Barbarism to Decadence.

Severus sat at his desk, staring down at the exam for Price's new class, studying the questions on it with a sense of admiration growing in his chest. There was a certain Slytherin cleverness in the wording of the questions and the fact that they could only be answered in absolute honesty. Of course, they would also reveal to anyone who took the exam the truth about themselves, should they be denying their own less than savory biases.

His eyes lingered on the question regarding personal ethics in comparison to the ethics of society and he sucked in a soft breath, lightly touching the words in their bold, graceful hand. That was perhaps the most important of all the questions, and it was neatly, and deceptively, buried within the others. In fact, he was impressed at the manner the questions were arranged, alternating innocuous inquiries about Muggle books and games between the far more telling questions about one's own personal motives.

He swallowed, almost frightened to take the test, unsure if he wanted to look so openly upon his deep-seated self. It's ever so much easier for a teenager to look inward, for they still have the chance to change who they were, but it was far harder for a man of thirty-six. If he didn't like himself, he wasn't sure he could alter that self, and he wouldn't be able to forget who he was at the most basic level. It was a terrifying prospect.

He stood and walked away from the parchment, pacing through his rooms and taking deep breaths, feeling anxious in a way he hadn't experienced since he had been a student at Hogwarts himself. There was a vague inkling of a plan turning over at the back of his mind, and he was scared to draw it forward and fully examine it until he was sure he couldn't resist any longer. He wanted it so desperately, and yet there were a great many risks involved.

He stopped to stare down at the test once more, hands shaking as he forced himself to sit, picking up his quill and dipping it into the ink pot. After a moment's further hesitation, he dove in and answered all the questions but the last. As he answered, he didn't think, didn't even look at the answers, deciding he could live a while longer without knowing himself so completely. He snapped his eyes shut the moment he was finished and reached blindly to lay a spare bit of parchment over the exam, hiding the truth from himself deftly.

He remained sitting with his eyes closed for a while longer, then finally exhaled and decided the plan spinning like a crystal in his mind was reckless, but he was going to do it anyway. Why else had he taken the wicked exam if not so he could hand it over to Price? His thoughts turned away from that frightening prospect to go over the amount of reserved Polyjuice in his private cache. Plenty, and he could brew more to make quite sure he had enough to last the school year. He'd only be using it for four hours on weekends, after all.

A smile lightly touched his lips and he leaned back in his chair, following the pathways of the maze in his mind to make sure he'd thought of everything. He could easily find some Muggle boy to get the hair he needed for the transformation, prodigious use of a hair potion and Obliviate would provide him enough and leave the boy oblivious to his unskilled barbering. His eyes dropped to the exam and he cursed to himself, realizing he'd left the top of the exam blank. How was he to get past the truth and give his fictitious self a name, year and house?

He peered at the blank parchment that hid his honest answers, then blinked with a laugh. Of course, it was only a matter of bleed through. He slid the parchment down to reveal the top three lines of the exam, where the student was expected to identify themselves. First, a check to be sure bleed through would actually work. He dipped his quill and lifted it above the page, letting a drop of ink fall at the top right corner of the test, smiling a touch more as the ink bled into it and didn't fade. Perfect.

He set the quill aside and fetched forth a smaller scrap of parchment from his desk, using a few clever spells to make it much thinner and porous so the ink would leak through without spreading too much. He laid the scrap over the top of the exam and nearly shouted with joy when he could clearly read Price's script through it. Now, what name should he give himself? Hmm. It should be something he could remember, so if it was called unexpectedly he would not forget himself and fail to respond.

His eyes drifted to the painting above his desk, watching the emerald serpent coil endlessly with its tail in its mouth and then he laughed, picking up the quill to scrawl out Phineas Verdey. He watched the ink sink through the top parchment and shifted it to find a lighter match on the exam, relieved that his idea had worked. He didn't think Price was likely to catch on to the hidden, and multi-layered, truth in the name, but if he did, then Severus thought he quite deserved to discover his deception.

He contemplated the last two options, swiftly filling in his year as seventh, thinking he might be able to pass for an eighteen year old, it was unlikely he would pass well, but he'd not been able to do it when he was eighteen, so what should change now? He knew he wouldn't be able to pull off anyone younger. The house had him stumped for a while, as he tried to figure out who was likely to have the least representatives in the class. The students would become suspicious if a whole lot of the same house never saw him in the halls or their common room and classes. However, if he chose a house with only one or two students and kept to himself, they were unlikely to comment on never seeing him anywhere.

His brow furrowed and he wished briefly that he had been able to see the exams, though he was impressed by Price's refusal to show him. His eyes drifted down to the last question on the parchment, and he groaned as he realized his own foolishness. What house would be the least interested in understanding Muggles? His own, of course! The majority of Slytherins were pure-blood and he didn't think there were any Muggle-born whatsoever, and he knew most of his students were as contemptuous of Muggles as the average person was of a bit of dog dirt on the sidewalk.

He added his house and then settled back, taking a while to calm himself before he had to deliver the exam to Price and make his request, or rather, demand.

------

Vance rose from his couch to walk across and open his door, blinking at the sight of a rather distraught-looking Gryffindor staring down at her shoes. He stepped back, reaching to gently usher her in before closing the door behind him and speaking softly. "Are you finally going to tell me what has been troubling you, Miss Granger?"

She sniffled and nodded a bit, looking up at him with her eyes wet and red with tears. He slid his clean handkerchief from his back pocket and offered it to her with a kind smile, watching as she dabbed at her cheeks. Her voice was low and wavery as she returned to staring at her feet, handkerchief twisting between her fingers. "Is Soul's Face real, or is it just a glamour? Is my soul really that pretty, or was that just some...some joke or way to boost my self-esteem?"

Vance blinked, taken aback by the very suggestion that he would be so devious and manipulative, even for the reason of making others feel good about themselves. He sighed and walked back to his couch, lifting his glass of wine to sip slowly as he stared into the fire. "Does it matter what I say, Miss Granger? Clearly you think me capable of deception, so even if I tell you the truth, you are unlikely to believe me."

He heard her soft sound of protest and set his glass down, turning to face her with a slight tilt of his head, arching a brow. "Don't, Miss Granger. If you believed fully in my word, you would never have allowed such a thought to take root in your mind. Are you familiar with Veritaserum?" She nodded miserably, lips parting to protest again but he cut it off with a wave of his hand.

"I have a bottle in my chest, once you have identified it to your satisfaction, I will take three drops and you can ask me your question once more." He turned and strode to his chest, muttering the words that lowered the spell keeping it guarded, then drew open the bottom left drawer to remove the small bottle of clear liquid. He carried the bottle back to the young witch and held it out, lips pressing into a firm line. This wasn't the time for smiles and jokes.

He waited as she sniffed and peered, her face becoming ever more distressed until she pushed the vial back at him with a soft sob. "Satisfied?" His words were more angered than he meant, but the thought of being called a liar was intolerable. She nodded faintly, tears making fresh tracks down her cheeks. "Yes...Please, Professor Price, you don't..."

He cut her off with an imperious wave of his hand and allowed three drops of the tasteless potion to fall into his palm, then licked them up judiciously before stoppering the vial. He gritted his teeth in anticipation of the feeling of numbness that swept over him as the potion took effect, his eyes settling on the young witch blandly.

------

Hermione stared at him with wide-eyes, her breath hitching in her chest as she tried to stop crying, but his reaction to her question wasn't helping any. He was angry with her, and truthfully, she couldn't blame him. She'd basically accused him of manipulating her and the other students in the class, not to mention lying to their faces. She felt like an absolute heel.

She shivered as his face went slack and lost all spark, imagining that an Inferi probably looked exactly like that, lifeless and unfeeling. She swallowed, wanting to get this over with so she could return to her room and cry herself to sleep. "Professor...P-Price, is the Soul's Face potion really a means of seeing the state of one's soul, or is it only a glamour?"

"The Soul's Face reveals the true state of the drinker's soul. There is no way to cheat the Soul's Face, no manner in which to alter the face it will show to others, unless one literally works to change their soul. There is no glamour involved, though the changes to the drinker's face are transitory and purely a mask, they come fully from the soul." His voice was flat and mild, making her shiver again, but his words returned that spark of pride to her heart as she remembered how lovely her soul had been.

"T-Thank you. I'll...leave you alone." She turned and started for the door, stopping when he began to speak once more, his voice quiet. "I'm always alone. I don't want to be alone anymore." Heat flooded her face as sympathy sent a stake of pain through her heart and she turned to look up at him. She never guessed he would be lonely, being so attractive and vibrant, she just thought he had plenty of friends and even...lovers. She winced with jealousy at the thought of someone else being held in his strong arms.

She stared at him and found herself asking before she'd thought of the consequences. "Why are you lonely?" Her head dropped and she inwardly scolded herself for prying when he was so vulnerable to her questions and unable to resist telling her the truth. That didn't stop her from listening to his answer, though.

"Because, I have no family, not since Voldemort killed them and the man I care for seems to hate me a little more each time we meet." His answer rocked her and she stared at him, shocked and hurt wildly by the knowledge that he was gay and wanted someone else. Later, she blamed her surprise on her next words, though she felt guilty about asking him. "Who is the man you care about?"

"Severus Snape." Her world and everything she thought she knew exploded around her at those two words, and she whipped around, fleeing his room as if the devil were on her tail. Snape! The handsome, charming, exciting new professor cared for the dour, cruel, evil Death-Eater scum! It was impossible, inconceivable...obscene!