Draco's hard road

Chapter 8

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Hobnail boots pinged up and down the green tinted hallway. Men had been yelling commands in French for almost twenty hours now. Half a dozen camouflage uniformed troops stomped up and down the line of men crushed against the wall, punching and kicking anyone who slouched or didn't answer properly. Draco's head throbbed and his stomach ached from the blows. He had never once so much as stood at attention in his entire life. He didn't even know what it meant, but got the idea around the first round of kickings. They had been marching around dozens of gray cement buildings on the French Magical Legion compound for the last eighteen hours, but now he stood straight as a board, shoulders back, looking straight ahead as the man yelled at him and drove two fingers into his chest

Then it was back down for more push up's, but he loved push up's, and so his mind drifted away as he shoved off the floor. Over and over and over.

Pain ripped into his side from a kick. He shot off the floor, straight back into line. Blood ran from another punch in the nose. "A cheeky one 'eh!"

The first time Potter punched him in the nose had been a real surprise. It blacked both of his eyes and scared him, but the war and then Azkaban silenced that fear, he knew what was going to happen. You just took it and moved on, unlike the men balled up cupping their bleeding faces. What caught his attention was the new voice. Someone different?

His eyes snuck down to investigate the rank before he got another stomach full of knee. Instead, he found the top of a black beret shading a stone hard face creased by a jagged scar running down his forehead, through his nose and mouth, and ending on his chin. Further down was a crimson flaming bomb over three blood red chevrons. Red? Aren't rank insignia supposed to be gold. Fuck, I don't know. The fog of exhaustion laid thick on his brain. "Yes sir!"

The fist crushed his gut into his spine, smashing all the wind out of him in one go. "Do I look like a fucking sir, pitou?"

Draco was doubled over, gasping and sucking, trying to find air when a steel hand wrapped his throat and shoved him straight up against the wall. He was clawing at the iron fingers pushing him higher on the wall when the man's eyes flashed jet black from edge to edge. The only thing alive in their inky abyss was the image of Draco's own fear staring back at him. The man sneered. "A wizard, eh."

The drill sergeant turned without releasing his grip and addressed the whole group. "Welcome to the French Foreign Magical Legion. I am Chief Sergeant LeClerc. You will address me as 'Chef.' As for you maggots, I have the sorry task of whipping you worthless rabble into legionnaires."

He pointed up at a gold emblazoned sign above the entrance of the barracks. "This is our motto. Remember it."

He dumped Draco and marched down to a recruit squinting at the words. "What does it say, pitou?"

The man snapped to attention, and said, "I cannot read it, chef."

"Worthless and illiterate. Can anyone here read it?"

Draco shot his hand up.

"Yes?"

"It says 'Dura lex sed lex.'"

"Very good Pitou. Who knows what it means?"

Draco raised his hand again.

"Anyone else? No? Ok pitou."

"Dura lex, sed lex is Latin. It means 'The law is harsh, but it is the law.'"

He grabbed Draco and hauled him to his feet with one hand. "You know Latin?"

"Yes."

The fist blasted into his stomach, bouncing his head off the wall. He doubled over, choking for air but a knee to his chest slammed him straight up. The iron fingers on his throat forced him to attention hard against the wall. The man's voice growled, "Yes what?"

Don't fucking say Sir.

The man's fingers loosened just enough for his voice to squeak out, "Yes... Chef?"

"Are you asking me or do you know?"

A snigger coughed out beside him. The drill sergeant released and stuffed two fingers into the face of the blonde haired mountain next to him. "Something funny, pitou?"

A smile cracked the recruit's lips. The man made Goyle look like an elf. Thickly muscled arms crossed over the massive chest, revealing dozens of highly detailed tattoos. The man's French was rough under a heavy Russian accent. "Don't think you'll have a go at me like that."

The drill sergeant laughed. "No, I suppose not. You're a pretty big boy. Tattoo there says you served a pyatak in Kursk and murdered a guard."

The big man chuffed out a laugh, but the drill sergeant kicked his hobnail boot across the side of the man's knee, pounded his knee into the man's ribs, and smashed a punch straight across the button of his chin. The recruit's eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped to the hard tile, but the drill sergeant smashed boot after boot into the man's side, bringing him back wobbly and drooling. Sandy brown fur sheeted the recruit's skin, fangs slid past a wolfish snout, and his eyes flared fiery red.

Fucking hell is that?

The drill sergeant's eyes glittered as a bright smile bloomed. "Bludbaden, eh. I'll have your head on my wall with the others." His open hand exploded across the recruit's ear, sending the man back to the floor, where his arms and legs slowly swam. Another boot sent him scrabbling, but the monster couldn't find his feet and bounced off the wall, knocking over half a dozen recruits.

LeClerc's fingers ground into Draco's chest. "Pitou. Get hairy palms here back into formation."

"Yes, chef."

Watery blood drizzled out of the recruit's mouth. He didn't realize just how big the wolf monster was until trying to get him back on his feet. Grabbing the recruit was like pulling on a stone wall, so he focused his powers and wordlessly recited the Imperius. He was now driving the bus. The scruffy fur disappeared into the man's pink skin and the fiery red eyes evaporated into light blue. Draco's fingers tingled as he stood the man back in line, but the recruit's face was wet and glassy.

The drill instructor had moved down the line and was now kicking a swarthy fellow with greasy hair who looked French, or maybe Moroccan. Yellow striped black fur bloomed over the recruits skin. He screamed, thrashing and slashing hooked claws which sprouted out of his fingertips, but the drill instructor slapped them away as if he was a child, and kicked that one into the floor as well.

What in the bloody hell is that thing? White fangs poked out of the monster's stripey feline mouth and its eyes glowed fiery yellow. The drill instructor knotted a handful of Draco's shirt and slung him down the hall at the fallen monster. "Pitou, get the pussy back into formation."

Draco pulled him up, but the monster snarled and sliced claws deep into Draco's arms. Pain seared and a wordless stunner burst out of his hand into the monster's chest. The beast's body convulsed and slumped back to the floor, where it transformed back into a man.

Streamers of blood drizzled down his arms as the drill instructor kicked him face first into the wall. "No fighting with your brothers, you worthless piece of shit!"

"Chef, he clawed into my arms."

The man wrenched his left arm around his back, locking his body against the wall. "Stupid fucking pitou. Of course they have claws. What do you think a Balaam is going to do? Did you kill him?"

"No Chef, just a stunner."

The drill instructor's spit slimed straight into his ear as he shouted, "I gave you an order! I expect you to follow it without going all stupid. He is your brother! His blood is on your hands."

With that, the drill instructor kicked the back of his knees and pitched him to the floor beside the fallen recruit. Draco scrabbled and focused his powers. He pressed his hands into the man's temples and drove the bus, standing him on wobbly feet. The recruit's dark eyes fluttered and he snarled, grabbing Draco's arms, but his hands slid off the slick of blood as Draco jerked them back.

The recruit doubled over, wrapping his arms around his own chest and gasping for air.

The drill instructor's fist exploded knto Draco's stomach again, dropping him to his knees. "I gave you an order!"

Draco choked the words out. "Chef, he's got broken ribs," but the hobnail boot to his stomach required no further clarification. "Yes, Chef," coughed out. He hauled his body off the floor, slapped the crying recruit's hands away, and pressed his bloody palm into the recruit's temple. The world quieted as his mind stilled, but the man was trying to fight him. Draco focused his powers and recited the Imperius. The recruit's brown eyes went flat and glassy. "Stand at attention."

The recruit mechanically straightened like a post beside Draco.

The drill instructor gave him a quick nod and turned his attention further down the line. "Your brothers are wounded and you stand there gawking like idiots!" He ordered some to clean the floor and walls while others wrapped towels around Draco's arms.

The black night hung heavy over the compound's orange tile roofs as he stumbled out the door of the barracks. He cradled throbbing arms. His chest was slick from the blood soaking his uniform through the threadbare towels as he limped onto the asphalt below. Two other instructors in camouflage marched himself and the two other recruits off to the hospital ward.

Welcome to the French Foreign Magical Legion. It's still better than Azkaban.

A female officer with brown hair pulled back into an orderly bun eyed the three of them, and then the drill instructors escorting them. "You idiots woke me up for this? This is certainly not a medical emergency!"

Her lip curled as she sized them up. "Fighting, eh. Doesn't surprise me with the trash we've been scraping out of the gutter lately."

Draco started to protest the accusation, but the huge recruit silenced him. The man whispered, "Didn't you see that that drill instructor's eyes?"

Draco shrugged.

"Well, keep your damned mouth shut. He's a Grimm. He'll kill every one of us if we say anything."

He was in the middle of asking what a Grimm was when the officer stuck her fingers at his face. "You! Up."

He jumped to attention. "Yes... eh.." He was searching for her rank insignia. Three gold bars. "Yes, mon Captain."

"Name and Wesen species?"

"Malbec." Every one of them had been assigned a new French name. ""and... Uh..."

"I don't have all night."

He looked around. Wesen species? This is France for Merlin's sake. What the hell did they call me?

"Sorciere?"

She rolled her eyes. "Too stupid to know what you are. Are you vorherrscher?"

More fucking German. Prevalence?

The woman's arms crossed. "You fucking morons decide to pick a fight in the middle of the night. You wake me up to patch up your worthless hides, and you can't even tell me what you are?"

"Mon capitan, I apologize, but I don't know the terminology. Vorherrscher?"

She left him standing there and pointed to the second one. "Name and Wesen species?"

The big recruit winced as he nursed his head. "Koszjek, Eh.. Uh... I don't speak French."

That didn't slow the captain down one bit. She was going at him even faster.

Koszjek waited a minute and then mumbled, "What did she say?" in Russian.

She was now yelling, and Draco translated, "She's calling you a flea bitten, shit eating dog that sucks donkey cock."

"What did she say before that?"

"It was a bunch of German words. What kind of Wesen are you and are you Vorherrscher, whatever that means."

"Tell her Bludbaden and not Vorherrscher."

"Now she's asking for some sort of identification."

With that, the big man twisted his head and transformed. Sandy blonde fur sheeted his body. his ears pointed and his nails curled into hard spikes tipping rough, pink hands. His nose elongated into a short snout and white fangs slid past his lips. His eyes flared fiery red. Up close, it was clear the beast wasn't a proper werewolf, but rather some sort of very stern half-man monster with wild dog features. She nodded. "Anything else I need to know?"

"Lycanthropy."

Draco's stomach knotted. Nausea burned in his throat. His arms were cut to hell and he was swimming in werewolf blood. A death sentence! There was no cure. He smashed a fist into the beast's face. Koszjek raked claws across Draco's shoulder, tearing it loose and crushing him to the floor. Draco kicked as the beast grabbed him by the legs and shot a dozen stunners straight into the wolf monster. Koszkek shook it off and charged at him, but the metal chairs tubular steel snaked loose and wrapped the two of them into iron cocoons.

The doctor was screaming at them, "You stupid fucking idiots! Fighting in my hospital? I'll kill both of you!" Her head twisted and death sheeted her body. Her hair turned gray and stringy. Her smooth skin cracked and browned, revealing holes where bleached bone and rotten meat hung loose. The mummified corpse's brown teeth ground as purple and blue magic crackled off the jagged bones sticking through shrivelled fingertips. Draco put the brakes on and relaxed as hard as he could an instant before the searing jinx blasted into their chests. The wolf monster shuddered and slumped within the steel cage, but Draco was left jittering as he absorbed the massive burst.

Magic sparkled and crackled out of his fingers into the chair, untwining it and sending the smoking hull clattering behind him. Green Aveda lightning was hissing off the mummified witch's fingertips. He raised his working hand and cast the only shield spell he knew which could repel the death curse. "Please! No! Mon Capitan."

"What the fucking hell is wrong with you? This is my hospital!"

"He's got Lycanthropy!"

"What the hell do you think this place is for?"

"There's no cure!"

Draco's shield spell faltered as the pain of his broken wrist throbbed into his brain. He doubled over as the stabbing of broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder took his breath and left him sucking for air. She ground a jagged, black fingernail through his uniform into the ball of his wrecked shoulder. "Stupid piece of shit! Are you British or something?"

She clenched a fist in the air and magically hauled him back to his feet by the neck. He choked out, "Yes, mon capitan."

She pointed at the floor, "Stay!" Magic crackled and rippled, locking him in place. The mummified witch reared back and slapped Koszjek so hard it must have knocked teeth loose.

He jerked back, straining the steel, and cringed, stretching to get away from her. He was was shaking as his blubbery crying burst out. "A Hexenbiest? Please! No! I'm begging you!"

The mummified doctor continued unfazed, "Why do they keep recruiting your ilk? Is it my job to fix every plague infested Wesen turd they drag out of prisons and gutters? Stand."

The beast craned and struggled, bending and tearing the steel tubing which locked him down until he was free, and stood straight up. She stabbed a three pronged needle as big as a wine bottle into his stomach and shoved the plunger home. The man's face turned white and a geyser of vomit washed over Draco's face and ran down into his shirt. Koszjek's pasty face turned beet red. His teeth chattered as white foam drizzled past his lips. His glassy eyes locked wide open and he slumped to the floor, jittering.

She pointed at Draco. "You! Clean that up," and moved to the other recruit locked behind the remnants of a wrecked chair.

Her mummified corpse transformed back into the scowling doctor. She pushed her hands into her hips. "Well?"

The man's body was shaking and his teeth chattering as the words dribbled out. "D-D-Dupont, mon c-c-capitan, Balaam, not voerherrscher. N-N-No conditions."

At the request for identification, skin-hugging black fur broken by orange stripes sheeted his dark skin. His face rounded into a squat, feline form and sharp fangs slid out of his jaws. He flexed his hands and curved black claws extended and retracted. She flicked a nod his way and he returned to his human form. He stared at the giant needle in her hand and swallowed hard. "Mon capitan?"

"You went stupid and decided to fight a Lycanthrope."

"But, mon capitan, B-B-Bludbaden lycanthropy doesn't effect..." Before he could finish, she stabbed the giant three-pronged syringe into his stomach. He doubled over and vomited a fountain of sick all over Draco's pants before crashing to the floor. Greasy foam sputtered out of the recruit's mouth as his eyes turned milky.

She turned to him. "What are you doing, pitou? I told you to clean this up."

He was bleary eyed from pain and could barely move. Draco slowly reciting the scourgify, waving his hand sent jolts and searing pain through his body. Her face wore a bored expression as the putrid slime disappeared. "So, did you decide what sort of Wesen you are?"

"I think the right answer is wizard."

"Any idea what sort?"

There were different kinds? "The regular sort."

"Zauber? Zauberbiest? I would have a note about dietary restrictions if you were a Styrzgon."

Koszjek had called her a Hexenbiest, a witch monster. He wasn't the male of whatever the hell she was, and he wasn't a vampire witch, so by process of elimination. "Zauber? I don't transform into anything."

"Mmm. What are you mixed with?"

"I'm pure blood."

She tapped the side of the giant needle. "And what do you suppose will happen when I give medicine meant for a full blooded zauber to a three quarters Kehrseite Zauberbiest vorherrscher?"

He wasn't sure what an "opposite" or "prevalence" was, but given the context clues... "Probably death."

She nodded and clicked notes into a glowing electronic computer. "You claim to be full blooded and your family is too stupid to keep you out of here. That means you're inbred and too incompetent to do anything else. So, do you prefer fucking your sister or your mother?"

Twenty-four hours without sleep on top of the near constant beating had his mind too foggy to process what she said. "Uh... I don't have any sisters."

"Mother fucker it is, then." Her words didn't make any sense. His was exhausted past comprehension. The stabbing pains wracking his body left his brain stuffed full of mud. Fire ripped through his entire body as the giant needles injected their payload deep into his gut. Nausea flooded his throat and sprayed out his nose. He pawed at the chair and desk, but the world was sloshing in and out as the room rotated sideways.

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Chapter notes:

Draco has officially entered the Grimm universe with Wesen and such. He was so incredibly sheltered, so why not...

;)