The Hard Road

Chapter 18

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Sunrise hit Draco like a truck. Just like the previous morning, Rosencrantz's super potion ran out all at once. Aches and weariness flooded every scrap of his being as the whole world around him grew a foot taller. He was now acutely aware that he hadn't slept a wink in three days except for whatever happened during the operation. His fingers fumbled the snaps on his magic belt and rooted through the emptiness inside. Eventually, two wiggenwelds and a single bone regrowth potion turned up. His heart sank, but he rummaged again. Tears welled up when he came up empty.

Everyone stared as he found his spot in formation. Low muttering vanished when LeClerc marched out. He eyed Draco for a minute, and then asked, "Have you been fully cleared after the medical procedure?"

It never occurred to him that he would have to check in with someone after most of his left leg had been hacked out. LeClerc must have seen his blank expression. The old drill instructor pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. "Medical building number three. Don't come back until all the paperwork is complete."

Of course, every single doctor and nurse was tied up diagnosing the morning's injuries and prescribing the pallets of painkillers, antibiotics, and allergy medicine which kept the entire place running. Draco filled out the medical request form and passed it to the attendant, slumped into a seat, and promptly fell asleep.

Yelling shook his eyes open. A man wearing a white officer's uniform was marching around and yelling. "Malbec? Who the hell says he's Malbec?"

He shot to his feet. Four gold bars. "Malbec here, Mon Commandant."

The man eyed him up and down, and then shook paperwork at him. "What the hell is this? Show me some identification."

Draco complied and the officer eyed the military identification card and then squinted at him. He collared a confused looking second lieutenant. "What the hell is going on here? Engage Voluntare Malbec is listed as deceased, but this fellow has an ID that says it's him. Get the military police over here to escort him to Admin."

Deceased? As in dead?"

The day went downhill from there. They shuffled him from one office to the next, answering all the same questions, over and over. Breakfast was long gone. Lunch came and went. Visions of getting bounced back and forth between Ministry offices for all eternity flashed through his mind. He had to find somebody to break the tie, but each time, the sergeant looked over the paperwork and dumped it into some private's lap. Not only did exactly zero of the fellows know how to do anything, each one of them decided it wasn't their job to do it. He was headed back to the personnel office for the sixth time when LeClerc's hobnail boots pinged down the hall. Ten seconds later, LeClerc was squinting at the paperwork while the other chief sergeant pointed. Two words came out of his mouth. "Fucking Rosencrantz," and with that, they stomped off.

On the way back to the barracks, LeClerc explained. Rosencrantz had signed his death certificate. She would have to fill out even more paperwork to rescind it and then clear him medically. Then, he asked what happened that night, so Draco told him, including the part about getting most of his leg removed and Rosencrantz's super potions.

LeClerc shrugged. "They're always trying out new things on the hard cases. This one time, they doped them up with this stuff that made half the battalion go crazy. Some sort of super potion kept them awake for weeks, then they all killed themselves. Jumped off buildings, blew themselves up with grenades, got shot. Stupid stuff. Rosencrantz won't let them do experiments like that. Maybe she's sorted something out."

That idea didn't sit well with him. LeClerc shrugged and continued. "Doubt she would do it, though. More likely side effects from your two years of starvation and torture. Everybody will be back tomorrow and this will get sorted out."

That did make a lot more sense. Back at barracks, Koszjek and the rest of the lycanthropes surrounded him. They eyed him, and sniffed, then shrugged. He told them about the paperwork mess, and they all laughed at his misfortune. Talk shifted to how much fun it was to ride the moon, run, fight, practice attack formations, and eat like crazy. He agreed. It really had been some of the most fun in his entire life. The only thing that would have made it better was women. Koszjek clapped him on the shoulder. "Never thought you had it in you... You know, hand to hand with werewolves and then eat a live goat."

Draco's nose wrinkled. "Rosencrantz's potions... I just couldn't stop. The hunger made me crosseyed."

Then they all prodded about what happened after he blew up.

"Splinched. It's what happens when apparition goes wrong." He told them about the crazy adventure with his leg. Then they shifted the conversation to eating Kehrseiten. Dupont and several other Wesen chimed in. Most of them loved it. The ones who didn't were either disgusted by the idea or intrigued. He was firmly in the disgusted camp, and wasn't going to tell a soul that he and Rodier had eaten a dead man's corpse just the night before. He was worried something crazy would happen again at sunset. Koszjek and Dupont teased him that he had nothing to worry about, because it wasn't a full moon.

The only thing that happened at sunset was weariness overcoming him. He could barely move his arms and legs. Now, he craved another go at the super-potions, but couldn't get any refills until the paperwork said he was alive again.

The next day dawned with Draco was dutifully sitting in line in the medical building again. The Wesen nurses from lycanthropy night were back and every single one took a double take and gaped as they passed him. Rosencrantz was grinding her fingers into a junior officer's chest. "You've got to be more aggressive in the treatments. They're no good laying in a bed. We're here to get then back on their..." Her eyes landed on him and her jaw dropped. "What in the hell?" She pushed the junior officer away with an order to triple everything and told Draco to wait until the morning rush ended.

His eyes fluttered once and she was yelling at him in an empty waiting room. Five nurses and Captain Rosencrantz crowded into an examination room while he peeled clothing off and answered a hundred questions, the first of which was, "What is splinching?" Next was "How is splattering your body all over the inside of a room considered a minor inconvenience?"

Rosencrantz paged through his thick file and noted that all of his scars were gone. As in every single jagged claw mark and lumpy divot from prison was missing. All of Potter's Sectumsempura slashes crisscrossing his chest and neck were gone. There wasn't even a single blotchy rose from the Grimm's rifle. His skin was simply smooth and pale white covered with a scruff of blonde hair. Gone was the gangling vampire that walked out of Azkaban. In the place of the bony skeleton was the sort of muscular and broad shouldered Quidditch beater that ended Seeker's careers. Every time Rosencrantz turned away, the nurses fondled him and giggled. To his disappointment, the only part of his body which had not filled out was his dick. He had hoped that at least a little bit of that magic had managed to take hold, especially with women pawing at him.

Vials of blood were collected along with hair and skin samples. A few minutes later, the photographs started while they peppered him with more questions. He was in the middle of the fourth try at explaining apparition when the Major marched in. "Well? Is he dead or not? Royal mess you've made here, captain."

Rosencrantz's face flushed. Desperation washed over her and LeClerc's words echoed in his head. She had bucked command one too many times. They were looking for an excuse to be rid of her and she knew it.

His Slytherin sense kicked in. He turned and asked, "'Mon Capitan, is this supposed to be part of the exercise?"

To her credit, she picked up instantly. Her tone was suspicious. "Engage Voluntare, did you submit any paperwork from Monday night's exercise?"

Time to play the dumb recruit. "I found it on the desk. It had my name on it."

The major's eyebrow quirked. "Exercise?"

She rolled her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Quarantine procedures. As you know, forty-three percent of lycanthropes self resuscitate from grievous, fatal injuries given sufficient direct moonlight. Additionally, a dead one can still be quite contagious. They took him to the city hospital as if he was a normal soldier killed in training. I told you our current procedure is inadequate!"

He turned to Draco. "Are you contagious?"

"No, mon Commandant."

She huffed. "Why would we test the quarantine procedure with a contagious lycanthrope on the full moon? Do you really think I'm that incompetent?"

The major's lips pursed as his jaws ground. Apparently he did. "So, where did the death certificate come from?"

She rolled her eyes. "They won't take a body to the morgue without one."

"And you rummaged an officer's desk, found a copy of the paperwork with your name on it, and submitted it."

Draco gave the man his best blank look. "Was I not supposed to turn it in?"

"Did Captain Rosencrantz tell you to turn it in?"

Blank look. "Uh, no mon Commandant. I don't think so."

"God help us! What sort of idiots are we recruiting into The Legion?"

Rosencrantz's trademark scowl was back. "You see what I have to work with?"

"You can send him back through if you want."

"He would only succeed actually in killing himself and then I would be stuck with even more paperwork. We're already behind."

The man groaned. "Your choice Captain. Please get the paperwork up front to get him back to his battalion. I expect a month of night watches will smarten him up."