Professor McGonagall entered, looking as though she'd aged ten years since that morning. She took in the scene—four young women in various states of distress, squared off in a haunted bathroom—and sighed deeply.
"I thought I might find you here," she said. "We need to talk."
"Professor." Pansy turned on her. "Did you know it was Granger? Did you know she caused this?"
McGonagall's expression flickered. "I... suspected."
Hermione felt sick. "Professor, I—"
"Save it, Miss Granger. What's done is done." McGonagall waved her wand, and several conjured chairs appeared in a semicircle. "Sit, all of you. Clearly, we need to... coordinate."
The five affected witches sat.
It was possibly the most uncomfortable gathering in Hogwarts history, and that was saying something for a school that had hosted Death Eater faculty meetings.
"The situation," McGonagall began, "is more complex than we initially thought."
"More complex than spontaneous penises?" Pansy's voice dripped acid.
"Yes, Miss Parkinson. More complex." McGonagall's jaw tightened. "Madam Pomfrey has analysed Miss Granger's original recipe and the remnants of the contaminated pumpkin juice. The transformation appears to be... stable."
"Stable?" Hermione felt her blood run cold. "What do you mean, stable?"
"I mean, it's not wearing off. The magical signature has integrated with our biology. We're not transfigured—we're changed. On a fundamental level."
Silence.
"So this is permanent?" Lavender's voice was very small.
"Potentially. Madam Pomfrey is researching solutions, but..." McGonagall hesitated. "She's never seen anything like this. None of her references cover this situation. It may take... time."
"Time," Pansy repeated flatly. "Time. I'm supposed to just live with this monstrosity while Pomfrey researches?"
"Would you prefer I announce it to the school and ask for volunteers to help?"
Pansy went silent.
"I thought not." McGonagall straightened in her chair, visibly gathering herself. "We need to establish ground rules. For our own sanity and safety."
"Ground rules," Lavender echoed.
"Rule one: absolute secrecy. No one outside this room learns about our condition. Not friends, not family, not romantic partners."
"Won-Won—"
"No one, Miss Brown."
Lavender's lip trembled, but she nodded.
"Rule two: we support each other. I realise some of us have... history." McGonagall's gaze moved between Hermione and Pansy. "But we're the only ones who understand what we're going through. Petty rivalries are suspended until this is resolved."
"Understood," Hermione said quietly.
Pansy just sneered, but didn't argue.
"Rule three: we meet regularly. Here, in this bathroom, after curfew. To share information, discuss challenges, and..." McGonagall seemed to struggle with the words. "...provide emotional support."
"A support group," Luna said dreamily. "How lovely. Gerald will enjoy the company."
"Miss Lovegood, I must insist you stop personifying your—your—"
"Gerald is very friendly. He'd like to meet the others."
McGonagall's eye twitched.
"What about the, erm..." Lavender gestured vaguely below her waist. "The reactions? In class, you were... and Seamus was..."
McGonagall went pink. "That is a personal matter—"
"It's not personal if we all have the same problem!" Lavender burst out. "I saw Harry stretch this morning, and I nearly—" She clapped a hand over her mouth.
Hermione went very still.
"It responds to attraction," she said slowly. "When we find someone attractive, it... reacts."
"Brilliant deduction, Granger," Pansy muttered. "You've solved the mystery of the erection."
"I'm saying we need to manage it. We can't just... react... every time someone good-looking walks by. We'll be discovered within a week."
"And how do you propose we manage it?" McGonagall's voice was strained. "Cold showers? Mathematical equations? Picturing Filch naked?"
Everyone shuddered.
"Actually," Luna said thoughtfully, "regular release might help. Gerald is much calmer after I—"
"WE ARE NOT DISCUSSING THAT," McGonagall said, her voice hitting a pitch usually reserved for students who'd set the castle on fire.
"I'm just saying—"
"Meeting adjourned." McGonagall stood abruptly. "Same time tomorrow. Come with questions, concerns, or information. We will get through this. Together. Like... like professional adults."
She swept out of the bathroom with as much dignity as she could muster.
Which, given the circumstances, was actually quite a lot.
The remaining four witches sat in silence for a long moment.
"Well," Pansy finally said. "This is a nightmare."
"It's certainly unusual," Luna agreed.
"I hate you, Granger. I want you to know that. I hate you with every fibre of my being."
"Noted," Hermione said tiredly.
"I'm going to make your life miserable."
"You already have. You're one of five people who know I have a penis."
Pansy opened her mouth, then closed it. "...Fair point."
Lavender was staring at the floor. "What are we going to do?" she whispered. "How are we supposed to live like this?"
Hermione wished she had an answer.
They emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later, having agreed to meet again after dinner. The corridor was blessedly empty.
Or so they thought.
"Hermione?"
Harry appeared around the corner, his face concerned.
Hermione felt her traitorous anatomy stir. No. Not now. Please not now.
"Harry! Hi! What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you. You've been acting strange all day. Ron thinks you're sick, but I thought..." He paused, taking in the group—Hermione, Lavender, Luna, and Pansy, standing together outside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. "...are you all okay? You look flushed."
"Fine!" four voices said in unison.
Harry blinked.
"Women's troubles," Hermione added quickly. "Collective... women's troubles."
"All of you? At once?"
"It happens," Lavender said, her voice slightly hysterical. "Women who spend time together sync up. It's science. Muggle science. Very well documented."
"Right..." Harry looked dubious. "Hermione, can we talk? In private?"
Hermione's... situation... surged hopefully at the word private.
DOWN, she commanded it. STAY.
"Maybe later? I have to—I need to go to the library. Research. Very important research."
"I'll walk with you—"
"NO!"
Harry stopped, hurt flickering across his face.
Hermione's heart cracked. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—it's just—I really need to be alone right now. I'll explain later, I promise. Just... not yet."
She fled before he could respond.
Behind her, she heard Luna say pleasantly, "Don't worry, Harry. She's just adjusting to having a penis."
Hermione's blood turned to ice.
"...What?"
"Oh, I mean persona! Adjusting to having a new persona. She's reinventing herself. It's very difficult."
"That's... not what you said."
"Isn't it? The Wrackspurts must be affecting your hearing. You should eat more dirigible plums."
By some miracle, when Hermione glanced back, Harry looked more confused than suspicious. Luna had drifted off, Pansy had vanished, and Lavender was edging away.
Crisis averted.
For now.
Later that evening, in the safety of her four-poster bed with the curtains firmly closed, Hermione allowed herself a small breakdown.
She had ruined everything. Her life, McGonagall's life, the lives of three other women who had done nothing wrong except drink pumpkin juice at dinner.
And the worst part?
She was starting to suspect Luna might be right.
Regular release might help.
Her hand crept toward her new anatomy, then jerked back.
"No," she told herself firmly. "Absolutely not. I am going to research a cure like a rational person, and I am NOT going to—"
It twitched, demanding attention.
Hermione pulled her pillow over her face and screamed silently into it.
This was going to be a very long week.