Yay, new story! For those who haven't read the prequel, there is one and it is entitled 'Causes And Effects', so read that before you start this. And to those of you who are itching for this chapter, well, on with the new story.

Oh wait, just a second. I've been trying to figure out a way to do this, since some people haven't read HBP. So, if your review didn't mention any HBP details, it will before the chapter. Spoiler responses will come after.

Ok, now you can read.

GremlinTownIdiot: You weren't going to cry over this story, right?

SalemWitch: Righto.

Soofija: Ah, Soofija. I actually find myself relating more to Draco than Hermione, that might be it…

And thanks to aloneinaworldofdarkness, lnk, Captain-Ammie, maddudewalking, giggling munky, HiraTsubasa, faye, bluebaby3296, padfootedmoony, Nattie88, Arime Setta, anonymus, Harrison J. Pecans, EquestrianBabe, Delight Summers, Buffy-CrazyaboutAngel, DanRadcliffe5666, and eventers club for reviewing.

A Simple Escape

Draco could almost see the brilliance of her smile in his mind, even imagine the smell particular to her hair filling his nostril—and then he awoke and realized that it was only in his head, and the reality of the situation was that there was no Hermione. The reality was that there had been no Hermione for years, that he was sitting on a dusty prison floor, and that there were several dementors in his cell. The room was dark but slivers of moonlight broke through the bars of his window. The window was tauntingly useless, Draco knew; had he been able to look through it, all to greet him would have been an expanse of dark ocean. He was not always angered by the height and worthlessness of the window, however. When the moon sank he would sit on the spot on which he knew the sun would shine and wait for it to rise. He pulled the shabby cot to that spot in the daytime, but usually withdrew it at night, because the moon's light did not have the heat or luminosity of the sun. That night he had already pulled his cot to the sun-appointed spot, and was waiting for the moon to set when the dementors appeared.

Draco was immediately alerted to something being wrong by the presence of more than one of them. Usually he was visited by one of the creatures just before he woke; he would feel his dream being pulled away and then he would awake to see the ripped black robes looming over him—as if waiting for him to spout more subconscious happiness—and then it would eventually go away. It was different that morning, however, with four of the creatures there. Draco imagined for a moment that they were there to free him, but that had been a dream he'd thrown away in the first year of his stay there. In any case, his sentence was supposed to be a lifelong one.

They remained in their spot, floating in the air, and the door of the cell creaked. The sound drew his attention and he almost missed a voice that whispered, "Well, go ahead", and then Draco backed away as the dementors began moving towards him. No. No, this was impossible. The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot had promised him a lifelong sentence, but no death. And his stay in Azkaban had not yet drained him of all sense. This was something worse than death coming right at him. In the five years of his imprisonment Draco had never once given thought to the idea of death as an escape. Perhaps he was vain, but death did not have much of an appeal to him.

The dementors were quicker than he remembered, and soon Draco found himself cornered at the end of the rather long cell. None had yet motioned to grab him. He risked a look at the door and saw it had opened to an almost forty-five degree angle. Someone was there, obviously hoping to watch the job being done. But with that open door there was an escape. He didn't dare to let the idea form into anything more. It was simply a goal. Reach the door, get to the door, and then you can think something more of it.

Draco broke through the dementor closest to him, and was instantly chilled. The person at the door didn't seem to realize Draco had moved until he was almost at the door, and then the bars slammed shut against him. Employing all the force he still had in his long-unused muscled Draco reached a hand through the bars, grabbing the robes of the person outside and pulling them along with the door. There was a gasp of surprise and then he had the door open, and was sprinting down the long corridor—past the bars of other cells, some empty and others filled with inmates who were most likely all still asleep—and up the staircase at the end of the hallway.

Now he could think of escape, and think of it he did. There was no thought for the person who had almost orchestrated his death, only for reaching that thin sliver of moonlight that was coming through the door. He reached the end of the corridor and pulled at the door handle, not surprised to find that it opened, and then suddenly he was outside and standing on upturned earth, looking at the ocean that lay spread before him. He quickly scanned the area around him and found that a broomstick was lying on the ground. And with that he took off.

Now was the time to truly think about escape. Draco's hands clutched the shaft of the broom tightly as he lifted himself off the ground. He hovered for a moment, trying to bring back to mind his knowledge of Azkaban's situation in the wizarding world. According to the text he'd read, it was somewhere north of Scotland. But the sky was pitch black; the moon had sunk somewhere in the time he'd faced the dementors, and he would have no way of knowing in which direction he should be heading. He would have to fly in the direction the broom's twigs had faced and hope that he didn't tire out and fall into the ocean. Though, Draco mused, there was a likely chance of that happening no matter what direction he chose. He gazed down at the water as he flew, frightened for a few moments before he relaxed. The ocean was darker than the sky above it and rippling; watching the semi-calm of the water allowed Draco the chance to really think since he'd escaped the prison.

Leaving out what had happened inside the cell, it would seem almost that someone had wanted him to get free. It had been too easy for him to leave the prison. The doors all open, the broomstick waiting, the cover of night to hide him; Draco could almost rejoice at the fact that he somehow gotten free of the prison, but the fact was someone had wanted him dead. He imagined that the Ministry would do something to that effect; they would have loved to execute every Death Eater they could convict and Draco was the only one to know he had truly been innocent. It would have been simple, and quiet, and no one would have mourned his death. But this had been a sloppy job, something Draco had to appreciate even though it had been an attempt on his life. In that case, someone else wanted him dead. But it didn't matter anymore because that opportunity had been effectively lost.

How long he had been flying, Draco could not tell, but he was almost positive that three hours had passed before he finally saw land. It was with something that was almost joy that he landed half an hour later and collapsed from exhaustion a few yards into the shore. He felt in no condition to continue on, but he knew he could not just lie on the sand. Most likely if he stayed there he would never move again, but he almost enjoyed the look of the sky and ocean; it reminded him of his cell in Azkaban. Sunlight was just beginning to lighten the sky, and as Draco picked himself and the broom up, he realized that the reason he'd felt so cold was the light layer of snow covering the sand beneath him.

Always one to be logical, Draco realized that he could probably now Apparate safely somewhere. His first thought was of food, but then he thought of magic. Magic first, food later, because magic was more important. He was wandless and weak, and just as vulnerable as a Muggle. It took him a while to focus and Apparate to Hogsmeade, but Draco was thankful after years of idleness his magic had not yet left him.

The scene inside Hogsmeade almost had him reeling. It looked like a different town; no wonder he'd had so much difficulty Apparating there. Almost all of the shops he'd remembered from his adolescence had been uprooted, replaced by new, livelier versions of themselves. He had landed himself in front of where Ollivander's had been. In its place was another wand shop, but with a different sign hanging above its entrance. All the other shops seemed to be still closed and this shop in particular was just beginning to open. The owner inside was examining wands and putting up signs when Draco knocked on the door.

After a second's hesitation, the man peered out of the window trying to see who was outside. Then after another moment's consideration, the man came to the door and opened it, then began closing it back once he saw who he was looking up at. Before the door could shut completely Draco reached out a hand and pushed it back.

"Lucius Malfoy!" The short, graying old man shuddered in his spot. "You can't come in here!"

Confusion took Draco for only a second before he realized who the scared little man thought he was. He almost had the urge to laugh, but then saw that the man was slowly backing up towards the counter where an array of wands laid spread out.

"I'm not Lucius Malfoy," Draco said desperately, moving towards him.

"Like hell you're not," the little man said. Suddenly he turned and grasped at the counter.

"No!" Draco lunged towards the counter, knocking the wands out of the man's reach and grabbing at one of his shoulders. "Listen to me," Draco said as he pushed the smaller man into a wall, "It's just a bad resemblance. I only need a wand…"

The man's eyes were round with fright as he stared up at Draco. "Are you mad!"

"No, I just…" Draco realized he was practically assaulting him and loosened his grip on the man's robes, "need a wand. I'm sorry," and he released him, backing away from the man who was now looking up at him with terror and a bit of suspicion.

"Why don't you just take one of these lying right here?" The man backed away, keeping his eyes on Draco as he bent to pick up the wands he had scattered on the floor. When Draco didn't do anything he stooped to pick them up, and then moved behind the counter. He picked a wand and focused it on Draco.

"I need one that's suited for me," Draco said a little more desperately, and raised his hands so that the shop owner would know he meant no more harm.

"Why?" The owner's voice was now full of suspicion, and also a bit of curiosity.

"I just…I need one now. Please," Draco said, "I-I'm sorry about that just now."

"Are you now?" The owner stared him down for a moment, then motioned for him to move towards the counter. "Dominant hand," he commanded, and Draco gave up his right arm for investigation.

"So," the owner's tone was almost amiable as they had fallen into silence, "tell me why you need this wand so badly. Why not wait like a normal customer and ask proper—"

"Do I look in condition to be a normal customer?"

"Well…no, but why do you—"

"I just lost my wand a while ago, ok? Haven't had it, been feeling a little vulnerable, you know what I mean?"

"Why, yes I do."

They fell back into silence as the wandmaker began walking around the shop in search of a few wands, and Draco began to think back on the first words to come out of the owner's mouth. So he looked like his father, did he? Draco definitely had not yet thought of his appearance since his escape, and so peered into the glass of the counter. What he saw there was not much of a surprise. There were several inches of dark golden hair covering his cheeks and chin, and his eyes seemed permanently widened in suspense. No wonder the man thought him a lunatic. And if the light were not just playing a trick on him, his eyes seemed much darker than they had previously been. Then there was his hair, which was well on its way past his shoulders. It was too long, and Draco's first thought of it was that it had to go immediately, that this was the reason the shop owner had identified him as his father. The bastards at the Ministry would not allow him to cut it when he'd asked. Really, it had been such a simple request and they had refused to grant it.

"So my-Malfoy is still alive? Lucius Malfoy?" Draco asked the wandmaker.

The shorter man eyed him in consideration before speaking. "Have you been away from the wizarding world too?"

"Yes," Draco said hesitantly. "For a while."

"Well, yes, most likely, though no knows where he is. You must not have ears to have missed such a thing. For months after the war ended they searched for Lucius Malfoy, and then gave up once they lost his trail. Kind of like when You-Know-Who was around, but not as serious you know, Malfoy didn't have an army of supporters behind him. Just an escaped Death Eater they planned on capturing once he reappeared." The wandmaker paused before he spoke again. "You do know who He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is, right?"

"Yes yes, I haven't been gone for that long…Is that the wand?" Draco asked in an attempt to change the subject. The wandmaker nodded and handed it to Draco, who immediately pocketed it. He almost gave the man a sheepish smile upon realizing that he could not pay for it. "Look, I don't have any money to give you right now, but I'll come back as soon as possible."

"You can't just take it without—"

"I'm sorry, I'll come back—" Draco ducked as the shop owner raised his wand and attempted to immobilize him. The hex hit a robe stand, knocking it over, and then Draco was slamming the door open and running out into the open air.

"Scoundrel!" he could hear the shop owner as he Apparated to the first place that came to mind.

The Mansion. According to the shop owner, his father was in hiding, but he would be stupid to attempt hiding here. Draco figured he was safe to enter the building; he hesitated, however, at the idea of having to remember the protective spells and wards kept over it. However, they were unneeded; any magic that had been was now long gone. Obviously the place had been unused for years, Draco thought as he pushed the front door open. A quick scan of the entryway confirmed this, and Draco stepped inside, reflexively closing the door behind himself.

Now he could think about food, though Draco doubted there would be anything fresh still in the house. He headed for the drawing room instead, hoping that the Malfoy vault hidden underneath had not been emptied out. And he was in luck, because they were not, although it looked as if a significant amount of money had been removed since he had last been there. Draco spied a golden purse among the money and quickly filled it with as many of the heavier coins as possible, and then headed for the staircase. He didn't want to stay there any longer than necessary, no matter how safe his logical mind told him he was for the moment.

Draco emerged from the basement and headed up the twisted staircase to the next floor. On this level were the bedrooms and Draco was curious to know what had happened to them. The door to his room was closed, but not locked. Draco pushed it open and was surprised by what he saw. One would almost be incognizant of its disuse if not for the light layer of dust covering everything. The room looked as it had been five years ago, perfectly untouched. Draco approached the closet and pulled it open. A dozen robes, some dress and some casual, hung on their hangers. Draco pulled out the closest one and threw it over his head. It was too big as he had lost weight in prison, and yet not long enough. Surely he had not grown during his stay in Azkaban…But it would have to do. He pulled out a cloak, which was also too short for him, and was about to leave the room when his attention was caught by the drawer next to the window. As if an invisible force was calling him Draco walked towards it and pulled open the bottommost drawer. There, as far back as he could have placed it was the suede box from five years ago.

Instantly memories of the trip to Hogsmeade with her came back to him. Draco flicked open the box and took up the chain, hesitating for only a moment before putting it in the pocket of his robes. Why he had not returned it years ago, and why he was taking it now, Draco could not say. But having the chain with him only made the memories stronger, which for the moment that was a good thing. He imagined he could see her expression when she'd first spotted the necklace for herself; she'd been enraptured by a relatively simple piece of jewelry…And then Draco remembered that he shouldn't stay too long. There were other things in this room that he might still want, but he would come back for them at another time. Draco closed the drawer with his foot and left, closing the door behind him.

Having taken the chain Draco quickly left the building. The sun was high in the sky, meaning that it was sometime around noon, and Draco took a seat on the front steps of the Mansion. More thinking was required before he made another move, a lot more. It was only a matter of time before the Ministry realized he had escaped the prison, and then he would have to be very very careful. Most likely before the week was out there would be posters all over the main village and warnings in the newspaper. He would just have to use his time wisely until then. Draco tried to focus on the essentials—what he would need before he did anything else, like a better set of robes and other clothing, and a shower—but thoughts of chocolate suddenly filled his consciousness. It took a while before he realized what his mind was trying to tell him, and then Draco stood and quickly Apparated to the village.

The Honeydukes of his adolescence was still in place, and it was this store that Draco first entered, intent on getting his hands on some sort of chocolate. Unfortunately it was full of other patrons and he was obliged to keep his head down and move quickly. The worker behind the cashier eyed him curiously before asking if the pound of chocolate in his hand was all he wanted.

"Yes," he mumbled, trying to keep his voice unrecognizable. As the cashier began bagging his purchase Draco noticed a copy of The Prophet lying next to the register.

"That's today's paper?" he muttered, pointing towards it.

"Yeah—"

"May I have a look at it?"

"Oh sure, take it with you," the cashier said.

Draco nodded his thanks and left the store. Hurrying over to an isolated alley, he quickly took note of the date—it was December 14, 2003—and began flipping through the paper. Nothing. Draco breathed a sigh of relief as he closed the paper. Even if it was just one day, at least he had a bit more time to figure out what he was going to do. Draco wandered out of the alley and began walking up and down the cobbled street. He noted that along with the numerous new shops in the village there was also a set of apartment housing which had not been there a few years before. Draco spent the rest of the day walking the streets, exploring the village while immersed in thought.

If not for retaining his life, Draco would have thought his escape from Azkaban to have been a useless thing. Now that he had devoured the hunk of chocolate, he found himself really considering his situation. Sure, he had his freedom, but it was almost worthless under these circumstances. He desperately needed somewhere to go and very quickly considered the idea of turning himself if. Though, if the Ministry found him there was a very good chance they would sentence him to the Kiss this time around. The prospect of hiding was not a very promising one. There was no one in this world who would be willing to take him in, and he could not walk around Disillusioning himself forever. Perhaps this escape had been pointless after all.

SPOILER RESPONSES!

Lauren: I'm a shameless reader too…

cherbi161: So you think Dumbledore was asking Snape to do it, and not to save his life?

Lizzle87: Ooh, I blame his family too.

Kim: Well, I'm still not sure if I think Snape is good (well, as good as he can be) or evil. The way Rowling wrote it makes me question this because, as you said, Snape did not hesitate to kill him…

NorthStar2005: Hahah, yes. Well, the crying is unnecessary, because I promise things will get better from here.

Burningtrust: I think so too.

Priah: First, let me say I loved your review (probably because it's the longest I've had so far, but…). You made a lot of excellent points, and it's true, no one really seems to want to discuss this. But at least I've got you. :)

Anyways, I'd like to thank you guys for all your theories. They're really helping me out here. Truthfully, what I'm trying to do with this Snape theory I've made up is decide which situation makes more sense, because just going by what the story seems to be saying, I would think Snape is one evil bastard. What I would really like to do is argue both sides, and decide which is more convincing. But I haven't really attached myself to either idea. So, if you're curious like I am let me know what you think. Maybe we can come up with one super-theory that explains everything—and then Rowling will send out book seven and it'll turn out that Harry doesn't need to hunt down Horcruxes and everyone but Voldemort and Neville will be dead. Just kidding. :)

As for Snape…Well, I'm thinking a bit about Legilimency now. Perhaps the moment in which he held Dumbledore's gaze there was some sort of information exchange? I do believe Dumbledore knew about the Vow, now that I think about it. He was all angry when Harry mentioned Snape and Draco arguing; maybe because he knew he was going to die? And then he says more than once that Harry's life is more important than his own…

And no, there will be no Dumbledore in this story. Sorry, guys. Though I am interested in what his portrait will have to contribute…