Naga Tom Riddle

The Worldwide Magizoology Reserve, the most renown reserve in all of the Wizarding World for its known preservation of magical creatures and significant advancements in the field of magizoology. Prominent figures from magizoology fields from across the globe have worked and contributed to this field of magic for years since it’s been founded.

And you had been sent an invitation to work there on an apprentice-based program with some of the magizoology masters. These sorts of invitations were only ever sent to a rare few people, less than ten wixen on a yearly average, and you were ecstatic that you had the chance to learn there. You didn’t spare any time to send a positive reply, a portkey arriving shortly after with a contract that you signed eagerly after a quick skim through.

When you arrived, you were too excited to notice the liquid they slipped in your drink. And by the time it started to take effect, you were too weak to protest or struggle. Your eyes felt heavy and your limbs numb as one of the handlers picked you up and carried you to a bright, white room where wixen dressed in white robes bustled around hurriedly.

“Perfect, is that our incubator then? And he signed all the forms?” One of the wixen, a man with blonde hair, inquires as you’re set down on a cold metal table and your clothes are removed, the handler grumbling about the tediousness of unbuttoning everything.

“Yeah, doubt he even read the contract but it’s all signed. And he’s dosed up the gills with the numbing potions, muscle relaxants, and sedatives. Still aware though,” the handler responds as magical restraints are spelled on your body and your legs are bent and bound out of the way.

“Wonderful! We’ve got the eggs all ready. It’s the biggest clutch we’ve gotten from him so far; eight, healthy eggs. And just look at that wonderful color!” The blonde wixen exclaims as more wixen crowd around you, and a potion is poured down your throat. “We’ll get him all ready and sent out into the enclosure. How’s our naga doing?”

“Still throwing a hissy fit. He’s nearly bit three of the other handlers, and he’s destroyed a good portion of the enclosure.” the nameless handler grumbles lowly from the right of you as you feel an insistent pressure and a vague weight dropping inside of you.

---

Tom had been furious at the violation; he hadn’t cared much for the human handlers, finding them beneath him, but they went too far this time. His meal from last night had been drugged with some tasteless narcotic, strong enough that he couldn’t even taste it. He had fallen asleep in the caves he had claimed as his den, the stones consistently warmed from the nearby hot spring, and when he awoke it was to a strange emptiness.

With the coming of spring, his eggs had developed, gathering in his egg pouch until he was ready to lay them. They wouldn’t grow without an incubator, and Tom was planning on laying them, then bringing them outside for the handlers to deal with. His egg sack felt fuller than usual and when he had awoken the next day it was to the startling emptiness of it.

He didn’t care much for the eggs, since they wouldn’t grow and hatch, but he was furious at the violation these wixen bestowed upon him. He tried to bite every handler that got too close, only nearly succeeding thrice, and he uprooted trees and threw large boulders at the edge of the wards that kept him in his enclosure.

Eventually, Tom had exhausted himself, resigning himself to glaring and baring his fangs at any handlers that looked at him for too long and then retreating to his den as night fell. The next morning, he was woken by the sound of a shrill bell coming from the edge of his enclosure, and he slithered out of his den to investigate the noise, hoping he’ll get the chance to bite one of the handlers.

What he found instead, was a human dumped just inside the edge of the wards, stomach round and gravid with large bumps. Tom could smell the revolting scent of potions lingering in the human’s body, so he cautiously crept forward; his scales made a quiet swishing sound against the grass and foliage of his artificial environment. He arrived only a few feet away and he could smell it, the scent of him, his eggs, on the human. And it didn’t take much longer to piece together that this human was carrying his eggs, incubating them. His ire at the handlers was momentarily forgotten as he marveled at the thought, this human was Tom’s, his mate.