Disclaimer: The Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling. All
credit belongs to her.
A/N: 2 of the Drill Sergeants in this story are the embodiments of 2 of my former Drill Sergeants. Many of the experiences from this story are my own. I have the utmost respect for Drill instructors, as they have one of the most demanding jobs in the US Army.
Chapter 2: Training -Day 1
As soon as they arrived at their destination, there was mass confusion. Ron was only vaguely aware of Dean's arm across his throat. There seemed to be several more wizards and witches nearby and all of them were screaming furiously at them.
"Get up you stupid fucking idiots!" "Why are you staring at me you four eyed freak!" "Don't tell me we've got this group of bloody girls for a platoon!"
Ron and the others had never quite been exposed to this kind of behavior before. As he stood up, he glanced around and saw that the other two platoons had landed about 50 meters away.
They seemed to be in a large field of freshly cut grass, with a building nearby. Ordinarily Ron would have found the precise manicure of the field to be impressive, but just as he was thinking about it, a pair of rough hands grabbed him by the collar and pulled him forward.
He was suddenly face to face with a very large, very pissed off looking wizard, with a funny looking hat on his head.
"Tell me Private, why are you standing on my lawn, when the rest of your platoon is not?" the wizard asked with teeth clenched. "Er." Ron stammered, looking to see where everyone else was.
As he looked down, he saw Harry's back and noticed that everyone else was now lying face down on the wet grass. He looked back up just in time to see the Drill Sergeant's fist swinging at him.
Without further ado, Ron dropped to the ground, barely ducking the fist, and lay there motionless. He saw Harry out of the corner of his eye, and saw his glasses sitting crookedly on his face. Trying to suppress a snicker at the absurdity of lying in a field with his best mate, with a bunch of people yelling over their heads was becoming difficult.
"Shut up you bloody git!" Harry hissed at Ron, as he tried not to burst out laughing.
Suddenly Harry was no longer lying next to Ron. The soles of his trainers were about 2 inches off the ground. The Drill Sergeant that had nearly creamed Ron had apparently heard Harry speaking.
"I know you did not just tell your Senior Drill Sergeant to shut up!" the man roared at Harry. "N-N-No, of course not Sir!"
This was apparently the wrong thing to say, as Harry was pushed face first into the ground again. "Crawl, you four-eyed, scar-headed, pumpkin-pie- haircut LOSER!"
Harry began to crawl on his belly like a snake. The Drill Sergeant placed one spit shined boot on Harry's back and pushed down, effectively stopping his dying cockroach impression.
"Let this be a lesson to you all" the Drill Sergeant said loudly, "This Private thinks that I am an Officer for some reason. DO I LOOK LIKE AN OFFICER TO YOU? I work for a living, so the only thing I want to hear out of your prissy mouths is YES, DRILL SERGEANT or NO, DRILL SERGEANT! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"
"Yes, Drill Sergeant" the Privates mumbled, clearly to nervous to do anything else. The large wizard however wasn't satisfied. "Bull shit! I said, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"
The response was a little louder this time, with the exception of Harry whose mouth was full of dirt and grass from the weight of the Drill Sergeant on his back.
"Drill Sergeant Tonks, do you think they understood me?" the wizard asked. At the mention of her name, Ron whipped his head around and saw for the first time that the witch walking behind the platoon was none other than the Tonks he knew from the Order.
"I don't think they did Drill Sergeant Anders. In fact, I think this one here likes to smile an awful lot." Tonks had seen Ron grinning at her, but the look on her face quickly erased his smile. As she stomped over to where he was laying, he put his face back towards the ground, hoping to get out of whatever trouble he had just got into.
It didn't work. He heard Tonks kneel down next to him and call over her shoulder, "I think he was smiling at those boys behind him. Is that what you were doing Private Weasley? Were you smiling at those boys behind you?"
"No, Drill Sergeant, I was smiling at you." Ron quickly said, to stop her from implying that he was smiling at Dean and Seamus. That was the last thing he needed, his mates making jokes about his sexual preference.
"AT ME!" she screamed right in his ear. "Am I your pal now Private? Do you come over to my flat on Saturdays to hang out? Do I look like I want you as a fucking buddy?" she asked incredulously.
"No, Drill Sergeant." Ron answered simply, not believing this was the same Tonks that had made Ginny and Hermione squeal with laughter at the faces she would make. Thinking about Hermione made his heart lurch. He began wondering how bad 3 years in Azkaban could possibly be. You got visitations, right?
Just as Harry looked like he might pass out from eating so much grass, Drill Sergeant Anders lifted his boot and walked over toward the rest of the platoon. Ron didn't like the look on his face.
"Let me make one thing clear, I do not care if you are black, white, purple, yellow or the 'savior' of the wizarding world," he said, throwing a sharp look at Harry, "as of right now, you are all equally worthless. Why Merlin cursed me into getting a platoon as pathetic as you, I'll never know."
"However, someone in the Ministry thinks that your useless hides might be worth something, so I have to train you to be the best. And believe me scumbags, IF you finish my training, you will be the best."
"Drill Sergeant Nobles, get these pathetic creatures out of my sight." Anders instructed the third and final Drill Sergeant, as he walked toward the building. "Roger that." Nobles answered.
"Alright you worms, you heard the man, grab your gear and start crawling to that building. You have one zero minutes to be in front of those barracks, with your PT gear on, and the clock is ticking. PT equals physical training for you lady boys that have never lifted more than 2 kilograms in your life."
As the men dragged themselves up to the building, ruining their brand new B.A.T. robes, Ron looked over and saw that the other two platoons were in the same sad shape his was. It amused him to see Malfoy, who was usually so starched and clean, covered in mud and slime.
Although Malfoy had shown his true colors and loyalties by standing against his father in the final battle, Ron still had trouble getting over their past. He quickly turned his attention back to the task at hand, as Tonks had put a spit shined boot into his backside very forcefully.
When the young soldiers got into the barracks, they saw that the bunks were very close together, and a far cry from the plush, comfortable beds at Hogwarts. Harry and Ron ran to the bunks that had their names on them, and saw a small wall locker next to them. Throwing their bags into the lockers, and removing the shorts and t-shirts from them, they quickly changed clothes.
As they ran downstairs with the rest of the platoon, they saw the three Drill Sergeants standing in front of the building, looking at their watches.
"Make three even ranks." Anders instructed briskly. The Privates moved into 3 lines of 9 each. "What were your instructions? Anyone? Private Lemmex?"
"Er.To be in front of the barracks with PT gear on in ten minutes." a sandy haired boy answered.
"That's correct nimrod, so would you care to explain why it took your platoon 12 minutes to get here?"
"Well, you see, Drill Sergeant, we had to crawl up that hill from the field there, and."
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Anders bellowed. "DO YOU THINK THAT THERE IS ANY EXCUSE THAT YOU CAN GIVE ME, THAT WILL GET YOU OUT OF THE TROUBLE YOU ARE NOW IN?"
"N-N-No, Drill Sergeant." Lemmex answered meekly.
"Than why are you trying to give me an excuse? The correct answer would be 'No excuse, Drill Sergeant'. Now drop and give me 20 pushups." Lemmex dropped.
"Maybe we should call you Private Lummox. What do you think Drill Sergeant Tonks?"
Tonks laughed and nodded her affirmative. "Lummox it is then" Anders said. "Now then, one of you is going to be responsible for this platoon on the rare occasion that we aren't around. So which poor soul is going to volunteer?"
No one moved a muscle except Lemmex, who was still struggling with his pushups. Finally, seeing that no one else was moving, a tall boy in the back raised his hand tentatively.
"I don't remember this being a volunteer Army, you idiot!" Anders shouted. "What's your name brown noser?" "Private Mackenzie, Drill Sergeant" the tall boy answered.
"Well from now on, you're Private Brown Nose!" Anders replied. "You, Private Strawberry!" he said pointing at Ron, who nearly jumped back. "You just got volunteered by Private Brown Nose."
'Damn it' Ron thought to himself. The rest of the day went pretty much the same way. Nothing any of them did was right, and if one of them screwed up, the whole platoon got in trouble.
Later on that night, as they lay in their respective bunks, soaked in sweat, Private Dipshit looked down at Private Strawberry and asked, "What do you think the girls are doing right now?"
"Dunno mate, but whatever it is, it's got to be better than this." Ron answered. Harry completely agreed with him. As they lay in silence, they both fell asleep quickly, exhausted from the days events.
A/N: 2 of the Drill Sergeants in this story are the embodiments of 2 of my former Drill Sergeants. Many of the experiences from this story are my own. I have the utmost respect for Drill instructors, as they have one of the most demanding jobs in the US Army.
Chapter 2: Training -Day 1
As soon as they arrived at their destination, there was mass confusion. Ron was only vaguely aware of Dean's arm across his throat. There seemed to be several more wizards and witches nearby and all of them were screaming furiously at them.
"Get up you stupid fucking idiots!" "Why are you staring at me you four eyed freak!" "Don't tell me we've got this group of bloody girls for a platoon!"
Ron and the others had never quite been exposed to this kind of behavior before. As he stood up, he glanced around and saw that the other two platoons had landed about 50 meters away.
They seemed to be in a large field of freshly cut grass, with a building nearby. Ordinarily Ron would have found the precise manicure of the field to be impressive, but just as he was thinking about it, a pair of rough hands grabbed him by the collar and pulled him forward.
He was suddenly face to face with a very large, very pissed off looking wizard, with a funny looking hat on his head.
"Tell me Private, why are you standing on my lawn, when the rest of your platoon is not?" the wizard asked with teeth clenched. "Er." Ron stammered, looking to see where everyone else was.
As he looked down, he saw Harry's back and noticed that everyone else was now lying face down on the wet grass. He looked back up just in time to see the Drill Sergeant's fist swinging at him.
Without further ado, Ron dropped to the ground, barely ducking the fist, and lay there motionless. He saw Harry out of the corner of his eye, and saw his glasses sitting crookedly on his face. Trying to suppress a snicker at the absurdity of lying in a field with his best mate, with a bunch of people yelling over their heads was becoming difficult.
"Shut up you bloody git!" Harry hissed at Ron, as he tried not to burst out laughing.
Suddenly Harry was no longer lying next to Ron. The soles of his trainers were about 2 inches off the ground. The Drill Sergeant that had nearly creamed Ron had apparently heard Harry speaking.
"I know you did not just tell your Senior Drill Sergeant to shut up!" the man roared at Harry. "N-N-No, of course not Sir!"
This was apparently the wrong thing to say, as Harry was pushed face first into the ground again. "Crawl, you four-eyed, scar-headed, pumpkin-pie- haircut LOSER!"
Harry began to crawl on his belly like a snake. The Drill Sergeant placed one spit shined boot on Harry's back and pushed down, effectively stopping his dying cockroach impression.
"Let this be a lesson to you all" the Drill Sergeant said loudly, "This Private thinks that I am an Officer for some reason. DO I LOOK LIKE AN OFFICER TO YOU? I work for a living, so the only thing I want to hear out of your prissy mouths is YES, DRILL SERGEANT or NO, DRILL SERGEANT! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"
"Yes, Drill Sergeant" the Privates mumbled, clearly to nervous to do anything else. The large wizard however wasn't satisfied. "Bull shit! I said, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"
The response was a little louder this time, with the exception of Harry whose mouth was full of dirt and grass from the weight of the Drill Sergeant on his back.
"Drill Sergeant Tonks, do you think they understood me?" the wizard asked. At the mention of her name, Ron whipped his head around and saw for the first time that the witch walking behind the platoon was none other than the Tonks he knew from the Order.
"I don't think they did Drill Sergeant Anders. In fact, I think this one here likes to smile an awful lot." Tonks had seen Ron grinning at her, but the look on her face quickly erased his smile. As she stomped over to where he was laying, he put his face back towards the ground, hoping to get out of whatever trouble he had just got into.
It didn't work. He heard Tonks kneel down next to him and call over her shoulder, "I think he was smiling at those boys behind him. Is that what you were doing Private Weasley? Were you smiling at those boys behind you?"
"No, Drill Sergeant, I was smiling at you." Ron quickly said, to stop her from implying that he was smiling at Dean and Seamus. That was the last thing he needed, his mates making jokes about his sexual preference.
"AT ME!" she screamed right in his ear. "Am I your pal now Private? Do you come over to my flat on Saturdays to hang out? Do I look like I want you as a fucking buddy?" she asked incredulously.
"No, Drill Sergeant." Ron answered simply, not believing this was the same Tonks that had made Ginny and Hermione squeal with laughter at the faces she would make. Thinking about Hermione made his heart lurch. He began wondering how bad 3 years in Azkaban could possibly be. You got visitations, right?
Just as Harry looked like he might pass out from eating so much grass, Drill Sergeant Anders lifted his boot and walked over toward the rest of the platoon. Ron didn't like the look on his face.
"Let me make one thing clear, I do not care if you are black, white, purple, yellow or the 'savior' of the wizarding world," he said, throwing a sharp look at Harry, "as of right now, you are all equally worthless. Why Merlin cursed me into getting a platoon as pathetic as you, I'll never know."
"However, someone in the Ministry thinks that your useless hides might be worth something, so I have to train you to be the best. And believe me scumbags, IF you finish my training, you will be the best."
"Drill Sergeant Nobles, get these pathetic creatures out of my sight." Anders instructed the third and final Drill Sergeant, as he walked toward the building. "Roger that." Nobles answered.
"Alright you worms, you heard the man, grab your gear and start crawling to that building. You have one zero minutes to be in front of those barracks, with your PT gear on, and the clock is ticking. PT equals physical training for you lady boys that have never lifted more than 2 kilograms in your life."
As the men dragged themselves up to the building, ruining their brand new B.A.T. robes, Ron looked over and saw that the other two platoons were in the same sad shape his was. It amused him to see Malfoy, who was usually so starched and clean, covered in mud and slime.
Although Malfoy had shown his true colors and loyalties by standing against his father in the final battle, Ron still had trouble getting over their past. He quickly turned his attention back to the task at hand, as Tonks had put a spit shined boot into his backside very forcefully.
When the young soldiers got into the barracks, they saw that the bunks were very close together, and a far cry from the plush, comfortable beds at Hogwarts. Harry and Ron ran to the bunks that had their names on them, and saw a small wall locker next to them. Throwing their bags into the lockers, and removing the shorts and t-shirts from them, they quickly changed clothes.
As they ran downstairs with the rest of the platoon, they saw the three Drill Sergeants standing in front of the building, looking at their watches.
"Make three even ranks." Anders instructed briskly. The Privates moved into 3 lines of 9 each. "What were your instructions? Anyone? Private Lemmex?"
"Er.To be in front of the barracks with PT gear on in ten minutes." a sandy haired boy answered.
"That's correct nimrod, so would you care to explain why it took your platoon 12 minutes to get here?"
"Well, you see, Drill Sergeant, we had to crawl up that hill from the field there, and."
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Anders bellowed. "DO YOU THINK THAT THERE IS ANY EXCUSE THAT YOU CAN GIVE ME, THAT WILL GET YOU OUT OF THE TROUBLE YOU ARE NOW IN?"
"N-N-No, Drill Sergeant." Lemmex answered meekly.
"Than why are you trying to give me an excuse? The correct answer would be 'No excuse, Drill Sergeant'. Now drop and give me 20 pushups." Lemmex dropped.
"Maybe we should call you Private Lummox. What do you think Drill Sergeant Tonks?"
Tonks laughed and nodded her affirmative. "Lummox it is then" Anders said. "Now then, one of you is going to be responsible for this platoon on the rare occasion that we aren't around. So which poor soul is going to volunteer?"
No one moved a muscle except Lemmex, who was still struggling with his pushups. Finally, seeing that no one else was moving, a tall boy in the back raised his hand tentatively.
"I don't remember this being a volunteer Army, you idiot!" Anders shouted. "What's your name brown noser?" "Private Mackenzie, Drill Sergeant" the tall boy answered.
"Well from now on, you're Private Brown Nose!" Anders replied. "You, Private Strawberry!" he said pointing at Ron, who nearly jumped back. "You just got volunteered by Private Brown Nose."
'Damn it' Ron thought to himself. The rest of the day went pretty much the same way. Nothing any of them did was right, and if one of them screwed up, the whole platoon got in trouble.
Later on that night, as they lay in their respective bunks, soaked in sweat, Private Dipshit looked down at Private Strawberry and asked, "What do you think the girls are doing right now?"
"Dunno mate, but whatever it is, it's got to be better than this." Ron answered. Harry completely agreed with him. As they lay in silence, they both fell asleep quickly, exhausted from the days events.