Disclaimer: I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play with her characters on occasion.
What He Wants - Chapter 1
He had always been aware of her, more aware of her than Malfoy ever had been and certainly more attentive than her so-called 'friends'. If not for the stigma of their births separating them, he would have approached her sooner; as it was, he was risking everything to give her the book when he did, but he was tired of sitting back and doing nothing, tired of being the silent observer. He had been in the library during her first frantic search through the stacks, before Dumbledore's death, and while he didn't know why she was looking at books on artifice and dark magic, he recognized the word 'horcrux' when he found it scribbled on a scrap of parchment. When Malfoy finally returned triumphant to the common room, Theo knew that he'd found success in whatever it was he'd been plotting all year, and he knew that the chaos of Malfoy's plot would give him the opportunity he needed to slip through the cracks of Hogwarts' vaunted security.
All he needed was five minutes in his father's study, and he wasn't all that worried about being caught because his father - shining example of a Death Eater that he was - was still languishing in a cell in Azkaban after last year's less-than-brilliant attack on the Ministry. On some level, Theo understood Malfoy's distress, knew the Dark Lord had come down hard on the Malfoys after the plan failed to net him the prophecy, and sometimes late at night when all was quiet except for the faint sounds of Draco's muffled sobs he found himself thanking Merlin or God or whoever he had to thank for remaining unnoticed.
In and out, that's all he needed, knowing exactly where the book was, knowing precisely how to pick apart the careful wards set in place by his ancestor, having done it back at Christmastime just to prove to himself that he could. He slipped out of the gates in the chaos of the attack, and from there it was easy enough to Apparate to the Nott manor house, pick apart the wards, and take the book, replacing the wards with his own set, carefully crafted, though really they weren't even necessary. Wrapping the book in a hastily-conjured piece of white silk, he tucked it into his robes and returned to the school, just in time to see the Dark Mark over the tower and hear the sounds of Draco's flight with Snape.
No one asked where he'd been; either they simply assumed that Malfoy had given him an assignment for a specific area (which idea was ludicrous, because there was no way he'd ever take orders from that arrogant little ferret-faced excuse for a Slytherin princeling), or they simply didn't care. He returned to his dorm without running into any of his classmates, and pulled the curtains closed around his bed, setting the book down and carefully peeling away the silk. It was superstition that had led to him wrapping the book in it, irrational and illogical to be sure but it had felt like a necessary precaution at the time. Theo's mother had given him better advice on the lingering effects of dark objects than Professor Trelawney could ever have hoped to achieve, but then Trelawney's visions were a cheap parlour trick compared to Mrs. Nott in her prime, and Theo was inclined to take her advice in these dark and uncertain times... at least so long as no one was looking.
His classmates would have scoffed at the idea of a book being evil, but he had heard what happened with Ginny Weasley and a certain diary, and there were things in his ancestor's journal that suggested that his discomfort might not be wholly unfounded. Still, if Granger was looking for information on horcruxes, she wasn't going to find it in the Hogwarts library no matter how hard she looked.
It wasn't until the day of Dumbledore's funeral that he was able to give it to her. He had removed it from the silk wrapping, and it just felt wrong in his hand, though he was careful not to show any discomfort when he cleared his throat. She blinked up at him, and he could practically hear the wheels turning in her head as she tried to figure out why he was there, her brown eyes riveted completely on the book in his hand. "Can I help you with something?" She tried to sound cool and imperious, Gryffindor's vaunted know-it-all, but he knew her well enough to know that it was a facade, because her fingers were twitching, betraying her desire for the mysterious book.
"Actually, Granger, I think I might be the one to help you." He took a half step toward her, and he could tell she was trying not to back away from him, but he simply set the book down in front of her before stepping back. "Six hours until curfew." Her mouth opened, preparing her retort that she knew perfectly well when curfew was, but before she could say anything he added, "I'll need this back by then." He nodded toward the journal, then turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her alone with the book, though it was the last thing he wanted to do. He wanted to stay, to watch her pick through it, to be on hand for whatever questions she might have, knowing she would surely have questions about the material, but to do so would put both of them in danger.
Instead, he roamed the halls, not wanting to join the rest of his House in the Slytherin commons, where Pansy was holding court among Malfoy's followers and bemoaning the loss of her boyfriend. He wasn't ready to go back to pretending just yet, too high on adrenaline from having approached Granger; giving her the book was tantamount to treason against the Dark Lord, he was absolutely certain that if any of his fellow Slytherins were to learn about it he'd be in all kinds of trouble. His steps slowed as he realized his feet had taken him to the Astronomy Tower, and he stopped at the base of the stairs, unwilling to ascend to the place where the Headmaster had been murdered.
Theo turned away from the tower, heading back the way he'd come, thinking of Malfoy and what he'd become, wondering if the same would be asked of him, if his father ever came home, wondering if he would make the same choice, in Malfoy's place. He liked to think that he would refuse the Mark, refuse to become just another soldier in the Dark Lord's army, that he would be strong enough to say no, but mostly he hoped that Granger and her friends would succeed, that good would win out. Preferably before his father was released from Azkaban, because he had a better chance of retaining his free will without the demands of family weighing on him. Family, after all, had led to Draco's downfall.
Six hours seemed like an eternity, but he arrived a full three minutes early, not drawing her attention to his presence but watching her work feverishly through the rest of the book, wiping her hand on her robes every time she turned a page, taking meticulous notes with her other hand. When it had been precisely six hours, she slammed the book shut and shoved it across the table at him, without looking up, so very punctual about relinquishing the journal that it was as if a timepiece had been ticking away in that busy-busy brain of hers. His fingers closed around the book, sliding it into the pocket of his robes that was still lined with the white silk he'd taken it from, and he waited until she'd stood up from the table and walked around him before giving in to the urge to wipe his hand on his robes. She fled the library, not quite running but close enough that it really made no difference, and he thought about trailing her, then decided that such a thing would be unwise. Instead, he moved around the table, pushed her chair back in, then left the library at a steady walk, heading for the dungeons and the Slytherin common room, looking as though he hadn't a care in the world.