A/N: Okay, so I felt bad about posting that plotchapter. Take this as compensation.

.-xXXx-.

Draco stared at the piece of paper in front of him.

Two weeks, three days, fourteen hours, twelve minutes and fifteen seconds had passed since he had kicked Potter out of his apartment.

Not that he was counting, or anything.

Because that would just be incredibly stupid.

It would be stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, STUPID.

And Draco didn't do stupid things, like fall in love with Potter, or count the days since he had last seen him, or imagine him with That Girl and his son – he tried not to cringe at the thought of a Mini-Potter – or lie awake thinking about that one night they'd had together, and wish that there had been a chance to have just one more.

Draco glared at the mug of coffee in front of him. This mug was resolutely red. Gryffindor-red. Potter used to be in Gryffindor…

It was the only mug he had, because the green one and the orange one and the brown one reminded him too much of Potter, so he threw them away. Even the mug with the Matisse printed on the side reminded him of Potter.

Even that really ugly mug that Pansy had given him as a joke, the one with a cat with massive bulging eyes and an emaciated body with the caption "I Hate Mornings" on it, reminded him of Potter in a weird, obtuse way.

And the coffee that he drank from the non-Potter mugs took every opportunity to remind him of Potter, and That Girl, and – what did he say his son's name was? – James, and everything that Draco was missing.

James! Honestly, what kind of idiotic, stupid, immature, talkative, loveable, stupid, beautiful, stupid GRYFFINDOR named their child after their father?

Draco tried to forget that he promised Father that his first child would be named Lucius, even if it was a girl.

This was absolute insanity.

Dear Potter, he scrawled on the paper.

Stupid Muggles, hadn't they ever heard of parchment?

He sat there for half an hour, staring at the blank space underneath. He heaved a sigh and began to write.

.-xXXx-.

Four hours later, he smiled to himself as he stuck a Muggle stamp on the Muggle corner of the Muggle envelope, not caring that it was upside-down.

He copied the Muggle address out of the Muggle phone book and marveled at the sheer weight of it in his hands.

He practically danced down the street at six in the morning. He hugged the postbox, even though he really missed his owl. He forgot to scowl at random children.

For once, things were looking up. He'd finally found the solution.

.-xXXx-.

Things were definitely not looking up for Harry. He'd been fighting with Ginny a lot lately, without really knowing why.

He arrived home from St. Mungo's at exactly six p.m. They had started fighting again at quarter past six.

"I need space," he shouted at her. James began to cry.

"What's the matter with you?" Ginny retorted, scooping their son off the floor. "First you disappear for hours, then you stop answering your phone, and then…" she paused, frowning, then said in a small voice, "Harry, are you having an affair?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped, trying not to think about the pale skin and arching back and loud moans and blonde hair of one Draco Malfoy.

"If you're not…" her voice trailed off, "If you're not, then what the hell is this?"

She was holding up an opened envelope with an upside-down stamp on it.

"That," Harry answered, infuriated beyond his limits. "That looks like a letter. I don't know what's in the letter. You do, apparently. The funny thing is; it's addressed to me."

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his voice. "It's not actually funny, because it doesn't look like it's from you. Because if it was from you, you wouldn't be asking what it was, even though you apparently know what it is and are asking a rhetorical question. So, pardon me if I'm wrong, Ginny, but it looks as if you're READING MY MAIL."

"You honestly don't know what this is?" she snapped. "Read it, then, and leave like we all know you want to."

"W-what?" he said, confused. He could feel his anger ebbing away like the low tide.

"As if you don't know," she screeched, throwing the envelope onto the table like it'd burned her.

"Ginny, wait –" he started, but she had already grabbed her coat and stormed towards the door, holding James.

"Call me when you're ready to grow up," she snapped. "Because, in case you've forgotten, we're married."

The slam of the door behind her echoed in his ears. Harry looked dubiously at the closed door, then slumped onto a chair and started to read the letter.

.-xXXx-.

'Dear Potter,

This has to be the stupidest thing I've ever done. Besides sleeping with you, that is. Because, even though I know you're married with a son, I can't help but write you.

That night in the restaurant, I wasn't lying when I said that you intrigued me. You have, for eleven years. Eleven years… That seems like such a long time now. That's half of my life!

Yet, at the same time, it doesn't feel wasted. Yes, I still think that you're an uppity git with a hero complex, but that doesn't do anything to change the fact that I'm totally, irreversibly, irrevocably, permanently, kinda sorta really in love with you.

And the worst thing is that I have absolutely no intention of fighting it.

I don't expect my feelings to be requited. You have a career and a wife and a son to focus on.

As long as I can help it, I'll avoid you. It'll just be awkward for the both of us.

If you can do it without raising suspicion, tell Weasley – well, I suppose she's Potter now – that I said hi. Have a nice rest of your life, Potter.

Won't be seeing you,

Draco.'

.-xXXx-.

A/N: Two more chapters to go, guys! (: