slowly, staring around the circular room, fear fluttering like a bird in his chest when he spied the masked faces of the Death Eaters. His mind was cast back seventeen years to the night his parents died and he voiced a soft whimper. He tried to look down, struggled to force his eyes on the hands that lay weakly in his lap, but his gaze was drawn inexorably to the throne in the center of the room and he caught his first glimpse of the Dark Lord himself. He stared in horror at the snake-like face, the flicking, black tongue and slitted nostrils, unable to avoid the cold, crimson eyes that glinted with madness. His heart lurched in his chest and darkness flickered tantalizingly at the edges of his vision, but he bit his tongue to fight it off. No way was he fainting in the company of a bunch of ruthless, half-crazed murderers.

"Who is he, Severus?" The low, hissing voice nearly ripped a scream from him, and he was reminded of the Muggle bible story in which the serpent entices the first woman to eat of the tree of knowledge. He never thought he'd know how the voice of the devil would sound, but now he did and it was awful. Mainly because it was darkly alluring, reminding him of the sly voice that had tempted him earlier that morning. He wanted to leave and he wanted to leave NOW! "Just a lover, My Lord. No one important. I will Obliviate him once we leave." Snape spoke of him blandly and it sent a little jolt of pain through Vance's chest, but he knew his life depended on keeping silent, so he swallowed his protest.

He managed to scramble to his feet, stumbling back until he was pressed against a pillar, eyes finally moving off the reptilian Dark Lord to look around at the gathered Death-Eaters. He wondered how many of them had been a part of the group that had tortured him and murdered his parents in cold blood, becoming ever more enraged with each passing moment. His fingers itched for his wand and his hand crept toward his pocket, his breath coming in deep, ragged gasps. "Disarm him, Severus." The hissing, tempting voice spoke sharply and before he knew it, his wand flew from his pocket and into Severus' outstretched hand.

He shot a glance at the older wizard, glaring at him with a brief, yet burning, hatred, wanting his wand back so he could enact his vengeance after so long. Too long. He got only a dull glower in return and then the Potions master turned to kneel at Voldemort's feet. "What is thy will, My Lord?" A bubble of laughter escaped from Vance before he could call it back, the sound laced with a heavy dose of hysteria, which frightened him. The words and the sight of the dark-robed figure kneeling at the feet of the hideous wizard reminded him insanely of Darth Vader and Emperor Palpatine in Return of the Jedi. He slapped a hand over his mouth to guard against anymore inappropriate reactions, shuddering as the ruby gaze turned on him.

"Silence! You might yet leave here alive if you do not anger me." He sucked in a breath and nodded at Voldemort, keeping his gaze firmly down on the floor. "Wait! Master, I know this one!" His head snapped up as he heard the high-pitched, grating voice of Bellatrix LeStrange, and then she was there, striding forth from the pack of Death-Eaters. She was not wearing robes or a mask, but she'd been too short for him to see past the taller wizards in front. He stared in mute shock and growing rage as she peered at him, drawing ever closer. "Explain yourself, Bellatrix."

The Dark Lord did not sound pleased to have had his meeting interrupted, and clearly was losing patience with all the attention being on Vance, rather than himself. Bellatrix smiled and stepped nearer still, reaching to trail her fingertips over his chest. Vance snapped entirely and lunged at her with a savage snarl, hands reaching for her skinny throat, the urge to kill never so strong as in that moment. "Crucio!" He was halted as a wave of white-hot misery flooded over him and he fell to the floor, shuddering and twitching, moaning deep in his throat. The familiar torture only made the years blend even more disconcertingly, until he could no longer discern between himself at thirteen and himself at thirty.

"Master, this is the son of Guinevere Price! The boy we left to die seventeen years ago." Bellatrix cackled madly as Voldemort tortured him, dancing around his prone body with a broad smile on her face. "Oh, Lord...Might I keep him? He's ever so pretty and we have a history, we do." She looked up beseechingly to Voldemort as Vance cried out finally in pain, praying for insanity, for death, anything to stop the torment. Instead, he was suddenly bound tightly with ropes and hoisted into the air. The agony cut off just as that wicked, maddening voice answered. "He's yours."