A/N: Thank you for the favorites, follows, and reviews!

Not as long as a wait this time… slowly closing the gap between postings.

Chapter Nine

Power seems to follow Mudbloods in some way or another. During my extensive research, I have concluded that if the switched child isn't powerful, their progeny usually is. Though I tried bringing my findings before my peers and the Wizengamot, no one would take me seriously. If they had, they would be forced to admit Mudbloods into their precious lines. And no one wanted to admit their squib child was actually a changeling. This is the ultimate secret for keeping the Malfoy line powerful, we find and marry the most powerful Mudblood women when the magic begins to wane. -Algernon Malfoy, The Short History of a Mudblood's Magic.

**HGHG**

"Tom?" Hermione hesitantly began, blushing as he continued to caress her. He was so lost in himself, in his swirling thoughts, that he didn't hear what she had said. It was true that he was euphoric. Hermione trusted him with the knowledge of her future… their future. Even if it was a grim one.

For several charged minutes, he considered who sent her back, let the thoughts roll in disquiet. At first, the thought that he would send her back to him sounded plausible but after further reflection, he knew he wasn't the culprit. She said in her time, her friend destroyed the diary, meaning she wasn't meant to come back in a looping timeline. He probably didn't even think about her that way, being so much older than her and probably incarcerated in Nurmengard. Or in hiding. Or… He swallowed hard.

There was no question that he wanted a future with Hermione. Badly. He refocused on her sweet inquisitive face and studied the soft curves, her nose, her eyes. He couldn't imagine not having her in his life now. And he didn't want to.

Suddenly a thought grew in his mind, making him wince with its possibility. Could Dumbledore have felt remorse for what he did to Tom and the magical world? Could that be why Hermione was sent back? Or could it truly be the sick and twisted revenge of his former master to the boy who set him on the path of Horcruxes?

Hermione was the perfect person to send. She was everything he never realized he wanted in a woman, everything that he prided in himself. But why would Grindelwald consider Hermione a form of revenge when she is so much like a gift?

No. Grindelwald didn't do this. He was sure of it. It had to be Dumbledore and it seemed the powerful professor was more on his side than he would have ever imagined. Would be. He wasn't on their side yet.

"You still there?" Hermione waved a single hand in front of his face and he blinked away the thoughts that harassed him. No matter who sent her back, she was innocent.

"Sorry," He murmured, giving her a small smile.

A cough from behind startled them and Hermione tried to guiltily jump apart, but Tom wouldn't let her, keeping her hand firmly within his own.

"Lunch is served in the dining room. Master ordered me to bring you both." A small house elf squeaked.

Hermione nodded and moved right away to follow the elf. Tom followed, bemused at Hermione nervous steps. Didn't she know that she was in no danger as long as he was near?

They followed the little elf through the labyrinthine corridors, each turn leading them deeper into the mighty fortress that the Malfoy family tried to pass off as their ancestral manse. The protections laid into the very foundations, into the complicated webbing that was its passageways, throbbed. He could feel its heartbeat and the pulse of magic that surrounded them. If he ever needed fortifications, a throne, a seat of power, Malfoy manor would be it. The only problem would be convincing the Malfoy heir to give it up. And Tom knew that even loyal Abraxas would balk at such a request.

The last turn made Hermione stop dead in the hallway as she looked into what was probably a drawing room. It was elaborately decorated, brass fastidiously polished by house proud elves, high sweeping arches of stone, as so much of the Manor was.

Her small hands tightened, and his brows rose as her glazed eyes flicked back and forth, watching a scene that wasn't there.

"Is this where…" he trailed off.

"Yes," she whispered, tears as much in her voice as in her eyes.

Tom pulled her into his arms and pet her crazy curls as she buried her face into his chest, wrapping her shaking arms around his waist. "I won't let anyone hurt you, not now, not ever. Let me protect you…" He whispered.

She nodded and drew in a deep and calming breath, exhaling into his robes. "You are the most powerful wizard alive or, rather, you will be. If Harry and Ron aren't around to have my back, I am glad you are,"

Tom smiled and tightened his hold on her. Over the top of her head, he met the worried eyes of the elf. He gestured with his head his desire for privacy, and the house elf looked away. Nervously twisting his hands. The elf had been given an order to bring them to lunch and he dared not disobey.

Tom gripped Hermione by the tops of her arms and pushed her away from his body despite every instinct screaming to do the opposite. "Hermione are you ready? We still have to meet Septimus,"

She nodded daubing at her wet cheeks with her fingers. From his breast pocket, he pulled out a single white linen handkerchief and offered its use.

Gratefully, she took the small square to clean up her face. "Such a gentleman," she murmured, a smile playing at the corner of her lips.

"For you? Always,"

She lightly snorted as if disbelieving. He didn't take it personally, however, changing one's perception about another person when such volatile feelings were involved was a monumental task. A task he gladly undertook.

With gentle pressure, he led her away from the damnable room and continued down the passage, following the elf who stopped only as he reached the heavy mahogany doors of the dining room. The elf bowed as the double doors opened as if on their own accord.

Septimus stood from his place at the head of the table and slightly bowed at the waist, more for Hermione's benefit than his own, Tom thought scornfully. But that wouldn't always be the case. One day when Hermione walked into a room on his arm, everyone would bow with devotion and reverence. Veritable royalty.

Tom and Hermione were placed on opposite sides of the table, one at each of Malfoy's sides. Tom didn't like it. He didn't like that Malfoy could reach out to her, touch her if he so desired. He would have to watch him closely. Hell would freeze over before he would let another wizard touch her creamy skin.

And it was obvious that she didn't like it either. Her stiff shoulders showed him how uncomfortable she was around Malfoy. How deeply she had been affected by his grandson, who had lured her into her torture, all because she wanted to save him and his family. She was much kinder than any of them deserved.

"Everything going well?" Septimus asked conversationally, smiling warmly at Hermione. She shifted uncomfortably but was struggling to force herself to relax.

Tom gave Malfoy a warning look that no one in their right mind could misconstrue. Malfoy sat up stiffly, back ramrod straight in his chair, dropping his gaze from Hermione quicker than if he had been Imperiused. He waved for the elves to serve them, unnerved by the boy that had secured Abraxas' allegiance. It made Tom smile.

Hermione discreetly rolled her eyes at Tom, obviously disapproving of the posturing. Not that it could have been avoided, not with a woman like her on his arm. Tom winked at her and her brows arched in surprise. His flirting seemed to visibly relax her and Tom was pleased. It wasn't that long ago when she had an opposite reaction. Oh, how far they had come!

As the food appeared before him, he gingerly took a bite, unfamiliar with the Squab in which he was served. Hermione was unobtrusively poking the tiny bird with her fork while Malfoy dug in with gusto. It was obviously a favorite dish of the Malfoy lord.

Tom met Hermione's skeptical eyes over the table and he had to hold back a laugh. She was trying so hard not to appear repulsed now that she had caught sight of Malfoy's eating habits, no longer focused on the roasted poultry dish or her own remembrances. He could tell exactly what she was thinking. Weren't the Malfoys supposed to have imposing and impeccable manners? Wasn't that something that was drilled into them from birth? Abraxas's manners came from his mother's side. There was no doubt about that.

Tom set down his fork, no longer hungry. "I did find Algernon Malfoy's journals. I must say I am skeptical of the entire thing."

Malfoy snorted, dropping the small squab leg bone onto his plate before wiping his greasy fingers on his napkin. "Yes, well, he was convinced that Maximus Talenger was his son, swapped at birth. If you must know, the resemblance was uncanny. Until this day, the boy's portrait hangs in the west hall. He was brought into the house, taken from his muggle home, taking his 'rightful' place as the true Malfoy heir. I can show you after lunch if you would like,"

"Couldn't the boy have been born of a Squib-born Malfoy?" Hermione asked.

"Squib-born children have traditionally been killed. Algernon's son was the first child to be spared that fate and also coincidentally the last squib born in the line."

"In Algernon's account, his son was dark haired and looked nothing like the family. Then in another breath, he accused the house elves of being so sneaky that they matched the infants right down to temperament." Tom added.

"Algernon always claimed that the elves he had done wrong had wanted him to know. To punish him."

Hermione looked shocked as if she couldn't believe such malice from the tiny creatures.

"You don't actually believe that House-elves are the true cause of Muggleborns? Do you know how many Muggle-born children are born each year? That is one hell of a kidnapping feat. If it were only one or two children, I might be able to believe it. But there are at least twelve in our year alone. Is it truly that easy to offend the house elves to the point they would snatch children?"

"There is a lot more abuse in pure households than even I would like to admit. And it isn't unheard of that our children die in infancy. We Malfoys have always kept a tally. There are some discrepancies that we allow for, such as magical children dying with their muggle caretakers because of abuse or neglect, or even illnesses that would easily be cured in the magical world. The numbers between magical births and Muggleborns are frighteningly close."

"Must it be revenge when an elf places a magical child with muggles then?" Hermione asked curious to what he believed. Tom sat quietly, considering. The hypothesis was so wild, so out there, that he had never seriously considered its possibility of being true. But now…

"Why?"

"What if there was a great war. A war that left pureblooded lords dead, ancient houses without heirs, imprisoned and unable to procreate. Where would the Muggleborns come from then?"

Septimus looked at her considering, searching her face. "Perhaps the loyal elves were trying to save the children from the enemies of their family. Especially, if there was no one else to protect them. Elves can be the most loyal of beings to a family that treats them well. It is in their nature to serve the family's interests."

"You believe this then?" She asked Malfoy, keeping every thought and feeling behind her strong, impenetrable occlumency shields. Tom smothered a smirk but couldn't hide his dancing eyes.

"There is just so much proof. I can't afford not to believe it," Septimus finally said, wiping his mouth with his napkin, signaling the elves to take away the plates, and to serve the next course.

Hermione took a sip of water as she mulled over the new information. Tom could see this theory as plausible, especially during her time. The chaos of war often hid truths right under the very noses of those they were hidden from.

"Have you ever asked a house elf?" Tom asked.

"Of course, but they do not share elf magic with wizards. Though they serve us, their own secrets and traditions and lifestyles are kept hidden. To be honest most wizards don't even consider that they may have their own culture. Perhaps that is the problem. Most do not see them as living beings. That is their mistake. Once an elf is won over, their loyalty lasts for the entirety of their life and that loyalty is passed down and down. Generations of devoted house elves. But don't be complacent, even gentle creatures like house elves can be moved to great acts when provoked."

"Exactly!" Hermione agreed fiercely, a manic gleam in her eye.

Tom rolled his eyes at the two of them, taking a sip of water. He paused before setting the water goblet down and met her eyes. "You believe this?"

"I believe that House-elves deserve better treatment. I have seen a brutalized elf attack a former master after years and years of abuse. I've also seen that same elf attach himself to another wizard. It was more like a friendship though. There was no bond that I was aware of, though he did come whenever Harry called."

"Then there was a bond," Septimus said. "although, it may have unconsciously been formed. Elves are very loyal to any who earn their hearts,"

"He was a free elf. He was paid by his next 'family'."

Septimus scoffed and leaned back in his chair, ignoring the chocolate mousse placed before him. "There must have been a reason why the elf didn't fully serve your friend,"

"I don't know of any,"

"Didn't he live with muggles?" Tom asked quietly. He wasn't sure if she knew that he knew more about Harry than she had told him about. It was the bonus of being an accomplished Legilimens. She looked at him sharply, with equal amounts of resignation and fury in her eyes. Her retribution laid naked in her stare.

"He did," she said stiffly.

"Well, there you go!" Septimus said. "I bet that Muggleborn was placed by that very elf!"

"He wasn't. Harry's wizarding parents died and his only relatives able to take him were muggles."

"That is why the Malfoy family always killed nonmagical children," Septimus sighed. "no chance of jealousy of the ungifted to interfere with wizardkind. Your friend should have been fostered out to a magical family. There are many who would never turn away a magical child of any blood status to be raised by muggles."

Tom could tell that Hermione agreed that her friend should never have been given to muggles to be raised. It was curious because she was so fierce in her protection of her own parents. Curiouser and curiouser.

Another house elf appeared at Septimus' elbow, a silver tray in hand with only a single rolled parchment on its face.

Malfoy unfurled the letter and read, his face darkening with displeasure. "I apologize for leaving you both, but I have urgent matters in which I must attend. One of the elves will show you to the floo. We will have to arrange another day for you both to come."

With that, Malfoy strode angrily out of the room and the two guests could only guess at what had so displeased him. Well, Hermione wondered. Tom had silently and skillfully entered the patriarch's mind the second his face reddened in anger.

He stood from the table and placed his napkin next to his untouched dessert and held out his hand for Hermione to take. They were leaving, it was true, but they were not yet going back to Hogwarts. This new development made his insides quiver with anticipation and he couldn't wait to bring Hermione in on the thickening plot.