"Move out!"

He wished the man wouldn't bellow so much. It was bad enough that his heavy bergen chafed uncomfortably, and that his SA-80 rifle seemed to gain in weight with every mile, but having that cro-magnon ape holler orders at him every five minutes was quickly becoming more than he could bear.

He had never wanted to join the army. Just because generation after generation of his uniformed ancestors had been career military didn't mean that he wanted to be. Eton, Oxford, Sandhurst, then twenty years in various third world dust-bowls and banana republics before being given a relaxing desk job somewhere; the life of the born and bred English officer.

Not his idea of a good time. His idea of an enjoyable day involved long hours researching ancient runes and charms in the library with Susan, or relaxing in front of the cheery common room fire with Ernie, Hannah ... and Susan.

But now muggle-borns weren't welcome in the library, or the common room, or in any place outside of Azkaban if reports were to be believed. The Colonel's plan to keep his son safe was a stroke of brilliance, however, or at least said son would have thought so if he weren't the one on the receiving end of it. He was sure that, from behind his ornate desk in some military base back in England, the old man was laughing at him.

And so it was that Private Justin Finch-Fletchley, or "Fletch" to his comrades, found himself in this godforsaken wilderness, enduring mosquitoes only slightly smaller than sparrows and dodging potshots from, to use the infantryman's parlance "Fucking Ragheads." Yep, the old man was definitely laughing at him.

An urgent buzzing warmth from his pocket was all it took for orders, mosquitoes, ragheads, and the old man, to be banished from his mind, however, as a single gold coin was shaken from its protective pouch; a fake, but one that held more value than the real ones ever could.

"Fletch, are you listening to me?"

He wasn't, but telling the red-faced barbarian that was just too much of a waste of breath and energy. His mind was already calculating multiple-jump apparition distances, splinching probability chances and the like. The message on the coin had been exactly the one he had been hoping for for so long now.

"Private, I said MOVE OUT!"

Justin stood, slipping the coin back into its resting place, even as he checked the magazine on his SA-80. "Sorry old boy," he declared, urbanely raising an eyebrow at the sweating sergeant whilst withdrawing a long, polished stick from his sleeve. "Got someplace I need to be."

And with a turn, he vanished, leaving the joys of military life, an unwieldy looking backpack and four very confused members of Her Majesty's armed forces.

There really was nothing like coming home.