The corridor to McGonagall's office felt longer than usual.
Alisa's footsteps echoed off the stone walls, each one marking another second closer to the moment she'd been dreading. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, and despite Tonks' earlier efforts, the tension was already coiling back through her body.
Just get it over with, she told herself. Show her, answer her questions, and leave. It doesn't have to be complicated.
But it felt complicated. It felt like she was about to bare the most shameful, vulnerable part of herself to a woman she recently started to respect and admire.
For Eleanor, she reminded herself. You're doing this so she doesn't have to.
The gargoyle outside McGonagall's office stepped aside without prompting—apparently, Alisa was expected.
She climbed the spiral staircase and stopped outside the door, taking one last steadying breath.
Then she knocked.
"Enter," came McGonagall's voice.
Alisa pushed open the door and stepped inside.
McGonagall was seated behind her desk, a cup of tea steaming beside her. She looked up as Alisa entered, her expression unreadable but not unkind.
"Miss Novikova. Thank you for being punctual."
"Professor."
"Please." McGonagall gestured to the chair across from her. "Sit. We have much to discuss before we... proceed."
Alisa sat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
McGonagall's office was warm, despite the grey morning beyond the windows.
Alisa sat rigidly in the chair across from McGonagall's desk, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Funny how Eleanor had done the same.
"Tea?" McGonagall offered, gesturing to the steaming pot beside her.
"No, thank you."
"Very well." McGonagall took a measured sip from her own cup, then set it aside. "I want to begin by thanking you, Miss Novikova. I understand this is not easy for you. The fact that you're willing to undergo this examination to spare Miss Vance speaks highly of your character."
Alisa's throat tightened. "She's twenty years old. She shouldn't have to show anyone anything."
"No. She shouldn't." McGonagall's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "Neither should you, truthfully. But circumstances have forced our hand."
Did they really, though?
A pause stretched between them.
"Before we proceed," McGonagall continued, "I want to reiterate my promise. What happens in this room stays in this room. I will not discuss the specifics of your condition with anyone—not Severus, not Poppy, not even Albus—without your explicit permission. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Professor."
"Good." McGonagall rose from her chair, moving around the desk with the brisk efficiency Alisa had come to associate with her. "I've prepared the examination area behind that screen. It will afford you some privacy while still allowing me to conduct a proper assessment. When you're ready, you may disrobe to whatever extent is necessary and call for me."
Alisa's stomach lurched. "Right. Yes. I'll just—"
She stood on unsteady legs and walked to the screen McGonagall had indicated—a tall, ornate divider that sectioned off a corner of the office.
Behind it was a simple arrangement: a cushioned examination table, a small side table with various diagnostic instruments, and a soft lighting that she guessed was designed to put people at ease.
It didn't work.
Alisa's hands trembled as she unfastened her trousers. She pushed them down along with her underwear, leaving herself bare from the waist down, then sat on the edge of the examination table.
The cool air against her exposed skin made her shiver.
Just get it over with. Just—
"I'm ready," she called, her voice barely above a whisper.
Footsteps approached. The screen shifted slightly as McGonagall stepped around it.
And then she saw.
龴ↀ◡ↀ龴
McGonagall's reaction was subtle, but Alisa caught it.
A sharp intake of breath. A momentary widening of eyes behind her spectacles. The briefest pause in her step.
Then—nothing. The mask of professional composure slid back into place so smoothly that Alisa might have imagined the lapse.
But she hadn't imagined it.
She's shocked, Alisa thought, her face burning with shame. Of course, she's shocked. What did I expect?
McGonagall approached slowly, her gaze fixed on Alisa's lap—on the soft length of flesh that rested against her thigh. It was unmistakably a cock. Unmistakably real.
"I see," McGonagall said finally, her voice carefully neutral. "That is... not what I expected."
"I know," Alisa whispered.
"However." McGonagall's tone steadied. "It changes nothing about our agreement. You are still the same witch who walked into my office seeking help. This—" she gestured with a small, precise movement, "—is simply an aspect of the curse we must understand."
Something in Alisa's chest loosened slightly. Not much. But enough.
McGonagall conjured a chair and sat down at a comfortable distance—close enough to examine, far enough to respect boundaries. She withdrew her wand and began casting the same diagnostic spells she'd used before, golden threads spiralling through the air.
"The infernal signature is concentrated here," she murmured, more to herself than to Alisa. "Fascinating. The curse didn't simply attach an appendage—it grew one. Integrated it fully into your magical and physical systems."
"Lucky me," Alisa said flatly.
McGonagall's lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close. "Indeed." She lowered her wand, the diagnostic threads fading. "I have some questions, Miss Novikova. They may be... personal in nature. But I need honest answers if I'm to help you."
"Ask."
"Is it as functional as one would expect?"
The bluntness of the question made Alisa's face flame. "Yes. It... works. Like a normal one would."
"Erection? Ejaculation?"
Boje. "Yes. Both."
McGonagall nodded, making a note on a floating piece of parchment. "And the curse needing to feed. Is that connected to...?"
"Yes." Alisa stared fixedly at the wall. "The curse causes constant arousal. If I don't... release... regularly, it builds up. Becomes almost painful. Distracting. Makes it hard to think or function."
"How frequently?"
"It depends. Sometimes it can be just once a day. If something happens, though, it can be more."
McGonagall's quill scratched against parchment. Her expression remained carefully neutral, but Alisa thought she detected a flicker of concern in her eyes.
"And you've been managing this how?"
By having Tonks suck me off and fuck me. "I've... found ways to cope."
If McGonagall suspected more, she didn't press. Instead, she set aside her notes and leaned forward slightly.
"Miss Novikova. I'd like to conduct a more direct examination, if you're willing. The diagnostic spells can only tell me so much. To properly understand how the curse has integrated with your body, I would need to..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "May I touch it?"