Disclaimer: I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play with her characters on occasion.

Author's Note: There are two sides to every story. I considered posting these stories separately, but it really only works if it's read in the order I have it here. What She Needs chapters are Hermione's point of view, and What He Wants chapters are the same events viewed from Theo's side of things. It's less complicated than it sounds, I promise.

What She Needs / What He Wants

by Scribe Teradia

What She Needs - Chapter 1

Somehow, he always knew just what she needed.

The day of Dumbledore's funeral, after Harry and Ginny had gone off somewhere to be alone, Hermione sought refuge in the library, sought the comfort of the familiar bookshelves, and searched in vain for answers. It was the first she'd had time to herself since the night their Headmaster died, but she knew this might be her last visit to the library for a while, and she wanted to make good use of the time. When Harry had first told them about horcruxes, she'd gone searching the shelves for answers and found nothing, but she was sure there had to be something useful in one of the dusty old volumes, there just had to be.

Chin in her hand, elbow resting on the table, she was paging through the third book and growing more frustrated by the minute when someone cleared his throat nearby. Straightening, she looked up and was surprised to find Theodore Nott standing within arms' reach of her, a book held in one hand. It was thick, and looked old, and her fingers twitched at the sight of it, wanting so badly to take it from him, though she held herself back because she didn't know why he was there, so she adopted an expression of cool imperiousness instead. "Can I help you with something?"

"Actually, Granger, I think I might be the one to help you." He took a half-step toward her, and it was everything she could do not to lean away from him as he closed the distance between them, but she was glad afterwards that she'd held her ground, because all he did was set the book on the table in front of her. "Six hours until curfew," he said, and before she could open her mouth to tell him that she knew perfectly well when curfew was he added, "I'll need this back by then." Then he turned on his heel and disappeared around a bookcase, with a swirl of black robes to mark his passing. Only the book remained behind, testament to the fact that she hadn't just daydreamed the encounter.

Hermione ran a hand over the black leather cover of the book, then recoiled and wiped her hand on her robes, her mouth twisting in distaste. She'd never before encountered a book she didn't like (even the Care of Magical Creatures ones hadn't been all that bad, really), but this one just felt... wrong, somehow. There was no title on the front cover, nor was there one on the spine, and finally she was forced to touch it again, to peel the cover back from the yellowed pages, the rest of her body leaning away from it until she finally had it open. Cramped, uneven handwriting identified the book as 'The Collected Research of Mr. Alphonse T. Nott, 1502', and she withdrew her hand again, once more wiping it on her robes.

She took a moment to look around her, but the library was empty of people, so there was no one to witness her interaction with the book that was disturbing just to touch. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she turned the page and began to read, picking out the words with only a little difficulty, and by the third page she'd discovered why Theodore had thought it would be helpful. Quill in hand, she paged through it as quickly as she could manage, skimming the text for pertinent passages to copy, and the farther she got the more grateful she was that she'd skipped breakfast and lunch. Six hours later, she slammed it shut and shoved it across the table, not looking up even though she knew he was already there, caught a glimpse of his hand as he picked it up. Gathering her things together, she shoved them into her bookbag and stood up so fast she almost knocked her chair over, edging around the table and toward the exit, all without looking at him.

Down the hall, up a flight of stairs, around a corner to the nearest girls' bathroom, where she was violently ill even though she'd had nothing to eat or drink all day, the taste of bile bitter in her throat. She'd wanted answers, and she'd gotten them, but she couldn't help but wonder at the price, with the words still lingering in her head, making her feel tainted, impure. Later, she would share some of the knowledge with Harry and Ron, the better to finally track down and destroy the horcruxes, but she would tell them nothing of how she came by it, would never mention the boy or his book, keeping the secret to herself as she so often did with things she didn't think they could handle.