A/N - Due to several :ahem: distraught reviewers, I have decided not to torture you any longer and do the quickest update I've ever done. :D I honestly had no idea that everyone would be so upset, lol. I had curse words (edited by the system, of course), "NOOO Draco come back" (lol), and even a death threat (I'm not really sure you can actually kill someone through a review, but I wouldn't put it past you guys to try). So here you go. Please spare my life and share your ice cream. :D

Narcissa had dragged Hermione halfway around wizarding London looking for Draco. They didn't stop, even though both of them knew they might not find him; that even if they did it would be too late. Hermione kept offering up new places they could go to look, each one more feeble and unlikely than the next, but Narcissa always nodded and said, "Of course!" and they would be off again.

Hermione was numb. Draco couldn't be dead. He couldn't be. And yet she had been able to remove the ring. Only death could break that bond, she knew. Narcissa hadn't even said the words, but something in her eyes said it more clearly than if she had spoken out loud. Somehow she knew that Draco was dead.

No. No! The last words she had said to him were words of hate. She hadn't meant to drive him away like that, only to hurt him like he was hurting her. She didn't want him to die! He couldn't be dead! If he died thinking she hated him…she couldn't bear it, it was too horrible.

The worst part was she didn't hate him.

It had been a lie, of course, when she said it, but that wasn't the whole of it.

Knowing that Draco might be dead, knowing that she might never see him again, knowing that there was no real way to find where he was right now, all of it came crashing down all at once in her mind. Her heart stopped beating, her breath wouldn't come, and her chest felt like it was going to implode. They had been running again, but Hermione had to stop. Her legs were no longer working properly. Narcissa turned to look at her, but Hermione never saw her; she fell to her knees and sobbed uncontrollably into her hands. She felt like her insides were being ripped apart by some wild animal as she wailed into Narcissa's shoulder. She didn't even remember the woman putting her arms around her, but she was there, holding her close and crying, too.

"Draco!" Hermione howled asNarcissa pulled her tight and held her, rocking them both slightly, whispering words of comfort into Hermione's hair, her tears running freely. "He's not dead! He's not! I won't let him…I don't hate him, I don't hate him…"

"Shh, darling, shhh," Narcissa murmured, stroking her hair. "No, of course you don't hate him, of course not…he'll be all right, we'll find him, you'll see, shhh…"

"I can't let him think that I hate him," Hermione continued, as though she hadn't heard. "I don't hate him, I—I…" She choked on a sob and bent forward even more so that she was all but prostrate on the ground; for some reason she felt the earth was her only comfort, her only hope, and her body was aching to lay flat along it and just blend into it somehow. To die. Like Draco. All she wanted was to see him one more time, to hold him in her arms, warm and alive, and tell him the truth.

Why had she been so stupid? All this time she had more than enough chances to tell him, but she hadn't known herself, really, until this moment. Not until this moment when the world and everything in it ceased to make sense and her infernal brain had completely shut down; only then could she hear her heart speaking the quiet and undeniable truth.

She loved him.

The five years since she had last seen him had made a powerful impact. Five years was long enough to change anybody; Hermione knew that she had changed quite a bit, herself. But Draco had grown out of his surly, judgmental teenage years with grace and had matured into someone that, whether he knew it or not, was strong and fair and good and loyal. He was smart and witty, and even kind, which was something that Hermione hadn't expected. He had really discarded the robe of superiority and insufferable pride he had always worn during his school days, and now he was a man.

And Hermione had fallen in love with him.

It's funny, what your heart will tell you when it's too late.

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies was usually a busy place, and today was no different. The young witch behind the reception counter leaned her cheek upon her hand and sighed for the two hundredth time that day. When people came in, it was generally in waves, with five or six at almost the same time, and then there were stretches when it was almost dull. Now was one of those stretches. A loud pop near the entrance told her that her break was over.

"Help! Please," the older man choked, apparently using most of his energy to support the younger man he was holding under the shoulders. The young man was unconscious, slumping over and didn't even appear to be breathing. Marietta (for that was the girl's name) rushed over and helped the older man support him to a bench. They laid him down on it and Marietta called for the head Healer. The Healer came at once, conjuring a gurney from thin air as she came. All three of them hoisted the young man onto the gurney and the Healer carted him offquickly, while Marietta sat down to question the old man.

"Tell me what happened," she asked, rather breathlessly. The older man sighed and scratched his head.

"He was real lucky I was even around," he began, leaning back into the chair he was resting in. "Could have been a Muggle or anybody what saw him fall, you know? I was headed to the roof to send an owl to my niece, see? He was standin' on the wall, looked like he was gonna jump. I yelled, tryin' to stop him, but he fell." Marietta gasped.

"How many stories is your building?"

"Bout seven. I Apparated down, said Muggles be damned, this boy was in trouble if he fell that far. Knew he musta been a wizard, dressed like that an' all. Got there and he looked bad, took out my wand and did Ennervate and he sorta opened his eyes for a second. Didn't know what else to do so I brung him here."

Someone was running back down the hall now, and Marietta turned. Another young girl was rushing up to her, looking excited.

"Do you know who that was, Etta? That was Draco bloody Malfoy," she said eagerly. Marietta's mouth dropped open.

"Really? Wow…are you sure?"

"Yes, I'd recognize that hair anywhere," the other girl said firmly.

"We should send an owl to his mother right away, and probably Hermione Granger, too," Marietta said, thinking of the engagement story that had been in the paper and standing up. The other girl looked slightly disappointed, but nodded and set off down the corridor to send the appropriate owls. Marietta sighed and pushed her hair out of her face. She hoped that the poor boy would be all right.

It was a curious feeling, flying. Draco had always loved the feel of the wind in his face and hair, the sensation of being extremely high up, his broom the only thing between him and the nothingness below him. He could go fast and faster until the world around him was just a blur of color and he could scarcely tell where he was going. He could fly slowly, hovering low over the surface of a pond until he could see his reflection, or he could soar up, up, up into the heavens and imagine what it would be like if he decided he was never going to come down to earth again.

He was flying now, rushing through the clouds at breakneck speed. He saw a glint of gold out of the corner of his eye. The Snitch. He pulled a hairpin turn and whirled around. It was hovering near the bottom of a cloud, and he dived for it, hearing the rush of the wind in his ears as he leaned forward on his broom and reached out his hand, stretching as far as he could forward to grab the little ball of gold. His fingers closed around it, and his heart soared as he pulled up on his broom and hovered in mid-air, holding the Snitch high above him. The crowd below was cheering his name.

"Draco! Draco! Draco! Draco!"

He grinned and did a victory lap around the Quidditch pitch, still clutching the Snitch.

"Draco…Draco!" Something was wrong. The voices were becoming distorted, and now it sounded like one voice echoing in his mind, not cheering anymore, but pleading. He shut his eyes and concentrated. When he opened them again, his mother was there, and the person leaning over him was…Hermione?

"Oh thank goodness!" she shrieked and threw herself on his chest, hugging him so tightly he couldn't breathe. Narcissa was covering his face with kisses, and Draco was sure he must still be dreaming.

"Ducky, my darling boy," she was murmuring between kisses. Draco struggled to catch his breath, which was proving very hard to do as the two women were all but smothering him now. They seemed to notice and pulled back, but just a bit. He sighed deeply, relishing the cool air that was filling his lungs.

"Where am I? And what are you doing here? I thought you hated me," he said bitterly, looking at Hermione. She looked almost sheepish before instantly becoming annoyed, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"What am I doing here? What in the hell were you doing at the top of a building? You're in St. Mungo's, for God's sake! They said you fell seven stories…You…youalmost died," she added softly, her whole attitude changing immediately as she cast her eyes down,where her hands were still clutching the blanket that was covering him. She let go abruptly and pulled back.

Draco blinked. Suddenly he remembered. He rubbed the back of his head; there was a bandage there, and his ribs ached as he extended his arm. Wincing, he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate; the room was beginning to spin.

"How did I get here?" he asked finally. Narcissa and Hermione exchanged a glance.

"An old man saw you fall," Narcissa replied gently, stroking Draco's hair off his face. Hermione retreated to the chair in the corner of the room and sat down, putting her head in her hands. What's wrong with her, anyway? Draco wondered.

"That Muggle? How did he know to bring me here?"

"He wasn't a Muggle, son, he saved your life," Narcissa answered, now pulling the blanket more firmly up around him. He waved her hands away.

"I'm not a child, Mother," he said irritably. She drew back a bit, but then threw herself on him again, hugging him tightly to her like a small child holding a doll, almost suffocating him.

"I was so afraid I'd lost you," she was weeping into his hair, "I thought I'd never see you again. You did die…you did…if that old man hadn't been there to revive you, you would have been gone forever. I knew, I knew you were dead…Hermione was able to take off the ring, that's how I knew, and we looked everywhere…we couldn't find you and I was so frightened. But you're safe now…you're safe now," she whispered over and over, holding onto him for dear life.

Draco's fuzzy mind suddenly became quite clear. Hermione took off the ring?

"It's all right, Mother," he said, trying to console her while his mind continued to race. He patted her on the back and glanced around her to look at Hermione. She was slumped in the chair, unmoving, and he was unable to tell whether or not she had heard what Narcissa had said. "I'm alive, I'm all right now."

Narcissa pulled away with a sniff and patted his shoulder, as if to make sure he was right. Then she wiped her eyes and stood up quickly.

"Goodness, I…it's nearly tea time and they haven't even brought round a tray yet. You really must keep on top of these people…I'll just go and tend to that right away…" She continued to wring her hands and mutter under her breath as she excused herself from the room.

Draco stole another glance at Hermione. She was standing up, and making a move as if to follow Narcissa out the door.

"Hermione."

She froze. Slowly, painfully, she turned to look at him. Her face was impassive; there was no way for him to tell what she was thinking, what she was feeling.

"You were able to take the ring off?" he asked. For a long moment, she didn't say anything, but Draco noticed a bit of color creeping up her neck. Finally, she nodded.

"It's over. You're free. I'm free. Now you can go back to your life, and I can go back to mine, and we never have to see each other again. That's what you wanted, right?"

Draco didn't know what to say. He didn't know what he wanted anymore. But she was right. They were free. It was truly over now. When he didn't answer, Hermione nodded and smiled in a grim sort of way.

"Goodbye, Draco."

Then she was gone.

A/N 2 - There. He lives. lol. For the record, I was gonna let him live anyway. As a matter of fact, I've finished writing this story. There are two more chapters after this one, so we're nearing the end, folks! Oh, and before anybody asks, NO that's not Marietta Edgecombe from the books. I just like that name, Marietta. It's pretty. So there. :P

And, of course, the preview.

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"Malfoy?" He couldn't believe his eyes. "You look like shite," he commented, and Malfoy just sneered at him and brushed his robes, which Harry noticed were rather wrinkled and unkempt. It was true, Malfoy did look rough.

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Sorry it's not especially juicy, it was the best I could do for next chappie! I'll post the final two chapters Monday and Wednesday, respectively. See you then, my lovely readers!