The Hard Road
Chapter 9
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Buzzing and wet slaps gelled into trumpets blaring and a difty mop sloshing putrid chunks of gray and orange into his face. Next came the doctor loudly cursing three cowering men in camouflage uniforms. She pointed at him and then at her shoes. "Threw up all over them. I'm taking it out of his pay!"
He pushed off the floor, but the whole world sloshed back and forth. One of the men hauled him to his feet. The captain was yelling and pointing at him. "Look at this mess! Don't you dare leave this nasty, inbred sack of shit inside my hospital. Hose him off! Now, get him out."
They dragged him through the door, limping and stumbling, and stood him against a wall. One of them smirked. "You heard Captain Rosencrantz. Time for little pig to wash."
The words didn't register until cold water blasted straight into his face. The men were laughing, but he simply bowed his head and scrubbed. This was heaven compared to Azkaban. They barely got anything to drink much less wash there. Brown water sheeted off his uniform. Chunks of undigested food mixed with dried blood ran down his pants. They turned their attention to Koszjek and Dupont, who were yelling and cursing, coughing and spitting as the cold water jetted into their mouths and noses.
He muttered a quick exaresco while flicking his wrist. His clothing twisted, expelling streamers of dark water before they snapped dry.
Koszjek gawked. "You mind giving us a go?" Dupont waved towards himself, so Draco waved his hand and repeated the incantation.
The drill instructors ran them back into the morning drill formation, where Chief Sergeant LeClerc was waiting. "So nice for you to grace us with your presence. Did you have a nice rest?"
Draco snapped to attention. "Yes, Chef."
"We're missing one of your brothers." The drill sergeant pointed to two recruits down the line. "Get his sorry ass out here! Now!"
They ran back into the barracks and soon returned, hauling a disheveled recruit wearing only underpants and one sock. The drill sergeant pounced, yelling and pointing, but the recruit hissed and snarled. His body sheeted in thick scales as his head rounded into a snake-like form. He hissed again, revealing long fangs dripping with venom. The monster shimmied side to side, his body undulating as it moved, before yelling out, "Grimm! I'm not afraid of you!"
The drill sergeant shoved two fingers straight into it's scaly chest. "Get in fucking line, Lausenscanger!" In a lightning flash, it shot forward, snapping and snarling, but the drill sergeant grabbed the back of it's head and slammed it straight down into his knee. It slashed shiny black claws, tearing his uniform, but the drill instructor's fists rained down, turning into knees as it slid sideways. Knees turned into boots as the Chief Sergeant LeClerc stomped and kicked. Scaly skin retracted into pink human flesh and the man's black hair sprouted where the slick sheet of black scales had coated his head. Fingers twitched as a pool of blood slowly leaked out of the recruit's nose. A slow wheeze exhaled out into the early morning quiet. A shudder rippled through the group, but the drill instructor already had a handful of Draco's shirt. "Get this stupid piece of shit into formation."
"Yes chef."
He scrambled over, but knew the truth as soon as his fingers touched the recruit's waxy flesh. He waved the drill instructor back over, and whispered, "Chef, he's dead."
"Louder! Everyone needs to hear."
"Chef! He's dead!"
The drill instructor marched back up and down the line, staring at each recruit as he did. He grabbed Koszjek and DuPont. "Pick that up. We have to take out the trash." And with that, they started their morning run.
Koszjek was wheezing and stumbling under the dead man's weight a mile and a half into the run. The formation veered off the main road onto a dirt track which opened onto a simple cemetery. The drill instructor circled them. "Understand this. There is only one way out of here. You will finish your training and serve your enlistment." He marched up and down the line. "There is no medical discharge. No dishonorable discharge. No prison. No failure."
He sent three recruits down to a small shed for shovels. "Now, dig."
Recruits cried, some turned white as chalk while others vomited. A few even panicked as Chief Sergeant LeClerc's words soaked in. By the time the grave was dug, Draco had a full one third of the battalion imperiused and robotically standing at attention. LeClerc said a few words and led the men in the French Magical Legion's anthem as they pitched the body in and heaped the dark soil back into the hole.
DuPont elbowed Koszjek. "Good thing you didn't try to fight him."
"I did." The big man rubbed his chin. "Damn, he hits hard for such a tiny little squirt."
Draco's curiosity perked. He nudged Dupont and muttered, "What's a Grimm?"
Dupont simply pointed his thumb at LeClerc. Once they returned the heap of dirt to its place, they continued on with the run. On and on and on they tromped, stopping only to drink water and do endless pushups and situps. The gray haired drill instructor marched around their group, seemingly impervious to the effects of the hot June sun.
Half the battalion mimicked Draco's exhausted lope as they shambled back to the barracks. He released his Imperius, and they cascaded onto the ground hither and yon. Recruits were vomiting, crying, balled up, cramping as the drill instructor marched up and down the line. "Have you been drinking water? Drink! Now!"
Men littered the ground, rolling around, knotted with cramps. Chief Sergeant LeClerc grabbed a handful of another recruit's shirt. "Wizard! Make them drink."
The man dutifully marched out, but gulped hard and stood, gaping. He was pushing and yelling, but the men shouted and kicked him away.
LeClerc was yelling at the recruit after kicking him into the ground. "What fucking good is a wizard who can't do magic? You!" His fingers pointed straight at Draco. "Sort out this useless pile of shit!"
Draco protested that squibs couldn't do magic, but the knee to his stomach brought fresh encouragement. Draco was doubled, clutching his gut while streamers of snot leaked out of his nose, and he wondered how in the hell to get magic into a squib.
Without any better ideas, he imperiused the recruit, stood him up, and tried casting a few spells. Now, he really wished for a wand, as second hand wandless magic was even more difficult than normal wandless magic. He eventually got a few simple spells to work through the recruit, proving that while he didn't have much power, he wasn't actually a squib. LeClerc was already impatient, so Draco marched the young wizard down the line, fell in beside him, and imperiused men as he went. He pushed the recruit's hands into their chests, checking for heat stroke as he forced water into them and then slowly marched them around so it could absorb.
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It was barely half three and Draco had been to the hospital three times. One broken jaw, a broken leg, and the last when the demon drill sergeant kicked his ribs into his lungs. She had him patched up each time and back on the march in barely half an hour. Pomfrey could never have worked that sort of magic. Whatever she was giving him, he needed the recipes. The only side effect he was left with was roaring hunger. He was so ravenous that the scent of some of the monsters left his mouth watering.
He could smell dinner before the mess hall came into view. Draco was wiping the drool off his chin while they stood in the line, eyeing every single item. Drill instructors shoved in and snatched items off Koszjek's plate. "No more snacks for you, fatty."
An extra chicken leg, two more potatoes, and another roll piled onto Draco's plate. "You need to eat, damned sack of bones. That's an order."
The big man was snarling and flashing his eyes fiery red as they stood across the table from each other. They sang the Legion Anthem and all sat to eat. Koszjek's huge hand shot across the table at Draco's plate. Askaban had taught him a thing or two about food. Draco stabbed his knife down and drove it through the back of the big man's hand, smashing it deep into the table top. Koszjek didn't flinch, he simply narrowed his eyes.
Silence blanketed the sprawling cafeteria as everyone's eyes turned on them. Pale lips curled off the big man's white teeth into a silent snarl. Draco gave him a mild grin and sent a sizzling bolt into the knife. Koszjek's muscles knotted and his jaws spasmed.
Koszjek's arms were shaking. He silently withdrew his hand off the knife, leaving a trail of crimson back to his own plate. Drill instructors were yelling and boots crashing. Draco gulped food down as quickly as he could stuff it down his throat, but he wasn't fast enough. His mouth was full of chicken when they hauled him out of his seat and slammed him headfirst onto the floor. He turned to face Koszjek and snarled at the red eyed bastard laying on the tile floor across from him.
Twenty minutes later, Captain Rosencrantz was cursing Draco and the idiot he was attached to. Both of them had been kicked unconscious, tied together arm and leg, and dumped on the benches outside the medical station. Some sort of jinx blasted them awake, but every inch of Draco's body ached.
Every time the mountainous bastard snarled and ground claws into him, he sent jolts ripping through the big man. Draco was growling under his breath, "I swear, if I end up with lycanthropy, I'll turn your fucking insides to mush. I'll cut you into so many pieces that not even LeClerc can find them all."
"Fucking wizard. Steal my dinner? I'm going to break you in half and then I'll take my pound of flesh."
Their argument was cut short by Rosencrantz's stunner exploding into their chests. He absorbed and blunted enough of it that it didn't knock him out. That unfortunately left him in the grass, anchored to a twenty-two stone lump and too many broken ribs to do anything about it. He was licking the jagged nubs where teeth used to be when a blonde haired nurse spat and jammed three huge needles into Koszjek. When she got back to him, she snarled and twisted her head, revealing hard green hide, pointy ears, and a blubbery face capped with a squashed nose and a mouth full of fangs. "Ah, we've got a live piece of shit. Why do they even allow trash like you in here. Criminals, the lot of you." She shoved a rough hand capped with black claws into his ribs. "Does this hurt?"
He gritted his teeth as electric jolts from his ribs grinding around sent stars through his vision. She gave him a toothy grin. "Good. This will be even better."
He snuck his hand onto her forearm and sent an imperius bubbling into her. "Just get on with it."
She mechanically jammed the first needle into his chest. Fire poured through him. Puffs of smoky blood burbled out of his nose as his skin turned beet red. The second went into his neck, which left monstrous numbers and cauldrons full of carrots and turnips marching through his vision. The third went into his hip, spasming every muscle in his body while his bones reoriented and knitted. Fevers and chills wracked him as sweat soaked his clothing. Floating cabbages and flobberworms danced and humped his eye sockets while long strings of muggle maths slithered out of the dirt and swarmed into his nose and ears.
A jagged fingertip grinding into the ball of his shoulder sent the flobberworms sliming off in terror. Sharp bones prised his eyes open and he was staring into the rotten grapes rattling loose inside mummified eye sockets. Captain Rosencrantz's mouth wasn't moving, but her angry voice was screaming inside his skull. It may come as a surprise to an inbred, sister-fucking piece of shit that other people had jobs before your ilk graced us. If it's not too much of an inconvenience, I need my nurse back.
Draco started to release his imperius but his mouth was stuffed full of the numbers governing muggle electrical field calculations. He was halfway through the b-field maths when a blue aura reached into his his skull and yanked. The nurse gasped, kicked a boot into his gut, and stomped off.
The doctor's smile bloomed through a hole in her jagged lips revealing a mouth full of brown, broken teeth, "And since you declined anesthetic, I'll ask you to stay put."
Bones and mummified flesh swirled around his head as her incantation rippled. Gold and silver magic glittered and settled into the grass like a giant swarm of gnats. Ten thousand stabs pierced his skin and sucked him flat against the ground. A giant swarm of number fives appeared on his chest and started gnawing into his stomach while a thousand blades of grass shot sharp barbs into his cheek.
A cloud of green coalesced into jowls and fangs. The nurse kicked him in the ribs. Jolts of stabbing pain chased all the angry numbers away. "I should tear your ungrateful throat out! I hope this hurts!"
With that, the nurse slammed another needle deep into his liver. His abdomen undulated. Worms teemed inside his stomach and crawled up his throat while The Dark Lord stood over him, wringing long, white fingers, and laughing that crazy, high pitched laugh of his. His beckon sent fire roaring through the undulating tattoo on his forearm and he was standing in a forest clearing beside the river Avon.
Voldemort strode over and clapped those spidery fingers onto his shoulder. Draco's face was hot as The Dark Lord's voice became patronizing. "I've never had a problem killing, but it does not come naturally to many of our kind. We are not muggle savages. Luckily, Severus was prepared. I must ask you again. Are you sure?"
The shame burned deep as he nodded. He had bested Dumbledore but could not finish him. Voldemort's scowl settled on his father. "I was assured that your son would be prepared to kill our old foe. The vanishing cabinet was not only an feat of difficult and complex magic, it was well planned and superbly executed in perfect secrecy. Your son is clearly capable. Have you trained him to kill?"
His father stuttered as red blotched his face, but The Dark Lord waved him off. "Lucius, our cause is plagued by wishful thinking at every level. Witches and wizards must be assessed, equipped, and trained. Missions must be planned and practiced to perfection. Thousands of hours and galeons must be spent putting the shoulder into the plow. How many Avedas have I cast to master the death curse? Was I magically birthed into the wizard I am today?"
He continued. "Your weakness is our weakness. Our weakness is my failure. It has come to my attention that you have never killed anything. Not even a fish or a flobberworm. Is this correct?"
He flicked a nod and stared at his feet. Voldemort patted his shoulder. "While my bloodline may be the highest and most noble, my upbringing was rather meaner. We live and breathe because blood is spilled. Too many wizards lack the real understanding that the even very food we eat was once alive."
The Dark Lord never failed to take him by surprise. He had no idea where the conversation was going. He was now forced to admit that he had no real idea where his food came from. He never particularly cared - it came from the kitchen, prepared by house elves.
"Do you like trout?"
This was one of those instances. He quirked an eyebrow and flicked a quick nod.
"Well, young Malfoy, today is your lucky day. Our brother Antonin is a master fisherman. I must admit, one of the great pleasures which I was deprived in my prior distress was a meal of fresh trout beside the river."
The black haired wizard led Draco out of the trees and into the thick weeds lining the riverside. He crouched low as he stalked through the bushes, and then raised a fishing rod. He gave Draco a mischievous wink and baited the hook with bright yellow corn kernels out of a metal tin, and then cast out. A minute later, a golden trout was flopping and splashing inside his net. The next time, he passed the rod to Draco to reel in. Fighting the pull of the fish beside a beautiful river like this was quite fun. He understood why so many wizards loved it. Half an hour later, the creel basket was bulging with a dozen of them, flapping and squirming.
Dolohov led him to a stump. "Now, we prepare dinner." He slid a short, thin bladed knife out of a leather sheath. He expertly stropped it a dozen passes on his belt and tested its edge. With that, he plunged the knife behind the trout's gills and slit its throat. It flopped and shook, flinging blood onto his waterproof trousers, but the man never released it. A second cut unzipped its pearlescent belly. He dug two fingers in and scooped a lump of guts into the bushes. A quick rinse in the river and it went onto a shiny metal tray. "Now you."
Draco swallowed hard. He could barely keep ahold of the greasy balls of snot, but he wasn't about to admit defeat. He cringed as the knife plunged into the fish's crimson gills. Blood spilled all over his hands as the fish flopped and stared into his soul. He was shaking and nearly slashed his fingers when he sawed through the stomach. His clumsy efforts pierced the guts, covering his bloody hands with bile and shit.
His stomach knotted and his throat burned as he stared at the glittering animal and thought of all the fish he had eaten. Here it was, glistening and beautiful in the warm summer sun. The world swirled in a half circle from the death spilling through his fingers, but the big man laid a reassuring hand on his shoulders and gave him an approving nod that set Draco's mind at ease. The second was a bit easier, and by the last, he wasn't making such a mess of the cuts. A quick scourgify cleaned the blood, slime, and innerds off his robe and face.
They tromped back to a clearing where a small fire burned. Voldemort and his father sat on logs warming their hands and drinking out of paper cups. His father passed him a cup and he found it full of sweet white wine. Dolohov's face lit as he drained his glass. "Lucius, your son did well. I knew he would. Bet you've never cooked either, have you boy?" They sliced lemons and dill weed, packed the trout's bellies, and gently laid them on the coals. A few minutes later, they carefully flipped the fish without spilling the herbs, and continued cooking. Dolohov was kneeling, poking and prodding, checking till he was satisfied, then slid them off onto plates - three each. Draco savored the light, fresh flavor and firm meat which flaked apart on his tongue. The fish at Hogwarts were mushy and stank in comparison. His father, Dolohov, and Voldemort traded old stories about about pranks at Hogwarts when Fenrir Greyback tromped up.
"Save me any?"
Voldemort passed the tray, which still held one cooked trout. The big man's nose wrinkled. Dolohov winked. "I've got you, old man. Draco?"
He nodded and pulled the creel out of the creek. Greyback's sharp-toothed smile bloomed. "That's more like it!" He bit the head off with a grin and crunched the fish down, bones and all.
If that bloke's not Bludbaden...
Voldemort was in the middle of his next plan, using Hogwarts to train and prepare a generation of the finest wizards to tear the wizarding world free from muggle tyranny when a herd of mathematical symbols marched into the clearing in squared ranks and tore their pants off. They crouched and stomped. The earth rumbled with a choreographed war dance. Sparkling embers and clouds of ash kicked up as they swirled and tumbled in an ecstatic frenzy. Large numbers brandished subscripts and chanted their most sacred song: "The middle finger is for B-field. The thumb is reserved for the force. The index finger is the current. Hold your fingers in the holy pose and you will know which way the vector goes."
His eyes popped open in the grass. His body was slicked in stink. Bitter ash and cottony lumps gagged him. Draco dry heaved and spit a mouthful of cigarette butts. Boots jabbed his ribs and trumpets blared. He tried to get up, but the giant fucking oaf was still tied to him. Next was getting all the blood hosed off and mustering into formation. They were then forced to run the entire five miles tied together. Push up's, sit up's, and squat thrusts, all tied together. They marched, ate breakfast, went to classes, ate lunch, ran more miles, and even used the bathroom together. By dinner, they were both barely shambling through, and ate silently without fighting over the use of their tied hands or the drill instructors giving half of Koszjek's dinner to Draco.
He was ready to be loosed, but it was not to be. More running, more exercise. The rest of the battalion whistled, yelled, and laughed as they showered together. That was followed by scrubbing every speck of blood and dirt off of the barracks floors and then their uniforms. Next came shining boots and belt buckles, and then folding shirts, socks, and underpants late into the night.
Koszjek told him the story. He grew up second of three children in Klimovsk, half an hour south of Moscow. His father ran a bullet making machine in the ammunition factory while his mother worked as a receptionist at a dentist's office. Most of his fondest early memories were of working in the fields with his mother, brother, and sister. Even children picked potatoes in the annual harvests. His father was good with his hands, so he worked night shifts repairing tractors.
His lycanthropy manifested at six, a year after the Berlin Wall fell. The Russian economy was collapsing at the time, so they concealed his condition with monthly visits to his uncle in the country. He was nine when he killed his first man, though he didn't remember any of it. They said the fellow was trying to steal his uncle's hay baler during the full moon, and he tore him to pieces. The family hid the body, and nobody noticed due to the chaos, so nothing happened.
The Russian economy then went from bad to nonexistent when the capitalist bastards wrecked the Ruble. The dentist's office closed first, then cutbacks at the ammunition plant left his parents without work. He was ten when he came home from one of his monthly visits and his family was gone. From there, he took whatever jobs he could get for cash money. His condition drove him farther north, away from cities. At twelve, he went to work as a lumberjack. At sixteen, he was bouncing at night clubs in his spare time. That's where he got tied up with the Russian mafia.
Draco told him about The Dark Lord and the war. He was surprised when Koszjek simply shrugged and said, "Ah, you grew up in one of those weird religious cult things. Good you got out. I dated a Mormon girl once. She was nice. Wanted to settle down but I didn't want to. She always wore these stiff, white knickers under her clothes."
The Russian seemed relieved that he didn't wear white breeches under his pants, although if you're into that sort of thing... The big man settled into pestering him about muggle technology. He kept teasing him about being more backward than the bozaiovazzi. "They may live in tents and herd reindeer, but they at least know what a television set is. They may wash their clothes with reindeer piss, but at least they own radios."
Playing the backwards rube would provide exactly the cover he needed. "So, what exactly is a Wesen?"
"We're Wesen." It was like uncorking a geyser. Once started, the big man told him all sorts of things about the human/monster chimeras. There were all sorts. Some resembled animals, fish, bugs, elves, trolls, and the like.
Draco was trying to process a man turning into a mountain troll. "Cor! I've seen those. Eight meters tall. Tear an oak tree straight out of the ground and club a dozen men down in one swing."
"Nah. These are shorter than me. Ugly as hell. Mean too. That nurse lady is one. You really want to send her sideways, go on about bridges, how they're useless and you wish everybody used ferries. Fucking hasslichen think they own every damned one."
"Do they eat men?"
Koszjek's face lit. "We all do, I mean most of us at least. I guess there's some that don't. You got your Seelengut, Eisbeibers, and Maushertz. They can't. Reinegen say they do, but they're lying pieces of shit."
Draco grimaced at the thought of cannibalism, but Koszjek launched into a diatribe about the Wesen food chain. He was surprised when the big man declared his kind even ate them. Apparently, both Zauber and Zauberbiest were up near the top of the food chain with the big predatory Wesen. Kehrseite, which he decided were the same thing as Muggles, individually were food for nearly everything, but in groups were the most dangerous things on the planet, save for Grimms.
At Draco's question about Grimms, Koszjek clammed up. His eyes flicked back and forth like the suggestion would unleash their evil upon the world. DuPont was walking past. "So, you lovebirds through with your little spat?"
The big man wrapped an arm around Draco. "You're just jealous."
"I've got no interest in anything that would stick a dick inside one of those sacks of bones." DuPont rubbed his crotch and grimaced. "How would you even get it into the corpse bride? She'd cut you to pieces."
Mischief glittered in Draco's eyes. "I do admit you two are looking better and better every minute. So soft and snuggly."
DuPont gave him the stink eye, and then both men broke out laughing. Now it was their turn to pepper him with questions. He carefully skirted all the parts about being filthy rich and coming from nobility. Like Koszjek, DuPont had not heard a single thing about either Voldemort or the war. The Moroccan nodded his assent when Koszjek pronounced it, "Some religious cult thing."
"You're not going to go door to door and pester us about your church, are you?"
"And if I do?"
DuPont laughed. "I'd just do like my Grandma. She always invited them in.. You know... For dinner."
Draco sniggered. "Such hospitality."
Koszjek burst out laughing. "For dinner!" He nearly dragged Draco out of the chair as he lurched back and forth. "It's like free delivery!"
DuPont and Koszjek joked about the various Wesen at the bottom of the food chain, the vermin, and the parasites. Then, Draco wheedled a Grimm story out of them.
"There was a young Lowen boy. He was very proud, and loved scaring people with his Lion Wesen form. He loved roaring in the forest and running everyone out of the woods. Then one day, he spotted a woman collecting some sticks. He circled down wind to investigate, but she was gone. The next day, he saw her again, this time picking some herbs. She was average and boring. Not really pretty, so he decided to scare her. He crept up and whirled her around with a roar, but it was only a scarecrow. As he turned, there was the girl, but her eyes were black as night from edge to edge. He slashed out at the Grimm, but it was too late. She batted his hands away and hacked his head off."
"So what happened then?"
Koszjek shrugged. "She hunted down every single Wesen in the village and murdered them all, down to the last child."
DuPont nodded. They told him a few more, but they always ended the same way, with The Grimm chopping everybody's heads off. Around the third, Draco realized they were bedtime stories. Cautionary tales parents told their children. No wonder they were all scared of LeClerc.