The letters came, like clockwork. Every second Friday of the month for the past two years, they came. He learned to expect them. He learned to always look out the highest window in the Manor's dining hall every morning just as he was about to start breakfast. Every second Friday, the letter came, and every second Friday, he was reminded of everything.

Just as he as about to take his seat at the head of the table, an owl swooped down and dropped a roll of parchment.

"Finally!" Draco thought to himself. His excitement was palpable as he opened the scroll.

Dearest Draco,

It's been a while since I last wrote to you. I hope you're well. I have missed you so much. You were always the only one who could match me, intellectualy.
Things have been dull in St. Mungo's and I do ever so miss our usual conversations about History and Ancient Runes. Unlike Ron, who does nothing but eat, you actually have something to say.

I know I shouldn't talk ill of my husband, but he does get a bit dull at times. It feels like I'm talking to wallpaper. But he does have his sweet side.

I heard you and Astoria are getting a divorce. I hope that has nothing to do with me. She loves you dearly. I've seen the way she looks at you. That stare is familiar, in a way. I know because it's the same look I give you whenever I see you.

I love you, Draco. And how I wish I could tell you this myself.

All my love,
Hermione