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Chapter Text

Tom looked very uncomfortable, which meant that he probably had gone and actually followed Albus's advice. Albus, delighted, worked very hard to keep a straight face throughout the lesson.

“Master Riddle, if you don't mind – a word,” he said, as the other students filed out of the classroom. Tom glared at him from behind his desk. Albus grinned as he walked up to him.

“You knew perfectly well what was going to happen to me,” said Tom, coolly. “You did it on purpose.”

“Let me see.”

“You're a pervert, sir,” said Tom, stifling a small burp. Albus didn't deny the accusation.

“Let me see or I shall have to send you to the nurse,” he threatened politely, playing with his wand.

Tom sighed.

“Not here,” he said, wincing slightly as he pressed a pale hand to the front of his robes. “In your office.”

§

“So, how many did you eat?”

“A dozen,” said Tom, locking Albus's door behind him. Albus turned around, shocked.

“A dozen?” he repeated, equal parts thrilled and terrified. “All at once?”

“I wanted the fullest effect,” explained Tom, lowering himself gingerly onto Albus's sofa. “Mental acuity, you promised. I had actually set out to eat fifteen of them, but I couldn't go through with the plan.”

“I bet,” said Albus, his cock stirring at the idea of the effect that such a huge quantity of Dirigible Plums would have on Tom's system. “Enough with the teasing, Tom. Show me.”

Tom looked up, a cruel glint in his dark eyes.

“I don't know, Professor,” he said, smoothing his heavy robes over the concealed object of Albus's obsession. “What do I get in exchange?”

Albus grinned.

“You're impossible,” he said, cock heavy and pulsing inside his trousers. “How about a couple of signed permission slips for the Restricted Section?”

“Five,” said Tom, his long legs splayed to accomodate his condition. “At the very least.”

“All right, but take off your clothes, quick.”

“Deal,” said Tom, and he started undoing his robes. The effect of the Plums was immediately evident even through his shirt and cardigan, and Albus nearly came in his pants then and there.

Tom paused.

“It's still getting bigger,” he remarked, running his hands over his hugely bloated stomach. “My shirt buttoned fine this morning.”

“It generally reaches its peak about a day from the moment of ingestion,” explained Albus. “Both the mental acuity and the... the other effect. And then of course you have to allow another few hours for the, er, expulsion phase.”

Tom rolled his eyes.

“Looking forward to that,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Diamonds of pale, overstreched skin were visible through the gaps between the buttons of his shirt. “And the other boys in my dormitory, too! I bet they'll be thrilled.”

“You can spend the night here,” suggested Albus, his mouth dry with desire. “I'll let you have my bed.”

“You get off on that, too?” said Tom, incredulously. “Very well, I'll stay here until this thing has gone down properly. In exchange, I want ten permission slips.”

“Whatever you want,” promised Albus. “Just take off your shirt already, you bloody tease.”

Tom's overinflated belly looked preposterous in the bright morning light of Albus's office, jutting out from beneath the young man's lean chest and swelling hugely over his lap. Tom rapped his fingers demonstratively on the tight surface: it sounded hollow, like a drum. Albus licked his lips.

“Get up,” he ordered. “I want to see you properly.”

Tom, for once in his life, obeyed promptly. On his feet, shirtless as he was, he genuinely looked pregnant. Albus embraced him from behind, his erection pressed against the young man's backside, exploring his swollen form hungrily with his hands. Tom's belly groaned and creaked audibly.

“Here,” said Tom, in a pained voice, guiding Albus's hands to the distended underside of his gut. “Rub it. It hurts.”

Albus obliged, pressing his palm into his pupil's bloated organ to try and work some of the gas out of his cramped insides. Tom moaned.

“Lower,” he pleaded, rubbing himself against Albus's painfully hard cock. “Please.”

Albus undid Tom's trousers, freeing his erection. With one hand still on his inflated stomach, he grabbed the young man by his cock and guided him to a mirror, so that he could admire the results of his ruse: Tom Riddle, trousers around his ankles, belly so full of air that he could barely function, begging to be brought to orgasm. His knees felt weak.

“You look incredible like this, Tom,” he said, meeting Tom's eyes in the mirror. “Do you know that?”

“I'm huge,” moaned Tom, rubbing his gigantic stomach. “You've made me huge.”

“I did,” confirmed Albus, stroking Tom's cock. “And you're going to get even bigger, just you wait.”

Tom moaned again. For all his earlier protests, he seemed to be greatly enjoying this particular activity. Albus intensified the pace of his stroking.

“Imagine you're pregnant, Tom,” he whispered, supporting Tom's swollen stomach with his free hand. “Imagine having to hide this huge thing from all your mates, day after day.”

“I wouldn't let you do that to me,” mumbled Tom, unconvincingly, pressing himself harder against Albus erection. “I wouldn't let you get me pregnant, sir.”

“I think you would, actually,” said Albus, bending slightly to kiss Tom's neck. “You'd let me fill you up with my babies, Tom, and you would love every minute of it.”

“Hhhng,” moaned Tom, spurting all over Albus's hand and the bottom of his own belly. Albus held him close to his chest, delighted by the look of bliss on the young man's handsome face.

“Excellent work, Master Riddle,” he said, patting Tom's bloated belly. “Now come to bed, it's my turn.”

Chapter Text

Tom groaned and let out a resounding fart. His belly, although much smaller than it had been just a couple of hours earlier, was still massively bloated, enough to visibly tent Albus's bedsheets.

“Remind me never to listen to you again,” he said, leaning back against his pillow. “This bloody thing is going to keep me up all night.”

Albus faked a yawn.

“Not necessarily,” he said, patting the young man's tantalizingly distended abdomen. “You could take a sleeping potion and let things settle on their own.”

Tom farted again.

“I don't think I trust your potions.”

Albus shrugged.

“Suit yourself,” he said, with a hint of a smirk.

§

The sleeping potion Tom ended up accepting was the strongest in Albus's personal reserve, powerful enough to guarantee the exhausted pupil a full, uninterrupted night of sleep in spite of any potential disturbance. Once he had fallen asleep, Albus wasted no time setting his plan into motion.

The incantation was an ancient one, complicated even for a wizard as skilled as he was. The glorious spectacle of Tom's naked, inflated form provided an additional, if welcome, distraction.

What I wouldn't give to fuck you now... he thought, gently prying Tom's legs apart to look at his pristine, virginal hole. But he mustn't. He knew he mustn't. He wanted the young man to ask for it, to beg, even – and besides, time was scarce, and he had a very important task to attend to before dawn.

§

In the morning Tom's stomach was back to its usual state, if a bit sore.

“Did I keep you up all night?” he asked, alluding the bags under Albus's eyes. “Suits you well.”

“Get dressed, Tom,” said Albus, deliberately cold. “And get out of here, I have a class to teach in half an hour.”

Tom looked taken aback.

“All right,” he said, gathering his things. “No need to tell me twice.”

§

Ignoring Tom – and the progressively outrageous ways in which the young man tried to get his professor's attention – was both hard and entertaining. For a full three weeks, Albus managed to remain ostensibly insensible to everything his pupil threw his way, be it bouts of appalling behaviour or transparent attempts at renewed seduction. Tom, he could tell, was growing more and more frustrated – which meant that Albus's plan was working exactly as intended.

“Professor,” said Tom, in a coquettish tone that Albus had never suspected him to be capable of. “Can I talk to you?”

“What's the matter, Master Riddle?” asked Albus, without looking up from the exam papers he had just collected. The empty classroom was warm in the hot May sunlight, but out of the corner of his eyes he could see that Tom was wearing his heavy robes. The notion thrilled him.

Tom stepped closer to Albus's desk.

“It's my stomach, sir,” he said, in a low voice that went directly to Albus's cock. “It's been bothering me.”

§

“You ate the rest of the Dirigible Plums, didn't you?” said Albus, carefully pressing into the naked surface of Tom's teardrop shaped belly. “There's nothing wrong with you, you're just full of air.”

“I did,” admitted Tom, smiling seductively from Albus's sofa. He was pushing his stomach out, Albus noticed, and arching his back. “I knew you'd get a kick out of it, sir.”

“But what about you, Tom?” said Albus, letting his hand stray lower. “Have you perhaps grown to enjoy the whole thing as well?”

“I've been thinking, sir,” said Tom, eluding the question. His dick was hard inside his trousers. “About something we've never gotten around to trying.”

“And what would that be, Tom?” said Albus, rubbing the young man's erection through the fabric. “Tell me.”

§

“I've been dreaming about this, sir,” sighed Tom, on all fours, in a tone so unlike his usual aloof one that Albus briefly wondered if the whole thing was actually happening or was just a dream. “I want to feel you inside me.”

“I hope you realize we're crossing a line here, Tom,” said Albus, trying to actually sound concerned while he carefully lined up his erection with Tom's eager hole. “And I dread the thought of what you're going to ask in return.”

“Nothing!” moaned Tom, wriggling his narrow hips. “Nothing, sir, I promise. I just want – I just need to get fucked, please.”

“Very well,” said Albus, grinning triumphantly, and he pushed in.

§

“That was glorious,” said Tom, contentendly, vanishing the gobs of come he'd spurted on the underside of his inflated stomach. “I never knew it'd be so enjoyable.”

“You are very good at this, Tom,” said Albus, brushing the young man's fringe away from his sweaty brow. “You're a natural.”

Tom smiled – a very unusual sight, completely different from his normal smirk.

“Can I stay here until my belly gets down? I don't like the idea of, ah, having to fart in front of the other boys.”

“Surely it's happened before,” teased Albus, caressing Tom's bloated stomach. “In all these years.”

“Not on this scale,” replied Tom, and he had a point – his belly was nowhere as large as it had been on the night he'd first tried the Plums, but Albus could still feel huge, noisy bubbles of gas moving under his skin, probably on account of the residual Plums having overripened in the meanwhile. A sudden, unpleasant thought occurred to him.

“Do you think you could hold it in?” he asked, casually, trying to calculate how long it would take for the sperm he'd spurted into Tom's ass to do its job. “Until tomorrow?”

Tom grinned faintly.

“You really like the belly on me, don't you, sir?”

“I do,” confirmed Albus, rubbing the inflated swell possessively. “I really do, Tom.”

§

Tom squatted in the corner of Albus's room, his normally pale face red and sweaty, his naked belly swollen between his legs. Every few seconds, he let out a groan: he was having terrible gas pains, enough to shatter his usual composure. Albus felt quite guilty about enjoying the spectacle as much as he was.

“Can I let it out, sir?” pleaded Tom, sounding miserable. “My stomach hurts terribly.”

“Wait a few more minutes, Tom,” said Albus from the bed. “You just need to relax and wait for the potion to work.”

“If you said so,” said Tom, through gritted teeth. It had been a few hours, most of them spent with Tom safely on his back, which meant that Albus's sperm had probably already had time to travel to its destination – but Tom's initial willingness to hold his gas in for the sake of catering to Albus's erotic predilections had simply been too delightful to pass on, so he had offered him a numbing potion instead, accompanied by the promise of another thorough shag if he made it to the dawn with his belly still fully bloated. Tom, Albus knew, was starting to regret the deal.

“Come here,” he said, patting the mattress. “You're making it harder on yourself by squatting.”

Tom dragged himself to the bed, one hand supporting his teardrop-shaped stomach. A small fart squeaked out of him as he climbed on top of the mattress. He winced.

“I'm sorry,” he said, glancing sideways at Albus. “It's beyond my control.”

“Don't worry, Tom” said Albus, with a grin, producing a small plug out of thin air. “I have something here to help you win your wager.”

Tom, against his better judgement, moaned his assent.

Chapter Text

In retrospect, it was hard for Albus to decide which of the activities he’d engaged with over the spring of 1945 was the most morally reprehensible: the fact that he had tricked a student into (hopefully) getting pregnant was certainly not something he’d enjoy seeing printed in the Prophet , but all things considered he suspected that the public at large would have been much more shocked and outraged to learn that – no more than two months after he’d first fucked Tom – the beloved Transfiguration master could be found kneeling in Gellert Grindelwald’s Budapest bedroom, fully naked, mostly aroused.

Gellert, also naked, was stalking around the room in a rage, his limp cock swinging with every step he took. Sometimes Albus thought that, if it hadn’t been for his bouts of impotence, Gellert’s life would have followed a completely different trajectory – all that thirst for dominance could have been put to much more productive use – but alas, it had always been like this, even when they were teenagers: Gellert, unable to get it up and completely unwilling to assume a passive role, and Albus mad with frustrated desire.

“Maybe if I sucked it some more?” he suggested.

Gellert swore in German, menacing sparks erupting from his wand.

“Shut up,” he added, viciously. He ran a hand though his disheveled blond hair and sat on the bed, cock useless between his legs. Albus watched Gellert’s hand move to briefly touch his stomach and held his breath in incredulous anticipation. Was Gellert actually going to… ?

“I’ll kill you if you ever breathe a word of this to anyone,” cautioned Gellert unnecessarily. 

Albus nodded, his already hard cock springing to full attention against his flat stomach.

Gellert looked at him, jaw set menacingly, then raised his wand brusquely and pointed it at his own lean midsection. The effect of his spell was immediately evident: the lower part of Gellert’s belly started bloating out, soapy water progressively filling his intestines as he squirmed in discomfort and clenched his buttocks against the plug he’d conjured. His cock twitched. Gellert cast the spell again, and the upper part of his stomach also swelled. His cock was now promisingly half erect. Gellert glared at it and cast the spell for a third time, inflating his guts to their absolute limit. 

He had gone pale, Albus noticed. He could only imagine the amount of pain he was in, between the pressure of the huge amount of water distending his insides and the sting of the harsh soap – he didn’t think he’d ever seen him this swollen before, on the relatively rare occasions that Gellert gave in to temptation and performed the only maneuver that reliably gave him an erection, and for a moment he feared that he might have overdone things and put himself beyond the sweet spot at the convergence of excitement and discomfort.

He needn’t have worried. Gellert was fully hard, his cock impressive against the lower slope of the giant, cramping gut Albus had been conditioned since teenagehood to associate with sexual pleasure. Fleetingly he thought of Tom, contorting with gas pains between his sheets.

“Come here,” ordered Gellert, pointing to the bed. “On all fours.”

Albus obeyed.

Gellert was not a generous lover – there was no need for him to be one, given how overwhelmingly exciting his lover found the sheer prospect of sex with him – but his cock was big and the rhythm of his thrusts as he chased his orgasm was tantalizing for Albus, who thought that he could have come just from the incredible feeling of Gellert’s distended stomach hitting the small of his back. 

“Scheiße!” cried Gellert, doubling over in pain. Albus could hear ominous groaning sounds coming from his stomach, and worried that Gellert would not be able to finish what they had started.

“Are you all right?” he enquired, twisting his head to look at Gellert, whose grimacing face was covered in a sheen of perspiration. His erection jumped at the sight.

“Shut up,” barked Gellert, and he resumed his pounding, his giant stomach slamming into Albus with every thrust. Albus started frantically touching himself.

Finally Gellert cried out in either agony or ecstasy, and his hips bucked as he buried himself completely into Albus’s body and filled his rectum with the product of his massive orgasm. Albus came too, clenching around Gellert’s cock and shooting ropes of sperm on his sheets. 

Gellert staggered backwards, groaning. Albus turned to look at him. He had both hands holding onto his massive, pregnant looking stomach, and looked completely miserable. 

Albus, emboldened by sexual bliss, briefly toyed with the idea of wordlessly enchanting the plug in Gellert’s ass to make it impossible to remove, but ended up deciding against it. Gellert was dangerously unpredictable at the best of times, and there was no telling what he would have been capable of if he realized he’d been tricked in such a way. 

Gellert sank into a squat. His creaking belly looked preposterous in such a position, almost absurdly rounded out and heavy. A bucket appeared underneath him, and Gellert reached behind himself to remove the plug that was blocking his exit. 

Albus observed in fascination: never before had Gellert’s urge to relieve himself been strong enough that he’d allow himself to be this vulnerable in the presence of a witness. Gellert groaned again, clutching at his distended gut, and a deluge of water came rushing out of him and into the bucket.

He was getting hard again, Albus noticed in amazement – but then his own cock was also stirring again, the spectacle of the straining, red faced, moaning Gellert emptying his guts in front of him by far too erotic to be ignored no matter how recently he had last orgasmed.

He sat on the bed, knees drawn up, asshole deliciously sore and slick from Gellert’s earlier load, and started touching himself again.

Chapter Text

The summer holiday was a blur: in mid July Albus fell ill with some sort of pernicious stomach virus, and spent a good three weeks puking his guts out multiple times a day. Eventually the vomiting subsided, but he was so worn out by his illness that he could barely get out of bed until the end of August, and his whole abdomen was still tender and puffy when school resumed in September.

At the Start-of-Term Fest he spotted Tom sitting with his mates, and realized with a jolt that if the spell had worked as intended the boy would now be almost five months pregnant. As if on cue, Tom looked up towards the Professors’ table and locked eyes with him. His gaze was hard and almost hostile, a far cry from the whimpering wantonness of the previous spring, and the development piqued Albus’ interest. He’d have to keep Tom behind after class and figure out what was going on with him, he resolved, but in the end there was no need to do it – when he came back to his rooms after the feast, Tom was waiting for him outside the door, looking distraught.

“A word, sir, if you don’t mind.”

“What seems to be bothering you, Tom?” asked Albus, locking the door behind them.

Tom took a deep breath.

“I’m pregnant,” he spat out, without quite looking at Albus. “I thought I might be – I was sure I was – but now I’m able to use magic again, I checked, and there are no doubts.”

Albus arched his eyebrows, doing his best to hide the sense of triumph he was feeling.

“Pregnant, Tom?” he asked mildly. “How could that have happened?”

“You know perfectly well how that happened,” retorted Tom viciously. “It’s yours, of course, you’re the only one who could have done this to me."

“Tom,” said Albus again, discovering to his great shame that he was enjoying the boy’s reaction very much. “I don’t see how that’s possible. I seem to recall that you are a wizard, are you not? Fucking people up the sort of hole you’ve put at my disposal doesn’t tend to result in pregnancy, I’m afraid.”

“Look at this!” cried Tom, lifting his shirt to expose a rounded little dome of a belly. “How do you explain it? It’s been growing steadily since you’ve fucked me, and I can feel something moving inside.”

“Have you gotten into the Plums again, Tom? Is this a little spot of roleplay?”

Tom swore in frustration.

“There is a heartbeat,” he insisted, glaring at Albus.  “Listen.”

Tom pointed his wand at his swollen gut and the wooshing sound of the baby’s heartbeat, magically amplified, filled Albus’s room. 

Albus shrugged.

“The sounds of digestion, I’d wager,” he said, eliciting a sparkle of frustrated rage from Tom’s wand. “Would you like to be pregnant, Tom? Is this what you’re trying to get at? I don’t think I can actually make it happen, but I can certainly apply myself to the task of trying, as often as you’d like me to.”

“I would like to kill you,” retorted Tom, tucking his too-small shirt back into his trousers. “That’s what I’d like to do. Cut off your balls, too.”

Albus chuckled.

“There’s no need to act like this,” he said, soothingly, resting a hand on the tight surface of his pupil’s stomach. “I enjoy seeing you all bloated like this, you know that. Why don’t we have some fun before your belly goes back to normal tomorrow?”

Tom, just for a moment, looked like he was on the verge of actual tears.

“It won’t,” he muttered, not shying away from Albus’ touch. “You know it as well as I do. You got me pregnant and I’m going to get huge.”

“That would be incredible, wouldn’t it? A big heavy belly just jutting out from you, filled with babies? Merlin, Tom, I’m getting hard just thinking about it. Why don’t you take off your trousers and let me have a proper look?”

Tom hesitated. Beneath the fabric of his trousers, Albus could see the outline of his erection.

“What if it gets worse?” muttered Tom eventually.

Albus laughed.

“What do you mean?”

Tom glared.

“What if I let you fuck me again and it gets me even more pregnant.”

Albus tutted.

“That seems logically and biologically unsound on several different levels, Tom. I expected better from you.”

“Well obviously it’s not a regular pregnancy,” spat out Tom, clearly piqued by his professor’s critique of his reasoning. “So I wouldn’t think that normal pregnancy rules apply.”

“Once again, Tom,” said Albus, hungrily caressing the swell of Tom’s magical womb. “You’re not pregnant, you’re just gassy. Now take off your trousers and let me have you.”

Tom, his desires prevailing over his good sense, finally relented.

—

“It could be just an aftereffect from the Plums,” conceded Tom, mollified by his orgasm. He was completely naked, lying on his back on Albus’s bed, his distended belly sticking out incongruously from his lean torso. “Maybe I am allergic?”

“It’s a possibility,” replied Albus. “You certainly had a lot of them in the spring.”

Tom grinned.

“So did you, sir, I’d venture,” he said, nodding at Albus’s still slightly puffy stomach. “Seems unfair that you would do it on your own.”

“What, have you come to share my predilections?” inquired Albus, amused. “But I have to disappoint you – I was merely sick over the summer, nothing more, and I still haven’t recovered completely.”

“That’s a pity, sir. I’d love to see you all swollen and huge,” said Tom in an irresistibly matter-of-fact tone, arching his back as he spoke in order to make his gut protrude even further.

Albus smirked, his cock perking up at the idea. He grabbed Tom by the shoulders and rolled him onto his side, exposing his well-fucked hole once again, then lined himself up.

“Well Tom,” he said, thrusting into his pregnant pupil. “If you behave…” 

Chapter Text

Over the next couple of months, with the complicity of the boy’s ravenous appetite, Tom’s belly continued to expand steadily. Once he hit his seventh month his pregnancy was absolutely unmistakable – the baby’s vicious kicking the cherry on top of his long list of symptoms – but oddly enough he hadn’t revisited the topic with Albus – if anything, Tom seemed now completely in denial about his condition. 

“I should start skipping pudding,” he said, absentmindedly caressing his distended gut as he lay next to Albus after an hour of “detention” that had involved him getting fucked twice in a row. “And so should you, frankly, sir.”

Albus laughed at Tom’s impertinence. It was true, he had gotten a bit of a potbelly recently, most likely out of sympathy for Tom’s pregnancy – after the illness he suffered in the summer, his formerly concave stomach had never lost his puffiness, and the ten or so pounds he'd managed to gain since the beginning of Term seemed to have headed almost exclusively for his lower abdomen, rounding it out noticeably. It wasn't something he’d set out to do on purpose, but at the same time he didn’t particularly mind, since it was not really visible through his robes.

Tom reached out and placed his hand on the peak of Albus’s naked belly, just under his navel. The sudden pressure from his touch must have dislodged a bubble of gas – they’ve had Brussel sprouts for lunch two days in a row – because Albus distinctly felt the fluttering of air rushing down his intestines. Suddenly self-conscious, he batted Tom’s hand away.

“You’re going to end up as fat as me,” predicted Tom grimly. “And I’m almost at the point where a Disillusionment Charm is no longer enough to make me look normal.”

—

By the time Christmas came around, with a full month before the natural end of his pregnancy, Tom looked like he’d swallowed a pumpkin. With the concealing spell lifted in the privacy of Albus’s room, his belly jutted out like a shelf from below his sternum, so massive and so heavy that he wasn't able to walk normally. 

“I’m thinking I should go to St. Mungo’s,” he said, waddling miserably from the door to Albus’s bed. “Whatever it is that is happening to me, I feel like I might die from it.”

“No one dies from being a bit chubby,” retorted Albus, shamelessly, as he undid the few buttons that Tom had managed to close on his shirt and exposed his pupil’s gut in all of its glory. The sides of Tom’s stomach were now covered in a crop of angry stretch marks, witnesses to the enormous amount of distention the boy’s midsection had endured over the past few weeks. The baby was still lying in a transverse position, pummeling Albus’s hand with kicks when he pressed and prodded Tom’s belly in order to check it out.

Albus frowned. The mechanics of male childbirth absolutely required the baby to assume the appropriate position before labour started; if it didn’t happen in the next couple of weeks, he would be forced to perform some sort of maneuver in order to correct the issue. 

The most dangerous part of his plan, in fact, was that the magical womb he’d created inside of Tom had to necessarily be connected to the boy’s intestines: aided by contractions, the baby was going to progressively make his way past the pseudo-cervix and down into Tom’s descending colon, where any violent movement – such as a kick, if the baby happened to be breech – would run the risk of doing untold damage to the delicate lining of the organ, and then gradually travel through Tom’s rectum to eventually – hopefully –  emerge naturally out of his asshole.

The idea of Tom straining to give birth to his baby made Albus hard, his erection coming to rest against the lower slope of the stubbornly rounded belly that was beginning to annoy him enormously. Once again he vowed to cut down on the amount of food he ate, no matter how uncharacteristically hungry he continued to find himself, possibly because of the snap of cold weather they were having. 

Tom watched Albus’s hand involuntarily come to rest on the front of his robes, and – mindful of his professor’s recent touchiness on the topic – refrained from saying anything. 

“On your hands and knees,” ordered Albus, finding a compromise between his need to give Tom a good pounding and his reluctance to let the boy see him unclothed. 

As always, he marvelled at the minuscule size of Tom’s puckered asshole, which nevertheless in just a few weeks would have to dilate dramatically in order to let out the baby’s sizable head, just like the inner walls that were now encompassing his erection like a sleeve. All in all, he reflected, trying to keep Tom in the dark about the true nature of his condition was a kindness that he was doing to him – there was no real point worrying about what needed to happen until the day that it would indeed happen, and spending too much time pondering the subject could run the risk of terrifying Tom out of his wits.

Suddenly a very sharp pain hit Albus just below his ribs, making him wince and double over. 

“Sir?” 

Albus took a deep breath, the pain already beginning to subside as he massaged his swollen stomach. 

Tentatively he resumed his thrusting.

“Nothing, Tom, just a random cramp. Where were we?”

An hour later, when Tom had left and Albus was in the bathtub, the same pain came back, slightly duller but more prolonged. It was a baffling sensation, like a punch against his ribs, but not quite – the sensation definitely came from inside his abdomen, not from the surface.

After a few minutes of puzzlement, the pain finally ceasing, Albus realized suddenly that the problem could very well be his gallbladder – gallstones would explain both these attacks of pain and the general sluggishness of his digestion over the last couple of months, his system constantly bloated by enormous amounts of air that he can distinctly feel moving under the surface of his distended belly, and which seemed to take a great deal of coaxing to finally emerge in the form of farts.

Worried, but much relieved at the thought of having finally figured out the source of his issues, Albus once again vowed to improve his diet immediately.

Chapter Text

Tom jolted awake in the middle of the night. He was in an agonizing amount of discomfort, caused by an excruciating stabbing pain deep into his immensely distended gut. Suddenly he knew for sure that what he had been trying for months to ignore was true: he was pregnant, the time had come, and if he couldn’t get Dumbledore to safely remove the thing growing inside him he was going to die like a dog.

Getting out of bed, putting on his dressing robe, dragging himself to Dumbledore’s rooms – the amount of effort the sequence of actions required from Tom’s hugely pregnant body threatened to make him faint at least twice, the pain inside him getting more and more intense the longer he was on his feet, but eventually he managed to pound on his professor’s door. Dumbledore opened the door just a crack.

“Tom?”

“I’m having the baby,” spat out Tom. “You need to cut it out of me.”

Dumbledore moved to admit him inside. He was wearing just his nightshirt, and Tom noticed in shock that his stomach was now almost as swollen as his own. Dumbledore noticed Tom staring.

“Go in the bedroom and lie down,” he instructed, curtly. When he came into the bed he was fully dressed, his robes masking the protrusion of his belly almost completely.

“So, Tom, what’s this nonsense?” 

Tom sat up, opened his dressing gown and lifted his nightshirt, revealing the rock hard swell between his chest and his groin, oblong like a watermelon.

“This thing needs to come out!” he cried, the pain inside his guts intensifying now that he no longer was horizontal. “It’s splitting me open!”

Dumbledore sighed.

“What, Tom? What do you think is inside you?”

“Your fucking baby,” shouted Tom, tears falling from the corners of his eyes. The pain became too much and he was forced to lie back down. “I can feel it tearing through my insides.”

“Are you having cramps, Tom? Is this what you’re trying to say? Do you need to go to the loo?”

“It’s not cramps, exactly,” said Tom, anxious for Dumbledore to have a clear picture of the situation. “It’s like this agonizing stretching feeling somewhere inside of me, which gets much worse when I stand up. I’m in labor!”

“That does not sound like labor, Tom,” objected Dumbledore. “As far as I know, giving birth would involve contractions.”

“Well I’m not a witch, if you haven’t noticed, so the baby doesn’t have anywhere to go, which is why I’m dying!”

“Tom, calm down,” ordered Dumbledore. “There’s no need to shout. Let me examine you. I’m afraid you might have appendicitis.”

Tom stilled, his panicked thoughts racing as his professor carefully palmed every inch of his immensely distended stomach. What if it was already too late, the damage was too severe, and he couldn’t be saved?

“Indigestion,” announced Dumbledore eventually. “You can stay here if it’d make you feel safer, but there’s nothing wrong with you that ten minutes in the restroom wouldn’t cure.”

Tom was speechless. Surely Dumbledore was not actually going to let him die in impossible childbirth?

“Professor, I beg you!”

“Tom, don’t make me stun you,” said Dumbledore threateningly. “I need to get some sleep too.”

“I’m going to go to Dippet and tell him everything,” announced Tom, getting to his feet, and then there was a flash, a bang, and everything went black.

—

Tom awoke in the early morning, his whole abdomen contracting like a vise. The stabbing pain deep inside his guts had mostly subsided, but he realized from the strength of his cramps that his body was actually trying to rid itself of the huge mass that had grown inside of him. 

Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen. He cried out in pain and frustrated rage, another contraction hitting him and forcing him to curl up in a fetal position around his swollen stomach.

Once the contraction had subsided Tom tried to consider his predicament objectively: there wasn’t any opening in his body that a baby could actually exit through; even if he had had a vagina, the size of his stomach compared to the width of his hips made it unlikely at best that Dumbledore’s giant baby could manage to come out of him without getting stuck; he did not know the appropriate incantations to perform a Caesarian on himself. 

Therefore, unless Dumbledore came back and resolved to help him, he was going to die.

A new contraction hit, stronger than the previous ones, and Tom instinctively bore down. To his indescribable surprise, a jet of liquid splashed out of his asshole, soaking Dumbledore’s mattress. Tom’s eyes went wide: whatever sort of magical womb was inside him, then, was connected to his ass. It was a meager consolation – surely it wasn’t likely that he’d manage to give birth to an entire human being through his asshole – but at least it meant that there was a possibility, no matter how small, that he could actually succeed. That he could survive.

The thought gave him renewed strength.

For close to an hour Tom pushed and strained, Dumbledore’s huge baby moving down his makeshift birth canal by a fraction of an inch with every agonizing contraction, stretching his poor rectum to unconceivable proportions as it went. Eventually he realized that if he reached down behind his ballsack he could feel the domed shape of the head distorting the skin of his perineum – it felt enormous, but if it had made it that far, he reasoned, it meant that there was a possibility it was not going to get stuck in his his pelvis. He began to cry, both in relief and terror for what needed to happen next.

The next contraction hit him like a punch, forcing him to sit up and curl around his now much lower stomach – a searing pain in his asshole told him that the head was very quickly crowning, threatening to split him open with the sheer force of the expulsion. He thought he could smell blood. Another contraction came, on top of the previous one, and with a last desperate effort Tom pushed Dumbledore’s baby into the world, his asshole dilating to insane proportions around the plump body of the infant. 

Panting, Tom lay back against Dumbledore’s pillow. His head was spinning. Distantly he heard the sound of a slap, then the baby started crying, and everything went dark once more.

—

The baby was a boy, plump and perfect, dark haired like Tom. Albus lifted the invisibility spell that he had cloaked himself with in order to witness the birth, picked him up, cut his cord, cleaned him, swaddled him and set him down into the bassinet he’d conjured, then went to check on Tom, who had fainted, hopefully out of sheer exhaustion.

Once he was satisfied that there was nothing actually wrong with his pupil, Albus murmured an incantation to speed up the expulsion of the placenta, then dedicated himself to mending Tom’s partially torn asshole. His belly was still quite swollen, the magical womb inside him needing time to shrink back to its original proportions, but he palmed and prodded his stomach accurately to make sure there would be no surprises of any kind. He then Scourgified the fluid stains from the mattress and from the boy’s legs and buttocks. 

Having done everything that needed to be done, Albus took the baby in his arms and brought it to the home of the woman he’d hired to look after him.

When he came back Tom was still sleeping soundly. He shook him gently awake.

“Are you feeling better? he enquired. “I’ve let you sleep. You looked like you needed it.”

A look of panic came over Tom’s face.

“The baby!” he cried, his hands shooting to his puffy, tender abdomen. “Is it out?”

“Tom, for the last time, there is no baby,” said Albus, sternly. “You are not pregnant. You’re a wizard, it’s simply not possible.”

“It was coming out of my ass,” insisted Tom, reaching down to gingerly touch himself between the legs. “The head was huge, and I thought it was going to split me open, but then I managed to push it out.”

“You had a bellyache – you must have eaten something that really did not agree with you – and you actually fainted while you were in the loo. But you should be better now.”

“I heard it cry,” said Tom, but Albus could see that his mind was jumping at the chance to forget what he’d been through during the night. “Was it a nightmare?”

“Probably,” shrugged Albus. “Don’t think too much about it.”