*Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and ideas….and the plot bunnies in the corner. Please don't sue, I'm a poor college student that has no life and way too many video games.*

"Committee - a group of men who keep minutes and waste hours."

Of Missing Mondays and Bright Sunrays

Draconis Malfoy, once Slytherin Prince and Malfoy heir, was wandering an unknown forest on what should have been a cloudy Monday morning. He was slightly dazed and completely naked. If only his 'friends' could see him now.

When he had first woken to their strange predicament, for lack of a better word, it was with a heavy heart and a massive headache. When he went to massage his head to ease the agonizing throbbing he noticed the first in what would be many changes. Two small hard nubs that were obviously the beginnings of horns were protruding from his forehead. He wasn't given much time to contemplate the strange turn his life had taken because when he pulled his hand away in shock, he noticed another difference.

His hands were smaller but the fingers were longer, thinner, and had wickedly sharp ice blue claws at the end where his perfectly manicured fingernails were supposed to be. Once he was able to pull his attention away from his hands, no small feat mind you, Draco discovered he had extra appendages to add to the ever growing list of differences. Attempting to sit up had been a large miscalculation on his part, not only did his headache take a vicious turn into a full blown migraine, but his balance was completely off and he landed face first back into the dirt.

Looking behind himself to find what the hell he had stumbled over he saw something he was clearly not expecting…not that he had been expecting any of this. Draco Malfoy had a tail, a long, white, reptilian tail attached to the base of his spine. Scales the same opal color surrounding the tail crawled up to the small of his back before fading into unblemished pale skin. He glared threateningly at the thing behind him and the armored tip curled lazily in reply.

Eyes tracing the almost invisible blue patterns on the scales, he almost missed the subtle movement just within his peripheral vision and he was struck dumb in disbelief. Two things, please dear Merlin do not let them be wings, were protruding from what he could only assume was his shoulder blades. He had no idea what to make of his new appearance and had decided that after his third failed attempt at standing he hated it.

Adding into the fact that not only was he half the size he used to be but also completely naked made this rank as Draco's number one shittiest days ever. It even trumped the annual All Hallows Eve Party where he had gotten plastered and awoke next to Pansy Parkinson in Filche's closet. Come to think of it, he had been naked then too.

Drawing himself away from the disturbing and nausea inducing memory, Draco got back to the task at hand, which was gathering firewood. It had taken him a good hour to be able to stand and walk more then ten feet without performing a nine point eight face vault into the unforgiving forest floor.

From the vibrant foliage but sharp lingering chill, Hermione was able to place the season as a newborn Spring. It was so early into Spring that Winter's grasp had yet to completely relinquish the crown. That meant warm days…but freezing nights.

It had been at the end of Summer yesterday when they had staged the clearly botched rescue of one Harry James Potter, the only one who had yet to awake. This sudden change in seasons reaffirmed the hypothesis that Hermione had claimed earlier. They were no longer in England; in fact Draco suspected they were no longer on Earth.

Draco, despite what one may think of him, was quite studious, even as a young child. Herbiology had been one of his many fascinations, and he was positive that trees like these did not exist. They were huge, jutting and twisting in a glorious display of age and beauty, and they sang. It was so quiet that he hadn't noticed it at first, but when he stood still and let the wind sigh across his face and dance within his hair he could hear it. These trees were alive and nearly if not completely sentient. That was the main reason why Draco was finding wood already cast upon the ground and not breaking off clearly usable branches.

Another thing was that the ground felt different. He couldn't describe it, but it felt older and lighter at the same time. It was as if something or something's lived hundreds of miles below and was pushing it up almost. Quite curious, but he that upon it no longer. Clearly what ever dwelt beneath the ground had been there for centuries if not eons and was content to remain right where it was.

The magic here felt different as well. It felt older, wilder, and far more volatile then he had ever experienced before. He could feel it in the air, under the ground, within the trees, dancing beneath his skin and behind his eyes. It left him feeling invigorated and scared all at the same time. He couldn't really explain it, but made a mental not to ask the Gryffindor book worm about it later. This brought him to another problem: the lack of clothing.

They had awoken with nothing, and by nothing he meant nothing. No clothes, no food, no jewelry, and most importantly…no wands. Hermione mentioned the possibility of wandless magic but Draco was hesitant to even try. He didn't know how the magic here would react to something as simple as a light spell, let alone a conjuring or transformation one. The magic here was fierce and untamed. The results could be devastating.

Turning slowly so as not to loose his balance…again…and drop the rather large pile of firewood, Draco made his way back to 'camp'. He air quoted the word camp even in his own mind because he knew that they would have to move and soon. The only reason they hadn't relocated to a more defensible location that could possible shelter them was simply because neither of them it wise to move Harry who was so grievously wounded.

Years of fighting the Good Fight, as Potter had tended to call it left them all not a little paranoid but also very skilled. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had changed in his sixth year. It went from an educational building housing child to a war base containing soldiers in less then three months.

The Dark Lord had come in the night and killed dozens of defenseless children and when Dumbledore had returned and reinitiated the wards protecting the grounds, Voldemort left his Death-Eaters to maintain a perimeter at all times. No one out and no one in. It had stayed like that for almost an entire year. With the Death Eaters constantly attacking at any and all opportunities even the youngest of students had quickly turned into a cold calculating weapon.

They had stopped being children that day, everyone had. There was no more laughter, no more games. All classes were taught as a means of survival, no grades were given, and none were requested. Eleven months, seventeen days later, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, First Order of Merlin, and Supreme Mugwump, died. He didn't go easily and he didn't go quietly, but Harry was not all that surprised or saddened. For many years the Headmaster manipulated him, giving him just enough information that he deemed fit, but not enough to win the War…not nearly enough.

Not three hours later, after the wards fell do to the vacancy of a Headmaster or Mistress, Voldemort stormed the castle. They barely had time to escape. Out of the two hundred plus people taking refuge there, only seventy-two survived the initial attack, and only twenty-four of those escaped the castle. Two months later, the number had dwindled to nine.

There had been no resistance left, no Order of the Phoenix, not DA, nothing. They had been the resistance, the sad pathetic count of nine. Remus, being the eldest of the survivors was the leader. Harry was the second in command. After Harry there was Hermione, Ron, Draco, Neville, Luna, Fred, and Collin.

Fred Weasely had lost his twin on the first wave, his sister and three elder brothers in the second. Molly died in grief, and Arthur, mad with the unfairness of it all, attacked a group of Death Eaters in broad daylight in the middle of Diagon Ally, which was in the control of the Dark Lord. Suffice to say he also did not survive long. At least he went quickly. Two weeks later, Voldemort had expanded to the Muggle world. London was the first of many to fall.

Neville died seven days later in an unusual act of bravery from the shy Gryffindor boy. Luna Lovegood died with him, protecting an orphanage of Muggle children. Lucius Malfoy brought the building down upon them. No survivors.

Fred and Collin were cornered by Bellatrix Lestrange and three other Death Eaters on the same day, trying to bring back medical supplies for a gravely wounded Ron who Hermione could not heal. They did not go quickly. The two outstanding Gryffindors were tortured for nine days before there bodies were dumped in the middle of a desolate London and placed on display for all those who rebelled against the Dark Lord.

When they hadn't returned within three days, Harry set out to find them. The Dark Lord found him instead. Ron passed away from his wounds that same night and Remus along with Hermione and himself set out a plan to free one of the last remaining members of the resistance. It had not gone well.

Remus had left hours ago to hunt, or at least that was what they had assumed he had gone to do, and Hermione was tending to Harry as best she could without the aid of her magic. When he reached the small clearing they had all awoken in, Draco saw exactly what he was expecting to see, which was a first since he awoke. Remus was nowhere to be seen, Harry was still unconscious, though now he was lying on his least injured side with Hermione bent over examining the many wounds on his back. It seemed she had found some plants that looked vaguely familiar to the ones he had seen in Herbiology. She had crushed them between two rocks and was gently applying it to the Golden Boy's back.

Just thinking about it made him nauseous. He remembered having to unchain him when he had first gotten a good look at the Boy-Who-Lived. Potter's back had been completely shredded, his skin hanging off of him in disgusting chunks and Draco was shocked to find him still alive.

He moved slowly over to the naked girl and set the firewood down gently behind her. Hermione did not turn around; she had heard him a while ago and was too engrossed in her work to be distracted now. She was also concentrated heavily on not loosing what little food was in her body.

Draco got busy digging a pit, something he learned he was quite good at, seeing as they had spent the last three years camping the Muggle way since the Dark Lord had a way of finding those who did magic and even magically enhanced objects. Once he was finished digging a decent sized pit, made easier by his sharp and strong claws, he stacked the branches into a cone shape and got to work on trying to set them on fire. Rubbing two sticks together may have been the rudimentary way of doing it, but it was also effective.

As he settled down with the long process of creating heat and fire through friction, his eyes once again wondered to his friend. Hermione's skin was unblemished; no scars marked her beauty, unlike the others, unlike him. Dozens of pale white lines decorated his back and several on his torso from lashings his father had given him as a child. They were all old, but still visible if you looked hard enough.

Remus held battle scars, everyone received in some type of conflict. Thankfully usually the stoic Defense Professor came out on top. Harry on the other hand, he was covered in scars of torment. Nearly everyone he carried was inflicted as an act of torture. Though Hermione's skin may have been untarnished, she was not. He remembered rescuing her, just before Fred and Collin went missing.

They had been avoiding a group of Death Eaters, trying to make their way back to the Safe House and somehow they had gotten separated. As Remus took a protesting Harry, Draco turned around and went back to find their missing bookworm. He found her in a shaded ally and what he saw would be burned into his mind forever. She had been found by a Death Eater, he didn't know which since the mask was still in place.

Her wand lay upon the ground at the opening of ally, and Hermione was pushed against the brick, her feet not touching the ground. The Gryffindor know-it-all's face was contorted in pain and her mouth agape to scream but no sound came out. A silencing charm had been cast upon her so others would not hear her and ruin the dark wizard's fun. That twisted fuck was inside her, raping her, and Draco saw red.

He wasn't sure what had happened, the next thing he remembered was carrying the passed out Hermione to safety while dodging curses and hexes. They had barely made it out alive and apparated the rest of the way to the Safe House. Hermione couldn't stand to be touched for many days afterwards and still had qualms about it if she wasn't expecting it.

She had cried a lot after that, but after Fred died, her tears just seemed to dry up. They had nobody left but each other and her crying about it wasn't going to solve anything. At least that was what she had told him. He didn't know what had happened to her family, but when she went back to the Muggle world to go rescue them and send them on a permanent vacation to some obscure island south of Africa, she came back even more quiet and broken then before covered in someone else's blood.

Looking at her now, he could see the scars that her skin did not carry, but were held within her memories. It was in her every action, every movement though how ever small it was, and it made him grieve.

They had never been friends before the War, and Draco wished desperately that he had had the chance to know her before the death and the pain and the chaos had hardened her. Back when a bad test score would bring her to tears...not when she found herself unable to cry for the passing of a loved one. Back when her idea of fun was reading books in the library and hanging out with her friends, and instead found herself scoring over every book available because she couldn't cure her boyfriend of the wounds inflicted by a curse she had no knowledge of, and in failing to find the answer he died in agonizing pain and delirious.

The War had changed her, changed all of them, and Draco just wanted to go back before it all began and fix it. But it was an impossible wish that would never become reality no matter upon how many falling stars he wished it to be.