Alisa stood in the centre of the room, arms at her sides, feeling distinctly like a specimen under examination. Which, technically, she was.
Damn me.
"Try to relax," McGonagall said, her wand tracing slow, precise patterns in the air around Alisa. Pale golden threads spiralled outward, weaving through the space between them without touching her skin. "These are observation spells only. They won't interact with your body directly."
"I know," Alisa managed. Her voice came out tight. "We've gone over the theory."
"Then you also know that tension affects the readings." McGonagall's tone was matter-of-fact, but not unkind. "Breathe, Miss Novikova."
Alisa tried. She really did.
But standing here, knowing that McGonagall was looking at her—not physically, not yet, but magically mapping the shape of her curse, tracing its edges, seeing where the infernal runes had sunk their hooks into her soul—
Her chest felt too tight. Her palms were slick with sweat.
She's going to find out. She's going to see exactly what it did to me. She's going to—
"Your heart rate is elevated," McGonagall observed, pausing her wandwork. "Are you in distress?"
"No," Alisa lied.
McGonagall's expression said she wasn't fooled. "Miss Novikova. I gave you my word that this examination would be non-invasive. I will not see anything you don't wish me to see. The diagnostics measure magical resonance, curse structure, and soul-thread integrity. Nothing more."
"I know," Alisa repeated. It didn't help.
The golden threads resumed their slow dance.
Alisa closed her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
She can't see it. She can't see your dick. These spells aren't designed for that. You're fine. You're—
A soft knock at the door made her jump.
"Enter," McGonagall called, not pausing her work.
The door opened, and Alisa's stomach dropped.
Just what we fucking needed.
Harry Potter stood in the doorway, looking uncertain. "Sorry, Professor. I didn't mean to interrupt. Professor Dumbledore asked me to deliver this."
He held up a folded piece of parchment.
"Set it on my desk, Mr Potter," McGonagall said. "I'll review it shortly."
Harry stepped inside, his eyes immediately finding Alisa. Something flickered across his face—concern, maybe, or curiosity—and he lingered longer than necessary as he placed the parchment on the cluttered desk.
"Is everything all right?" he asked, directing the question somewhere between them both.
"Just some diagnostics," McGonagall replied crisply. "Nothing that requires an audience."
The dismissal was clear. But Harry didn't leave immediately.
His green eyes met Alisa's, and she felt her face heat. The memory of their conversation in Transfiguration class, his blush, the images of fucking him that had followed—it all came rushing back.
Her dick stirred.
Boje. Not now. For the love of all that is holy, not now.
"I'll just—" Harry gestured vaguely toward the door. "Let you get on with it, then."
Her prayers were answered!
He left, but not before shooting Alisa one last look that she couldn't quite interpret.
The door clicked shut.
"Breathe," McGonagall reminded her.
Alisa exhaled shakily. "Sorry."
"No need to apologise." McGonagall's wand continued its patient work. "Though I couldn't help but notice your readings spiked rather dramatically just now."
Alisa wished the floor would swallow her whole.
龴ↀ◡ↀ龴
Twenty minutes later, the examination concluded.
McGonagall lowered her wand, her expression thoughtful as she reviewed the glowing diagram that had formed in the air between them—a complex web of interconnected threads, some gold, some silver, and several that pulsed an ugly red.
"The infernal anchoring is deeper than I'd hoped," she said finally. "Whoever cast this curse knew precisely what they were doing. The recursion patterns are elegant, in a grotesque sort of way."
"Can you break it?" Alisa asked, hating how small her voice sounded.
"Not yet." McGonagall banished the diagram with a flick of her wrist. "But I've learned things today that may prove useful. The curse isn't static—it's feeding on something. When its fed, it appears to be dormant, just like now. Do you have any idea what the feeding might entail?"
Alisa's mind flashed to what she had been doing before the examination.
Tonks' mouth had been so good, so warm. She had licked her dry.
Alisa shook her head mutely.
"Hm." McGonagall moved to her desk, making a note on a piece of parchment. "We need to examine this connection more closely."
"For now," McGonagall continued, "I want you to keep detailed records of any changes you notice. Physical, emotional, magical—anything out of the ordinary."
"I will."
NOT.
McGonagall paused, looking at her with something that might have been sympathy. "I know this is difficult, Miss Novikova. But we will find a solution. You have my word."
Alisa nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
She was halfway to the door when McGonagall added, almost as an afterthought, "You may want to take the east corridor. Mr Potter seems to have taken an extended interest in the gargoyle outside my office."
Alisa's face burned.