A/N: I don't really like this chapter. It's mostly filler, and it was incredibly hard to write, and in my opinion it shows. But, I hope you guys still like it!

Thank you to: KoolieoPenguinez, RoseRedMisery, InSleepHeSangToMe, lacking a better name, .xX, DracoMalfoy4Ever, cherryVanillaCoke16, Alex, dizzydazzle (I had that song stuck in my head for hours after reading your review! haha), Leanora, Treacherous Darkness, Ceylon, and Tiadorable! That's my most reviews so far I think, and I've almost reached 50! That's great!

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Chapter 7: Escape

What had he done?

Macnair's dead body lay at his feet, his eyes glazed over, his mouth still open in a little 'o' of surprise. Draco had to clutch his stomach and will himself not to vomit. He had just killed. He had just taken life.

Hermione was looking from the body, back to Draco, then back to the body, her eyes wide and thankful, but at the same time very frightened. "Draco," she whispered, and Draco remembered the reason he had just committed this horrible, punishable by death crime.

"We have to get out of here." Draco rushed forward and grabbed Hermione's wrist, jerking her upwards. She gave out a little cry of protest and stumbled slightly, but Draco didn't care. All he knew was that they had to get out, and fast. Macnair might not be missed for hours, it could give them a head start, but they had to effectively get out of Azkaban first. This would be the hardest part. Dementors guarded the front door, and they'd be horribly challenging to get past. Could they detect lies? There was only one way to find out. "Come on." Draco began to tow Hermione behind him, but she stumbled and her legs gave out. He stared at her, piled on the ground, in horror. She couldn't even walk? "You've got to get up. Hermione, we've got to get out."
It wouldn't look entirely convincing if Draco carried Hermione out of Azkaban bridal-style. He wouldn't look like he was leading her out; he'd look like he was helping her out. This, quite unfortunately, was what he was doing. "Please, Hermione." His voice was nearing desperation now as Hermione struggled to stand. She was having a hard time of it, even with him helping. She had obviously not used her legs for some time, and they had grown weak and feeble. Finally, after what seemed hours, she stood, her legs wobbling slightly. Draco bent over and grabbed Macnair's wand, thrusting it towards Hermione, who took it, her face now looking fiercely determined. "We've got to make this look convincing." He said, as he pointed his own wand at Hermione's wrists. "Incendio." Thick ropes wound its way around her wrists loosely, so she could get out of them easily if needed, and Draco grabbed the end of the rope, pulling her out of the cell. He shut the door, ignoring the heap that was Macnair's body, and locked it with his wand, and then stared down the corridor, taking a deep breath. He was trying not to let his fear show, but it was coursing its way through him, and he felt that he had made a terrible mistake. Dementors detected fear. How would they possibly not smell him and Hermione, who were both terrified? Was it even possible to hide fear from Dementors?

No. It wasn't.

But they couldn't just sit here and wait for someone to discover the dead body, with them sitting peacefully in the corner! What could he possible say? Oh, that? Well, he just sorta…dropped dead. Don't really know what happened. That would only succeed in them sending another Death Eater to kill Hermione and himself most likely being killed for his lies. Draco couldn't believe what he had done. Why had he been so stupid? She was just a girl! And now he was going to lose his life, and so was she!
Hermione had been watching him intently, her hands held out in front of her, tied together by the rope. Draco grabbed her arm and tried to Disapparate, but the thin air they were supposed to be going through felt solid and immovable. He tried again. Nothing.

Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic, don't panic.

What would Potter do? He always seemed to get out of close shaves alright.

That was pointless. How could he possibly know what Potter would do? He was not Potter. He was Draco Malfoy. He was not a hero. He was not lucky. And now he was going to die.

"What do we do?" Hermione's timid voice broke into his thoughts. For some reason, her question angered him. Gee, I don't know, I just saved your life; it's your turn to do something!

Instead he just gave her a look that conveyed all his thoughts. They were going to die; that's what. "Any ideas?" He said harshly, glancing at the rope tied around her wrists.

"Well, don't Dementors guard the doors?" Draco nodded in response. Hermione's shoulders sagged. "Dementors detect fear, don't they?" He nodded again. In other words: they were finished. "Well, if we're not afraid, and you tell them it's You-Know-Who's orders that I be taken out, maybe they'll fall for it. And if they don't…do you know the Patronus Charm?"

Draco was pretty surprised she knew it, herself. Or, more accurately, that she remembered it. "How do you remember that?"

Hermione shrugged slightly, obviously trying not to show the terror she was feeling inside. "I remembered…you say, Expecto Patronum, and think happy thoughts. I don't…I don't think I could do it, though."

"Well that's great, because I sure don't know how to do it." Things were going downhill rapidly. Why couldn't he have just let Macnair kill her? His stomach squirmed at the thought of it. He didn't want her to die. But…he didn't want to die, either.

"If we can't Apparate out of here, maybe a house elf can!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed, as if she figured this sudden idea was brilliant. "And you have house elves!"

"There's a barrier up against them so the house elves, kind of like Dobby, can't whisk in a prisoner's cell and take them out." Draco responded despondently.

"Well then we'll just have to walk right out the front door." Hermione said firmly, giving her wrists a little shake, as if to command him to grab the ropes.

Draco observed her skeptically. "I'd rather keep my soul, thanks."

"We're wasting time! This is the closest I've ever been to getting out, and if you're just going to sit here and pout until the Dark Lord comes and finds you, then be my guest! But I'm leaving!" And without a word, she stuck up her nose and stomped in the direction of a line of different cells.

"You are going the wrong way, you know." Draco, partly amused, partly petrified, tried to fake a smirk as she turned to glare at him.

"Well do lead me out, won't you?" Hermione grimaced. "Look, I'm sure when you come in this place your scared of the Dementors anyway, right? So what's the difference going to be? And I'll kind of be expected to be afraid, won't I?"

Draco thought over her words. It made sense. Every morning and evening he did feel a bit of fear as he passed by the Dementors. So how did they know if someone that wasn't supposed to be leaving was?

Draco's eyes found the rope tying Hermione's wrists together. With a deep breath, he grabbed hold of the end and began to tug her towards the stairs. "If we die, it's all your fault. And look scared."

"I am scared."

Trying his best to ignore Hermione's mumbled words under her breath, he walked on, hoping he didn't come across Bellatrix or someone who the Dark Lord would've actually talked to before the lowly Draco Malfoy if something of this magnitude had been ordered.

"Draco, what're you doing with that prisoner?"

This was his chance to practice his story. A Snatcher was staring at him as if he had grown a second head, looking at Hermione, then the rope, then Draco. Hermione was putting on a good show of looking terrified. Her brown eyes were wide and her lower lip was sticking out, as if she was desperately trying to hold in the tears. Or maybe she wasn't acting.

"The Dark Lord's orders. She's to be killed outside Azkaban and have her body dumped in the ocean." Draco said smoothly, extremely surprised that his voice hadn't even trembled. Before the Snatcher could say a word, Draco gave a tug on the ropes, and they continued on their journey to the door with the Dementors, Hermione stumbling a bit and giving out a very believable cry.

The great, two black doors were coming closer. Draco could see them. They were large and intimidating; he tried to look confident, he tried to swallow his fear, he really did. But how could one swallow something as large as his fear was? It was impossible to not be afraid. Who did not fear death? Who could possibly ignore the horrific terror that was imminent death?

And then, before he could even turn and run, they were passing through the front doors. Immediately, a chilling sensation swept over him, and Draco felt absolutely lost. Why had he even tried? It was hopeless. They were all going to die.

A scaly hand came out of the cloak and stopped right in front of Draco's chest. Draco understood the silent threat. Prisoners do not go out. Draco swallowed. "This prisoner is to be killed outside of Azkaban. T-The Dark Lord does not want her Mudblood f-filth staining the floors of his domain. H-His d-direct o-orders."

The scaly hand did not move. The Dementors only seemed to sink closer…there was no point in trying to fight it, they were going to die…it had all been pointless…he shouldn't have even tried…they were going to die…the Dementor's hood fell slightly back, and Draco could see the great hole that was the Dementor's mouth, sucking, his soul would be gone shortly…hopeless…

"Expecto Patronum!"

A silver otter burst from somewhere behind him, and the Dementors immediately shrank back, as if fearing the light. Draco turned, and Hermione was trembling, but Macnair's wand was held firmly in her hand. She had broken free from the poorly wrapped ropes around her wrists and had somehow been able to conquer the feeling the Dementors had caused. How had she done it? Draco felt the great weight of depression suddenly lift off of him, and he felt compelled to live again.

Didn't a Patronus need some sort of happy memory? What memory did Hermione have that could possibly be happy?

"Hurry!"

Her screech brought him back to his senses, and he grabbed her wrist and sprinted out into the light. He could hear someone screaming behind him, a spell whizzed by his head, he turned as quick as he could, thoughts set firmly on his destination, Hermione's wrist held securely in his hand, and he felt the familiar sensation of Disapparition as they disappeared from the hell that was Azkaban.

They were free.
"Where are we?" Hermione whispered, after they had come to a stop, as she surveyed their surroundings. They were in a dense wood, and the trees all around them and the ground were covered in a thick coating of snow. It could be called a beautiful sight, somewhat peaceful, if not for the current feeling of dread that was pumping throughout Draco.

"Forest outside of where the Quidditch World Cup was," Draco replied shortly, eyes focused on Hermione. And then he reached forward and grabbed her shoulders, feeling suddenly driven by a need to survive, to live, and shook her roughly. She shrank back, her eyes wide and afraid, trying to break free from his grip. "You've got to remember where the Order of the Phoenix is, Granger! You've got to! Our survival depends on it! I know that's where Snape's been hiding out, and he's survived so far. You've got to remember!"

A sense of hopelessness was spreading through him as he watched the look on Hermione's face. She was wracking her brains, he could tell, come on Hermione you've got to remember you've just got to!

"I-I don't know!" Hermione cried out, and she was feebly trying to get out of his tight grasp, her eyes starting to fill with tears, and the hopelessness felt so absolute that Draco fell to the ground in defeat. How can one flee from Voldemort?

How can one escape Death himself in all his fury, with nowhere to go?