A/N: The following is a story that I wrote late last year and had posted elsewhere. I chose to delay posting here because I was unsatisfied with the ending, but now that I've completed other stories I was working on I have had the time to go back and "fix" the last chapters, with a few minor alterations along the way.

It is slightly AU/AR, but I have kept as close to canon as I felt was compatible with my chosen plot. I hope everyone enjoys the tale, and you can expect to have further chapters posted before too long.

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The world seemed to exist in a haze of blurred lights and strange noises, Hermione's senses competing for which could confuse her the most. She felt dizzy, unable to focus or comprehend her surroundings.

"Miss Granger?" asked a voice, concerned and overly high pitched. "Miss Granger, can you hear me, dear?"

As the faintness wore off, if only slightly, Hermione opened her eyes to see Madam Pomfrey staring down at her. Sitting up with a groan, and against Pomfrey's insisting, she looked around and realized she had been brought down from her room and was now sitting on one of the beds in the infirmary, with what looked like bottles of potion scattered on the table beside her. "How long…" she began, having to take a moment to gather her thoughts enough to speak clearly. "How long have I been down here?"

"Well, Miss Granger," answered Madam Pomfrey gently, "you were found last night on the floor by your roommate who claimed she heard a loud thud that woke her from her sleep. That would have been around midnight, and Minerva brought you straight to me. It is now nearly ten o'clock in the morning, and you have had quite a few of us rather concerned. Do you remember what happened, dear?"

"I…" Bloody hell, thought Hermione. Is there any way of getting around this? "I…I don't know. I can barely think, much less see. I… everything looks blurry."

"Alright, dear," said Pomfrey, "stay still for just a minute. I believe I have… ah, here it is. Take this potion, dear. You seem to still be affected by how your head got hit. This should clear things up for you."

Hermione took the potion gratefully and a few seconds later her vision had returned to normal. This caused her to nearly fall off a bed for the second time in less than a day. She stared at Madam Pomfrey and saw… not Madam Pomfrey. That is to say, it was the same healer that had helped her so many times before, from the mistake with the Polyjuice Potion to being petrified. Yet, she wasn't. Her appearance was different, though Hermione couldn't put her finger on the difference.

"Uh… Madam Pomfrey, how long must I stay here?" Hermione asked, trying to think fast. "I would hate to miss my next class over this. I'll have a terrible time catching up already."

The nurse stood there for a moment, considering. Finally she sighed and nodded. "You may go, Miss Granger, but I expect you to check back with me before dinner and again before curfew tonight, and immediately if anything abnormal happens."

"Yes, ma'am," Hermione said automatically, "I must go now, to change and get my books before Defense Against the Dark Arts class." She hurried out of the room as quickly as possible, trying to avoid mentioning that abnormal things were already happening. Surely, everything will be back to normal soon. Won't it?

Trying to push what had happened out of her mind, Hermione nearly ran back to Gryffindor Tower, afraid of missing a second of Dark Arts when she'd already missed her three morning classes. Not that she cared for seeing her teacher in the process of attending class, but some things just couldn't be helped. The farther she went, the more disturbed she became. No one looked as they should, and she was at a loss as to how to fix matters. The only person she passed that looked at all normal was Luna, but that, she supposed, was because Luna was anything but normal.

Hermione could use logic to do anything, and in this instance she used it to convince herself she could not possibly be seeing what she kept thinking she saw. Attributing it to her fall, and the subsequent knot on the back of her head, she continued her denials up until the time she walked into Defense Against the Dark Arts class. There are some things, though, that the mind just doesn't make up. And this was one of them. Walking into the room she saw the black folds of clothing that could belong only to one person. He stood at equal height to any in the room, if not taller than most, and he had the same black hair as always. Yet, as with everyone else, it was not quite the same.

In the case of Severus Snape, though, it was more than "not quite" to Hermione's way of thinking. His hair looked thicker, the black of a raven's feathers with not the slightest trace of gray. As he turned to face the class, she gasped. His face no longer showed his age. The skin was smooth, almost youthful, though just as pale as ever. The paleness was not unattractive though, it was like polished ivory that you knew would feel cold but ever so good to touch. His lips were smooth, and curved almost in a sensual pout, making her think of how it would feel to kiss them. And his eyes. Even from the distance across the room they drew her in. His eyes had always been just black to her, nothing special to be seen in them. But now they were like pools of dark water, a mirror to yourself and yet full of depth that spoke so much of what he kept hidden. They were not the eyes of a young man, as his appearance now seemed to be. Rather, they were full of experience. Experience and pain, more than any should have to face in a lifetime.

"Are you well, Miss Granger," he asked, tone suggesting he couldn't care less for the answer so long as she did not disrupt his class.

"I…I…" she stuttered. His behavior was typical Snape, but she could not shake the visible difference before her. "Madam Pomfrey said I might come to class if I felt well enough, but something strange just happened and I don't think I feel well at all."

"You don't think you are well, Miss Granger? Or you are not well? Those two are not quite the same," he said. His tone sounded bored, but with a distinct edge to it.

"I am not well," she said firmly after making a quick decision.

"So you say," Professor Snape said, and waved his hand towards the door. "Run along then, Miss Granger. Go back to Madam Pomfrey and take care of it, then see me later for your missed assignments."

She went to Madam Pomfrey, but just said she felt exhausted, near collapse, and as expected was told to return to her room for the rest of the night and get some sleep. It was not normally so easy to placate Pomfrey with such vague, and to extent illogical, explanations. Hermione wasn't going to question her luck though, and returned to her room as quickly as possible. It wasn't for sleep that she hurried, though the idea was welcome enough to her drained body. Rather, it was her growing unease. What had she done and why had it gone so terribly wrong? If nothing else, Hermione felt the need to get away from anyone and everyone who might give her more questions when she seemed to have no answers available to her.

As she searched through the things hidden in the bottom of the trunk she kept under her bed, Hermione thought back to what had led up to her present difficulty. When shopping in Diagon Alley at the beginning of the semester, Hermione had found her way to the 'used' section of Flourish & Blotts. After a few minutes of looking, though, she realized there was nothing there that tempted her enough to part with her limited funds. On the way out she had glanced at some of the stalls that lined Diagon Alley, and that is when it had caught her eye. One stall was an estate sell of sorts, run by a strange looking man who sold whatever people had been trying to get rid of. He wasn't knowledgeable, and most ignored him, except those that realized how easily treasures can slip through the cracks. The cover was solid black leather, no imprint upon it, but on the inside the title read "Of Magical Empathy and Other Skills." It fascinated her, and after Hermione had used a few quick spells to at least verify that it was truly an antique book, she quickly forked over the price she was given. It hadn't cost much, but even if it had she would have considered it worth every last knut.

Afterwards she realized why the book had drawn her so strongly. It was mentioned in another book she had read as a valued text with few remaining copies, and now one of those limited copies was hers. Hermione had delved into the book eagerly, soon realizing its true nature. While it was not about any Dark Arts, it was the sort that could be imagined to have given way to such abuses of magic. After all, every transgression must start somewhere.

There was one spell that practically called her name. The heading read 'For Understanding of Others,' a vague title that, from the rest of the text, Hermione had believed to merely give a sort of push towards insight. It was a simple spell with a simple potion, and she could use all the insight she could get.

Alright, so that sounded bad in light of her current situation. Still, she could not imagine what had caused this outcome. How can this aid understanding of others? She wondered. I'm not understanding, just seeing…

Oh.

Realization came quickly for her, as it usually did (if not quite so quickly as would have been preferable in this instance). You understand others by understanding who they truly were, and that was why she seemed to be seeing everything in a flawed manner. It wasn't flawed. It was completely, horribly right.

What now? If there was anything her ridiculously foolish self still realized was that these spells were not meant to stay with you for the rest of your life. If they did there were consequences, and she could find no spell to undo what she had done. Who could she ask? Not Harry or Ron. Not Professor McGonagall. Not Dumbledore. Nothing seemed the answer until she remembered those dark, beautiful eyes. She had her answer. Who knew more about such questionable arts and potion making than the most dreaded professor of Hogwarts?