It seemed as if months had passed, but in reality it was only a few weeks when Rolf Scamander finally got back to Draco about the salamanders in Nicaragua. When Draco noticed his mate's handwriting, he tore out of the breakfast parlour, to the astonishment of both of his parents, and quickly made his way towards his room. Once securely inside, Draco opened the missive, his hands shaking with adrenaline.

Draco,

As requested, I was able to track down the Mombacho salamanders, which are located in the magical cloud forest preserve. I spoke with the local director, Senor Gregor Lazo, who was most helpful in directing me to the preferred breeding spot.

I feel compelled to share both the good and bad news of my visit. First, there seems to be quite a rich propagation of salamanders near the canopy, and I was able to catalogue about thirty total within a two-day window. Both male and female of the species appeared to be evenly represented, which bodes well for reproductive purposes. However, the bad news is the existing microclimate of the salamanders, is nigh on impossible to reproduce artificially. When I asked Senor Lazo about this, he indicated this particular habitat only exists in one other place on the planet, and that is near the Maderas Volcano in Ometepe. These microclimates are quite fragile and due to this, any chance of reproduction of the salamanders for research purposes would have to go through an extensive background request, ultimately approved by the local magical government here.

I wish I had better news, Draco. There's simply no chance of transporting the salamanders, as Senor Lazo believes they wouldn't survive the effort.

Let me know if there's anything else I can do for you.

Your friend, Rolf

Sighing in disappointment, Draco plopped down heavily on his bed, the thud of his bed frame creaking in protest.

How in Salazar's name was he going to be able to tell Hermione? She would be so disappointed!

Draco didn't know how long he laid there, staring at his ceiling, when the formation of an idea suddenly hit him. A rare smile transformed over his face and before he could second guess himself, he rolled out of bed and penned a short note, then sent it off with his owl.

Thankfully a response was received about two hours later with a floo address: Number 12 Grimmauld Place, main parlour.

Old Black Manor.

It didn't take Draco but a few minutes to gather his courage, before stepping into his floo and calling out the address.

When he stepped out of the hearth, Draco found himself in a dank, dark and dingy receiving area.

Then he heard footsteps approaching.

When Harry came into view, Draco smirked. "Nice place, Potter."

The Chosen One rolled his eyes, but did eventually wave him forward to follow.

"It's a work in progress, Malfoy. This home was left derelict after Walburga died, and was only used as a safe house and a hideout for the Order during the war. The former house elf, Kreacher…"

Harry didn't get another word out when a sharp pop was heard, and there at the end of the hallway stood the most pathetic looking house elf Draco had ever seen.

"Master called for Kreacher?"

Draco's smirk widened as he noticed Potter huffing in irritation. "No, Kreacher—I didn't call for you."

The large bulbous eyes of the elf widened, when he noticed who was standing behind Potter.

"Young Master Malfoy, the last son of the Ancient and Noble House of Black!"

"Bollocks!" Harry gritted out, while Draco just cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Potter, where have you been keeping him?"

"Hogwarts."

"Ah," Draco nodded, then snickered out a guffaw, "I take it that was Hermione's idea?"

"No, mine actually."

Well, that was an interesting twist, Draco thought.

"Kreacher, you can return to Hogwarts." Harry offered stiffly, and the elf's features pulled into a grimace, but he did bow somewhat half-heartedly, growling out, "Kreacher lives to serve the noble House of Black."

The ensuing pop left the two wizards eyeing the spot where the elf had disappeared from, with matching expressions of disgust.

But for different reasons.

"He's quite old." Draco drawled, unsure of what else to say.

"He is, and a bit mad too. He was left in this house alone for Godric knows how long, muttering about his poor mistress. He seems happier at Hogwarts."

"That's just depressing."

"Tell me about it. Thankfully he was the only elf left here, and once Hermione and me took down the severed elves heads, there's no unpleasant reminders anymore."

Draco shivered in revulsion, "My Mum told me about that, when I asked her a few weeks ago."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Hermione mentioned she was here helping you take down Walburga's portrait the Muggle way. I don't think I've seen my Mum laugh that hard since before the war."

Harry shook his head, but a small smile did make a brief appearance.

"She was rather livid. Spewed all sorts of hateful slurs at both myself and Hermione. The best part was right before the wall came down, Hermione told the old crone who she really was and the look on Walburga's face was quite priceless. At least I won't have to listen to her calling Hermione a Mudblood anymore."

Harry eyed Malfoy directly as he spoke the last part, and watched as the blonde bowed his head in shame.

"You're never going to let me live that one down, are you, Potter?"

"Do you think I should?"

"Probably not," Draco conceded reluctantly, "it wasn't well done of me."

"That's an understatement, Malfoy—but," Harry held up his hand when he noticed Malfoy trying to speak, "the past can't be changed. As much as we both hate to admit it, we've both made some pretty horrid mistakes over these past seven years."

"True." Draco capitulated, not wishing to debate the merits of who was the bigger git. He was pretty sure the answer was rather obvious, even if it rankled. "I was hoping we could get to the reason of my visit."

"Sure." Harry walked into what was a small kitchen area, and gestured to the tea pot. Draco nodded and watched as Potter actually prepared not only the tea, but got out some baked goods and set them on the table between them.

Draco took one of the biscuits and hummed with surprise as he took a bite. "These are good, what are they?"

"Those are bourbon creams, and next to them are McVitie's chocolate digestives."

"Muggle?"

"Yes."

Draco grabbed one of the chocolate offerings, and took another small bite. His eyes widened at the buttery, chocolate flavor. He chewed and swallowed, taking a measured sip of his tea and nodded politely.

"Not bad."

"Muggles have a much larger selection of sweets, than the Wizarding world. The grocer's down the street has quite an impressive amount to choose from."

Taking another chocolate biscuit, Draco had to admit they were rather good. He'd spent so many years looking his nose down at the Muggle world, he'd never even considered nor frankly wanted to think that it might have some legitimate value.

However, the more time he spent with Hermione and Potter, the more he was starting to conclude his old way of thinking was definitely due for an upgrade.

"Do you have a favorite?"

Harry shrugged. "Not really. Living with my Aunt, Uncle and cousin growing up—I wasn't allowed much in the way of sweets. When I got on the Hogwarts Express our first year and was introduced to the trolley, I bought the entire lot of sweets and shared them with Ron." He smiled fondly, "Hermione came in looking for Neville's toad and repaired my glasses."

"Really?" Draco's eyes widened in wonder. "She did an oculus reparo?"

"She did." Harry chuckled, "I was stunned, as was Ron. Some months later we were almost caught out by Filch after curfew. This was before we became friends, but looking back on it now, I'm not sure how I could've missed it."

"Missed what?"

"Hermione's painful awkwardness around people," Harry admitted softly, "and it wasn't arrogance, even though I thought it at the time. Maybe part of that attitude was her upbringing, but I think there was the other larger part of Hermione that was desperate to belong, but unsure how to go about it. I suppose it had to be difficult to hide a huge part of herself."

Draco sighed. "She did tell me not too long ago, she was desperate to leave the walls of her home. She admitted it was the main reason why she agreed to hide her identity."

"I thought as much."

"It doesn't make complete sense, though."

"What?" Harry demanded.

"I know about Hermione's Mum, and I suppose her death was part of the reason, right? But I can't help but think there's more to it." Draco leant forward and asked lowly, "Haven't you wondered too?"

Harry sat back and pondered Malfoy's words. Yes, he'd wondered why the need for such secrecy and why Dumbledore allowed it. There were more than a few things that didn't make a lick of sense.

"I'd be lying if I didn't admit to being skeptical."

"My Grandfather's portrait said something the other night, which got me thinking that there's probably more to this."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he mentioned Grindelwald."

Harry's eyes widened in shock. "Now why would that be?"

"Don't know, but I suspect you might?"

"It's rather complicated," Harry began, "and while I don't know how it could relate, maybe it's time we had that conversation."

"About you having a part of the Dark Lord's soul attached to you?"

"That's the one," Harry answered evenly, "it's quite convoluted though."

Draco chuckled deeply, "What isn't with you, Potter? You're the poster boy of convoluted."

"Ouch!" Harry placed a hand over his heart mockingly, but he was grinning too so Draco assumed Potter wasn't exactly put out by their banter. It would seem after removing the vestiges of animosity which had marred their history back at school, they could actually tease each other, which would help to soften the hard edges of their shared contentious past.

"Anyway, as I was stating before being rudely interrupted," Harry baited, but Draco just smirked and waved a hand as if to say, get on with it… "the night Voldemort killed my parents and tried to kill me, my Mum used some kind of old magic and sacrificed herself for me," Harry gestured to his scar, "and when Voldemort tried to kill me, the killing curse rebounded, tearing a piece of his soul and left me with this."

Draco's eyes widened in horror. "You were a horcrux?"

"Yep. Hermione of course, figured it out before I did. When I went into the forest to face him, I was the Master of Death by that point. The Elder Wand couldn't kill me if I didn't want it to. For a brief moment, before your Mum came to check on me, I was in this in-between place and I spoke with Dumbledore."

"Really?"

"Yes. He shared a few things with me, but in the end it was my choice to return. If it hadn't been for your Mum, we wouldn't be here right now. I may have my issues with your family, Malfoy—but what your Mum did was incredibly brave."

Draco nodded, knowing his Mother's reasons and feeling blessed to have her in his life. Eyeing the wizard across from him, Draco sighed in defeat.

"I'm sorry, for what it's worth."

"Sorry for what?"

"What I said that day sixth year on the Hogwarts Express. I was angry about my father being in Azkaban, scared about my task, and in general just hated the world. You never made it easier, Potter."

"It's a two-way street, Malfoy."

"Huh?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but his lifted grin took some of the sting. "Muggle phrase. It means we're both guilty of being git's, and I suppose it's not a competition about who was the bigger one."

Draco scoffed, "That's a matter of perspective, I suppose." He then sat back and asked seriously, "Do you think if you hadn't befriended Weasley on the train first year, you would've accepted my hand in friendship?"

"Honestly?"

"Of course."

"No."

"Oh," Draco's brow furrowed in confusion, "why not?"

Harry rubbed both hands down his face, and Draco could see a flash of pain and regret there.

"My Muggle family were horrid, hateful and prejudiced. They hated magic, and called me a freak every chance they had. My Aunt Petunia was the only mother-figure I knew for eleven years, and when my letter from Hogwarts came, my Uncle Vernon burned it."

"Are you shitting me?"

Harry snorted, "No. Eventually, Hagrid found me and took me to Diagon Alley. To discover the truth of my parents deaths and how the Wizarding World viewed me, was a complete shock. But fundamentally, I never asked to be the Boy who Lived…I just wanted to be Harry. Hermione was the first person I think, who saw the real me. But all you saw was…"

"The Chosen One."

Harry nodded solemnly. "I've tried to wrap my mind around it all, and there's some days I find myself angry at Dumbledore and how he manipulated those around him. But, there's also times I think the reason he did it and allowed myself, Ron and Hermione to get away with so much, was to toughen us up for the War he knew was coming. Dumbledore knew what we'd be up against."

"Still doesn't make it right."

"Maybe not, but he wasn't wrong either. Not really."

"Does Hermione agree with that sentiment?"

"No, but she's always been a bit overprotective where I'm concerned."

Draco shook his head and chuckled deeply, his eyes alight with merriment. "That has to be the understatement of the century. That witch has a vindictive streak second to none, and even I know what she did to Umbridge and Edgecombe back at Hogwarts. I imagine there were others too?"

Harry laughed out loud and nodded in commiseration. "Snape."

Draco's eyes widened. "Seriously? What did she do?"

"Set his robes on fire, first year Quidditch match."

Draco sat back in shock for a split second, then barked out a booming laugh. They both were lost in mirth and after a few moments of shared hilarity, Draco wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye.

"Oh, that's just too good!"

Harry guffawed in agreement and the two wizards ended up genuinely smiling at each other across the kitchen table, finally coming to a mutual shared understanding. Harry then poured some more tea and after about five minutes of silence, he asked, "So, your note? What's going on?"

Draco proceeded to hand over the missive Rolf had sent, watching Potter's expression as he read through it. When Harry was done, Draco could see that steely stubbornness the Chosen One was famously known for, settling across his countenance.

His emerald eyes flashing with resolve.

"Seems as if I need to call in a few favors."

For once, Draco wasn't going to lament Potter's penchant for perfidy and manipulation to his liking. Maybe Scar-head would've made a good Slytherin, after all.