The wizarding world belonged to the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Harry Potter had fallen, his glasses had broken, and because of a stupid blunder by the-boy-who-was-not-intelligent-enough-to-get-some-bloody-contacts-for-intense-battles-to-the-death, the Dark Lord had taken over swiftly.

He kept on the staff of Hogwarts to teach a curriculum he had revised and repaired. He had kept the Ministry under tighter control than ever. He kept random crime off the streets, for no one dared defy a law set by him. All-in-all things worked much better under his dictatorship.

So, yearly, he gave his speech at the start of the year feast at Hogwarts, and mingled with parents of new children. But something had gone horribly, horribly wrong at the start of the year feast.

"Stupid little demons," he growled, red eyes narrowing dangerously. "I hate them all, who the hell would willing make those little pests!"

The Dark Lord's closest followers gave each other slightly bemused looks as the pale wizard flung his cloak away from him and sat heavily, irately. After a second he stood again with a frustrated sound, making hand motions to what could only be his inner musings as he paced fiercely before his throne.

"Imagine! Some little whelp trying to hug me! I should had killed the little bastard! How dare that insolence little..." he growled as he trailed off angrily. "Should find his parents kill them both so that they may not concoct such foul loathsome brats!"

At these words no one should have spoken, though all felt the same questions burning on their lips.

Alas, Peter Pettigrew was never the brightest of followers, and even in his fear could not help but ask, "Milord... When you say concoct... you're not talking like.. Brewing children, are you?"

Macnair, Rudolphus, Avery, and Nott all left surreptitiously.

"What else would I be referring to, Wormtail?" the Dark Lord seethed. "Where the hell do you think they come from, that infernal phoenix old wives tell their children about?!"

Pettigrew shifted. "Well.. No, Milord... but children aren't brewed.."

Almost everyone else, even Bella, left; more quickly than discreetly.

"Grown then, I should burn their estate," Voldemort snapped, resuming his pacing.

Pettigrew shared a look with Lucius, who being the only other death eater left, having obviously missed the cues, simply had to speak.

"My Lord," Lucius said softly, "children are not grown, well, in the ground or anything... they grow inside a woman's body."

Voldemort let out a high laugh that was almost like a hiss.

"Very clever, Lucius, but I am no fool. As if a child could be grown within a body, even babes are too large, where do you propose they come out, hn?"

Silence met his words.

"Milord," Pettigrew said slowly, "perhaps another time would be best. Didn't you say you have a meeting with the vampire coven in the west to attend to?"

But Voldemort could clearly see the attempt at evasion. "Another time will work just fine, then. I will reschedule the meeting for next week while you two explain to me your theories on children and how they are sprouted within a woman."

He sat back in his throne, folding his hands in his lap and crossing his legs elegantly, waiting for them to speak.

"Ah... Milord, perhaps a healer or... if I could fetch Narcissa..?" Lucius tried to evade the increasingly horrible situation.

A red gaze narrowed. "You two will explain, or must you go through training again?"

Both men paled. "A few minutes, then, Milord, to gather appropriate materials?" Lucius half pleaded.

"You have ten minutes, after which you will begin teaching."


"What are we going to do? We can't tell him about... I mean, he'll kill us for sure!" Peter whimpered as he helped Lucius wheel a chalkboard along the hall. The Dark lord had forbid them to use magic, wary that the may try to escape.

Which they had already thrice tried with no success.

"We'll show him what we would show our children..." Lucius paused and looked over the animagus with a wrinkled nose. "We'll show him what /I/ showed /my/ child, then."

"Well... what was that?"

"Lots of pastel colours and one very scary slideshow."


"which then skips merrily up the magical fallopian tube, where Mr. Sperm and Mrs. Egg meet in a field of flowers and are joined forever, merging as one," Lucius pointed to the clever diagram, a muggle science picture of a sperm penetrating an egg cell, but with colorful flowers hand drawn all around them, a crown on the sperm, and a tiara on the egg.

"Then they travel on their honeymoon to the magical land of Womb, where they decide to wait for approximately nine months-"

"The sperm resides within the egg now?" Voldemort questioned. "Like how part of the soul is imparted within a horcrux?"

"Sort of, but not really at all," Pettigrew nodded, and Voldemort nodded for them to continue.

"But all is not well. Sperm and Egg fight constantly, dividing themselves many times, and as the months wear on, they divide more and more," Lucius continued his slideshow on the chalkboard as if nothing had happened.

"And from their dividing a great creature is creature," Peter took over, eager to have some credit, and displaying a picture of a fetus.

"Holy Fuck!" Voldemort cried, nearly leaping in the air. "What the fuck is that? And... why does it kinda look like me?"


"And then the fetus is pushed by violent muscle contractions, such as those cause by the Cruciatus, out of the womb and through the vagina, which magically, and forcibly, stretches," Lucius said two hours later, his voice hoarse.

"Merlin's Balls," Voldemort murmured when the slideshow finally ended. "That could be a more effective torture than any ever invented! Come! Let us go and impregnate our enemies!"

And he dashed out of the room before Lucius could explain just how Mr. Sperm got in the magical fallopian tube in the first place.

Peter was passed out in the middle of the floor, having been shocked into a coma by the picture of the birthing, and Lucius stepped on him on his way out the door.

"Mr. Sperm, Mrs. Egg, don't fight," Pettigrew mumbled in his sleep. "Can't we all just get along?"