CHAPTER SEVEN: AND NOW, AN ANATOMY LESSON, BROUGHT TO YOU BY ST MUNGO’S DEPARTMENT OF MIDWIFERY...
Author: justthedreams
Beta: dormiensa
A/N: The cecum is part of the large intestine.
Draco sat on the exam table feeling petulant. MediWizard Simmons had been gone for far too long, and Hermione hadn’t said a word to him since then. He looked down at the bright pink exam gown, which did a very poor job of protecting what little dignity he had left.
“I don’t see why this is medically necessary,” he groused, picking at the hem of the gown. “I don’t believe for a moment that a BodScan Wand can’t go through one flimsy layer of cotton.”
Hermione sat opposite him on the visitor’s chair with her arms crossed. “I don’t see why they sent us to the first floor. Your ...” she stuttered on the word, “pregnancy is not a creature-induced injury.”
“Where would you have put me?” he shot back. “Spell damage?”
She frowned and, after a moment, said, with a decisive nod, “Second floor.”
“Magical bugs?”
Before she could explain her reasoning, there was a quick knock at the door. The MediWizard entered before either of them could say he could. He shut the door, dimmed the lights, then flicked his wand. The wall before them brightened, and Simmons hung three black-and-white scans of Draco’s innards for all to admire.
“If I wasn’t terrified of losing my medical license,” he began, “I would say that this is impossible.” He looked between Hermione and Draco, expecting agreement. All he received were two furious looks.
“But how is it possible?” asked Hermione. It was all fun and games when there wasn’t actually a chance that Draco could be pregnant, but now that it had actually happened, there were several biological inconsistencies that needed clarification.
“Magic?” he suggested.
Hermione launched herself from her seat, an action so violent that it made Draco jerk and expose more of himself than the exam gown should have allowed. She blushed but otherwise pretended not to notice as she advanced upon Simmons.
“This is serious!” she yelled. “There is a pregnant man sitting in this room right now, and from what I see on those scans,” it was Draco’s turn to blush now, for indeed, those scans showed everything, “he doesn’t have the necessary organs to develop or carry a foetus to term or, Merlin forbid, birth it!”
“Quite right!” Simmons said, nonchalance intact despite her outburst. “From what I can see, the embryo is currently residing in Mr Malfoy’s vermiform appendix.”
“My what?”
Simmons turned to Draco. “Your appendix, dear boy! Small vestigial organ hanging off your cecum? May play a small role in immunity? Sound familiar?”
So as to not look daft, Draco nodded along with Hermione. “Well, what is it doing there?”
“Waiting.”
Draco shot Hermione a confused look, which she did not catch as she was too busy glaring at Simmons.
“Waiting? What does that mean, waiting?”
“You said it yourself!” Simmons replied. “There’s no way a man can carry a foetus to term. He hasn’t the correct hormone levels to ensure safe development, a womb to house it, or - pardon my vulgarity - the hoo-ha to deliver it.” Hermione sneered; what was so vulgar about the word vagina? Simmons continued: “Mr Malfoy’s body is simply housing the embryo until those needs are met.”
“Until the needs are met ...” Draco ventured slowly. “You mean -”
“A womb for rent!” Simmons interrupted. “The next woman you have sex with will be the lucky recipient of your embryo. Perhaps this young lady would be willing to volunteer?”
It was Draco’s turn to launch from his seat, and the exam gown fluttered open once more. He was too indignant to care, however. “You, sir, are quite possibly the worst gynaecologist I have ever met! Hermione, we’re leaving!”
“Draco, your clo-”
But it was too late; Draco had already stormed from the exam room in a bright pink whirl of fury. Hermione gathered his clothes quickly, shot Simmons one more scathing look, and vowed to write St Mungo’s Human Resources department to lodge a complaint. She caught up to Draco as he was stepping into an elevator. He held the door for her and accepted the armful of clothes she offered as she stepped in.
When the elevator was between floors, Hermione pressed the emergency stop button. She glanced at Draco, who was more upset than she had ever seen him. He stared blankly at the steel before him, arms crossed, and looked to be vigorously chewing on the inside of his cheeks.
“You should put those on,” she suggested.
He continued glaring for a moment then sighed. “Turn around,” he ordered, and Hermione complied. The disposable gown fell to the floor with a light flutter. A moment later, Draco slid down with it. She ventured a glance and, verifying that he was again fully clothed, joined him on the floor. She took his hand.
“We’ll figure this out,” she said quietly.
Draco scoffed and brought one hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from her. “And how we will do that?” he asked bitterly. “The only way to get this thing out of me is to put it into someone else.”
Hermione blushed and said, “You could try a condom.”
This earned her a short laugh. “Veela magic managed to override my biology and trick my cells into forming an egg when they should have produced only sperm. Somehow, I doubt a thin layer of latex is going to stop it.”
“There might be another option.”
“If you think that being a virgin for the rest of my life-”
“No.” Hermione cut him off quickly. That alternative would be unbearable. Sharing her idea was slightly less so, but not by much. “We could ... we could reconsider the prophecy.”
His reaction was as she suspected: overblown incredulity. “And let’s fly to Mars on matching broomsticks while we’re at it!”
“It’s no more insane than the idea of a pregnant non-transsexual male!” she snapped, effectively silencing his sarcasm. “There isn’t much to work with,” she continued after a moment. “‘Virgin Malfoy womb. Be filled that which is hollow. Unicorns guard thee.’”
They were both silent for a moment, then Draco asked: “Why would I need to be guarded?”
Continue or ToC
Beta: dormiensa
A/N: The cecum is part of the large intestine.
Draco sat on the exam table feeling petulant. MediWizard Simmons had been gone for far too long, and Hermione hadn’t said a word to him since then. He looked down at the bright pink exam gown, which did a very poor job of protecting what little dignity he had left.
“I don’t see why this is medically necessary,” he groused, picking at the hem of the gown. “I don’t believe for a moment that a BodScan Wand can’t go through one flimsy layer of cotton.”
Hermione sat opposite him on the visitor’s chair with her arms crossed. “I don’t see why they sent us to the first floor. Your ...” she stuttered on the word, “pregnancy is not a creature-induced injury.”
“Where would you have put me?” he shot back. “Spell damage?”
She frowned and, after a moment, said, with a decisive nod, “Second floor.”
“Magical bugs?”
Before she could explain her reasoning, there was a quick knock at the door. The MediWizard entered before either of them could say he could. He shut the door, dimmed the lights, then flicked his wand. The wall before them brightened, and Simmons hung three black-and-white scans of Draco’s innards for all to admire.
“If I wasn’t terrified of losing my medical license,” he began, “I would say that this is impossible.” He looked between Hermione and Draco, expecting agreement. All he received were two furious looks.
“But how is it possible?” asked Hermione. It was all fun and games when there wasn’t actually a chance that Draco could be pregnant, but now that it had actually happened, there were several biological inconsistencies that needed clarification.
“Magic?” he suggested.
Hermione launched herself from her seat, an action so violent that it made Draco jerk and expose more of himself than the exam gown should have allowed. She blushed but otherwise pretended not to notice as she advanced upon Simmons.
“This is serious!” she yelled. “There is a pregnant man sitting in this room right now, and from what I see on those scans,” it was Draco’s turn to blush now, for indeed, those scans showed everything, “he doesn’t have the necessary organs to develop or carry a foetus to term or, Merlin forbid, birth it!”
“Quite right!” Simmons said, nonchalance intact despite her outburst. “From what I can see, the embryo is currently residing in Mr Malfoy’s vermiform appendix.”
“My what?”
Simmons turned to Draco. “Your appendix, dear boy! Small vestigial organ hanging off your cecum? May play a small role in immunity? Sound familiar?”
So as to not look daft, Draco nodded along with Hermione. “Well, what is it doing there?”
“Waiting.”
Draco shot Hermione a confused look, which she did not catch as she was too busy glaring at Simmons.
“Waiting? What does that mean, waiting?”
“You said it yourself!” Simmons replied. “There’s no way a man can carry a foetus to term. He hasn’t the correct hormone levels to ensure safe development, a womb to house it, or - pardon my vulgarity - the hoo-ha to deliver it.” Hermione sneered; what was so vulgar about the word vagina? Simmons continued: “Mr Malfoy’s body is simply housing the embryo until those needs are met.”
“Until the needs are met ...” Draco ventured slowly. “You mean -”
“A womb for rent!” Simmons interrupted. “The next woman you have sex with will be the lucky recipient of your embryo. Perhaps this young lady would be willing to volunteer?”
It was Draco’s turn to launch from his seat, and the exam gown fluttered open once more. He was too indignant to care, however. “You, sir, are quite possibly the worst gynaecologist I have ever met! Hermione, we’re leaving!”
“Draco, your clo-”
But it was too late; Draco had already stormed from the exam room in a bright pink whirl of fury. Hermione gathered his clothes quickly, shot Simmons one more scathing look, and vowed to write St Mungo’s Human Resources department to lodge a complaint. She caught up to Draco as he was stepping into an elevator. He held the door for her and accepted the armful of clothes she offered as she stepped in.
When the elevator was between floors, Hermione pressed the emergency stop button. She glanced at Draco, who was more upset than she had ever seen him. He stared blankly at the steel before him, arms crossed, and looked to be vigorously chewing on the inside of his cheeks.
“You should put those on,” she suggested.
He continued glaring for a moment then sighed. “Turn around,” he ordered, and Hermione complied. The disposable gown fell to the floor with a light flutter. A moment later, Draco slid down with it. She ventured a glance and, verifying that he was again fully clothed, joined him on the floor. She took his hand.
“We’ll figure this out,” she said quietly.
Draco scoffed and brought one hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from her. “And how we will do that?” he asked bitterly. “The only way to get this thing out of me is to put it into someone else.”
Hermione blushed and said, “You could try a condom.”
This earned her a short laugh. “Veela magic managed to override my biology and trick my cells into forming an egg when they should have produced only sperm. Somehow, I doubt a thin layer of latex is going to stop it.”
“There might be another option.”
“If you think that being a virgin for the rest of my life-”
“No.” Hermione cut him off quickly. That alternative would be unbearable. Sharing her idea was slightly less so, but not by much. “We could ... we could reconsider the prophecy.”
His reaction was as she suspected: overblown incredulity. “And let’s fly to Mars on matching broomsticks while we’re at it!”
“It’s no more insane than the idea of a pregnant non-transsexual male!” she snapped, effectively silencing his sarcasm. “There isn’t much to work with,” she continued after a moment. “‘Virgin Malfoy womb. Be filled that which is hollow. Unicorns guard thee.’”
They were both silent for a moment, then Draco asked: “Why would I need to be guarded?”
Continue or ToC