Barbarism to Decadence.

((Thank you for the review abbi cee! I was beginning to despair of my lack of reviews, but I'm glad to have yours. I am pleased you are enjoying the story, and hope that Snape as a student will live up to your expectations. The reasons for Draco's participation in the class will be revealed in later chapters.))

Severus stood staring at himself in the full-length mirror in his bedroom with his mouth hanging open in undignified, slack-jawed amazement. He decided that no matter how many times you brewed the potion, saw what it could do or even used it yourself, the act of looking into a mirror and seeing someone other than yourself would always be startling. Granted, he'd made matters worse by picking a boy he should never even have considered, but, still...

He reached forward and then forced his hand down with a frown, taking up the reins of his self-control and jerking the wild horses in his mind back into quiescence. The week had been hell on his nerves, what with the unexpected happenings in Pri...Vance's room and then having to find someone from which to harvest the hair. Of course, Draco had avoided him all week, as if the boy knew that his godfather would have pointed questions about his involvement with the new course.

On top of that, he'd forced himself to read that utterly ridiculous Muggle story. How did Vance expect them to understand anything about Muggles from a book that was probably written in the midst of a drunken stupor or an opium daze? He'd researched the author, only to discover the man was not only a suspected kiddie diddler but frequently smacked on laudanum. That seemed to reason to him that the man was probably not the best example for Muggle-kind.

Not to mention, the story was utterly mad. Some selfish child with a severe case of ADD goes wandering off after a rabbit in a waistcoat and top hat, falls down a rabbit hole, meets a great many animals that can talk...Well, frankly the whole story was without merit. He'd have much rather spent his time reading the Quibbler, at least it occasionally had some truth in it.

He shook off his thoughts, reminding himself that for now he needed to reacquaint himself with this new body so he wouldn't be making any ridiculous mistakes. He'd look strange reaching far over his head to scratch a nose that used to be a foot higher than it was at present, not to mention having to fit his stride to the shorter legs. Why had he chosen such a petite boy, exactly? He felt like one of those annoying lapdogs that does nothing useful and barks like it's becoming passé.

"I'll just make sure I don't talk too much." He spoke up, a shudder of disconnection shooting along his spine at the lyrical, spritely voice rising from his strangely shapely lips. Damn him for a sentimental fool, why had he picked this boy out of all the ones loitering in that Muggle park? He stared in the mirror with a groan that made him shiver again, meeting the periwinkle gaze of his secret self. Phineas Verdey was a beautiful young man. He should have picked someone who could fade into the background.

Instead, he'd picked the prettiest posy in the bed. The boy's face was round, the first tinges of his masculinity barely showing from behind the awe-inspiring blush of youth. His lips were a pink cupid's bow, his eyes large and sparkling pools of blue-violet that made you want to sink into them until the rest of the world melted away. He was dainty, a petite 5'6" with delicate bones that seemed to be formed of spun-glass, his features small and sweetly endearing like a cherub. His hair was a carefully-cropped cap of cornsilk that was just long enough to curl prettily at the ends, but still short enough not to spring into the golden coils it longed to form. He looked like Eros on the cusp of manhood, and Snape knew he ought not have chosen him.

However, he'd coveted the boy's easy beauty, the confidence he seemed to have in himself and in the adoring, interested gazes of the boys around him. Severus wanted, even for a few hours a week, to know what it was like to be attractive and conscious of that fact. In the end, he'd gone against his better judgement and if he now had to pay the price by having himself caught-out in his lie...then he had only himself to blame.

He sighed and turned from the window, walking over to fetch on the recently purchased emerald green Slytherin robes, covering his equally new school uniform. He smoothed elegantly-wrought hands over the front of his robes, allowing himself a moment's fascination with their perfectly-manicured nails before he grabbed up the silly Muggle book and cast a Disillusionment charm on himself. He only needed it until he got out of the dungeons, but he wasn't going to risk anyone seeing 'Phineas' stepping out of Snape's quarters.

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The day was perfect for a class in the grass, the sun was shining, but not so hard that it burned the top of one's head and made them cranky. There was a slight breeze off the lake and it further dropped the temperature until it was just right, bringing with it the refreshing scent of clean water, grass and summer. Granted, summer was gone and autumn was creeping in to take it's place, but on a fine Saturday, it was easy to believe that the warm days and cool nights might stick around forever.

Vance sat with his knees bent and his arms folded across the top, watching as the trickle of students became a stream and he silently counted heads. They were missing only two now, Severus' mysterious Mr. Verdey and the nosy Miss Granger. He wondered if the Gryffindor might not be too ashamed to show her face, especially since she hadn't looked at him once in the past week, and her hand had never risen in Potions either to ask or answer a question. Thankfully, she also didn't seem to be inclined to share his secret with anyone else, a fact of which he was rather grateful.

He flicked his wand, silently casting the Tempus charm, and watched the seconds flit by until two o'clock flashed and he banished the numbers. "Welcome to..."

He was interrupted when a boy with hair the color of sunlight reflecting on water rushed past him and threw himself down on the ground, a pretty pink flush staining his peaches and cream complexion. "I'm sorry, Professor Price! I won't let myself be tardy again, sir." The boys voice rang like silver bells across his ears and he blinked at him, unable to speak because he was quite sure he would have noticed such a classic, stunning beauty in the student population. "Phineas Verdey?"

His voice came out rather skeptical, for the very idea that this golden child could be in Slytherin seemed almost...indecent. Surely a face so innocent it could have been painted by Botticelli would never hide a mind both bigoted and cunning? "Yes, that's me. I apologize again, sir. I was unavoidably detained."

That snapped him from his, likely highly obvious, state of awe, and he blinked. What sort of 17 or 18 year old used terms like 'unavoidably detained'? He eyed the boy more intently now, seeing beyond the full-body slap of his beauty and noting the odd manner in which the boy sat. Stiffly, with his spine perfectly straight and his hands folded atop the book resting on his thighs. There was something familiar about that posture, something that made him want to smile at the boy in a way no professor should ever smile at a student.

The urge made him twitch and he merely nodded, then turned his attention to the rest of the class before he could do something that would get him fired and arrested, in that order. "As I was saying, Welcome to Understanding Muggles through Muggle Literature. I trust all of you have read the first two chapters of Alice?" He saw their nods, and suddenly caught sight of a bushy riot of curls peeking over the shoulder of an unfortunately husky, young Hufflepuff witch. He smirked wryly to himself and leaned back on his hands, stretching his legs out before him as he scanned the students.

"From now on, you should be aware that you can wear whatever you like to our Saturday meetings. There's no need for your school uniforms if you would be more comfortable in casual attire. As you can see, I rarely bother with the trappings of formal wear." He glanced down at his dark-wash blue jeans and his long-sleeved Jimi Hendrix t-shirt that he'd had since he was in college. He'd debated wearing a pair of shorts, but he had learned that lesson hard the day Snape had scolded him, rightly, for parading around in too little clothing. The wizarding world was a lot like the 1800's, and he had to remember that people within it were just as likely to be shocked by too much skin.

He exhaled and grinned as a few of the students discarded their robes, loosened or removed their ties, and simply relaxed. He wanted them to genuinely enjoy this class, not merely shove through it because they had to. That was part of why he'd made it elective. "Also, I'd like us all to get to know one another, so you'll all be required to introduce yourselves and give us a few interesting tidbits about your life or your interests. I'll start, shall I?"

He noted many nodding heads and chuckled, arching a brow. "My name is Vancelot Price. I think for the purposes of this class, you can forego the professor bit and just call me Vance. If you find that difficult, I understand. I'll call you all by your first names as well, unless you'd rather I didn't." He glanced around and didn't see any mutinous glares, though the cherubic Slytherin boy seemed to be looking at him rather strangely.

He shrugged it off and continued with a grin. "As most of you probably know, I've been living in the Muggle world since I was thirteen and left Hogwarts for a boarding school in America. I went to an American college and got my doctorate in English along with a teaching degree, then I began teaching classes in a Muggle high school. I returned to Hogwarts at the request of Albus Dumbledore, whom I am sure you all know can be quite persuasive when he wants to be. Have you any questions before I pick someone to go next?"

He suppressed the urge to laugh as he saw a hand shoot up at the back and a head of curls peep over the shoulder of the mousy-looking Hufflepuff. "Hermione?" He noted, unable to resist grinning as he peered directly at her and her face appeared, red with embarrassment. "I just...wondered about your...first name, sir?"

He nodded, having expected this question at some point in the beginning of his stay at the school. He'd dealt with it over and over through his life, even getting phone calls from complete strangers who'd seen his name in the phone book and just had to know. "It's not a very interesting story, to be honest with you. My mother was fascinated with King Arthur, Camelot and the whole bit, even to the point that she legally changed her name to Guinevere when she was twenty-one. She'd known since she was a child that her first son would be named Lancelot, since she found the knight wildly thrilling and bold, far more so than the poor, put-upon king."

He paused here for effect, as he'd done so many times before and peered off toward the school as if becoming lost in his thoughts. The silence went on for a few moments, then finally one of the students spoke up. "Well?" He glanced back, his broad grin instantly revealing his dramatics for what they were and he continued. "My father was named Paul, a terribly unromantic name on the face of it, but she fell in love with him anyway and they got married. Well, a few months after the happy news of my conception, they began to argue bitterly about what to name their precious bundle of joy. My mother was firmly set on Lancelot, but my father's family had handed down the name Vance from time immemorial. It was my father's middle name, but he wanted it to be his son's first name."

"So, the war continued on and on, even into the delivery room at St. Mungo's, where my father was gently, yet stubbornly, insisting that Lancelot could be my middle name. However, my mother was shouting, rather in pain at that point, that Vance Lancelot sounded like the cheesy name of some Muggle lounge singer. Frankly, I sort of agree with her. They continued the argument all through my birth, then when the Healer laid me in my mother's arms, they both looked down at me and the problem was solved. They named me Vancelot and didn't bother with a middle name, deciding that nothing would sound quite right with my first."

He stopped finally and watched them, waiting for the first signs, then breaking down when he heard a giggle. Within moments, he and the majority of the class were rolling about in the grass and laughing like a bunch of loonies what escaped from Bedlam. As he was trying to regain his composure, he spied the pretty blond Slytherin peering down at him with something like adoration, and felt a funny squirmy feeling in his stomach. The sort of feeling he normally only got around one person...Severus Snape.