Alisa's heart stuttered.
She'd known this might be coming. McGonagall was thorough—of course she'd want a physical examination as well as a magical one. It was the logical next step.
But knowing and experiencing were two very different things.
"I—" Alisa swallowed hard. "Yes. If you need to."
"I won't do anything you're not comfortable with," McGonagall said quietly. "If at any point you want me to stop, simply say so."
"I understand."
McGonagall rose from her chair and approached the examination table. Up close, Alisa could see the fine lines around her eyes, the streaks of grey in her dark hair. She looked older than usual—or perhaps just more human.
"Try to relax," McGonagall said. "I'll be as clinical as possible."
Easy for you to say.
McGonagall reached out.
Her fingers were cool and dry as they made contact—a light touch, exploratory, tracing along the length of Alisa's cock with the detached precision of a healer examining a wound.
Alisa sucked in a breath.
It wasn't sexual—not really. McGonagall's touch was too clinical, too methodical, for that. But the curse didn't care about context. The curse only knew that someone was touching her, and it responded accordingly.
Right. The curse.
Blood rushed downward. Flesh stirred and swelled.
McGonagall's eyebrows rose slightly as she felt the change beneath her fingers. "Remarkable."
The professor continued her examination, seemingly unbothered by the fact that Alisa's dick was now hardening rapidly in her hand. She tested the weight of it, the girth, and pressed gently at the base where it joined Alisa's body. "The integration is seamless. If I didn't know better, I would assume you were born with this."
Alisa couldn't respond. Her jaw was clenched too tightly.
"The tissue is fully vascularized," McGonagall continued, her tone thoughtful. "Nerve endings intact—clearly, given your reaction. And the magical signature..." She withdrew her hand, and Alisa nearly sobbed with relief and annoyance at the loss of contact. "The infernal runes are woven directly into the cellular structure. This isn't an illusion or a transfiguration. It's a genuine biological modification."
"Can you reverse it?" Alisa asked, her voice strained.
McGonagall was quiet for a long moment.
"I don't know," she admitted finally. "The level of integration is beyond anything I've encountered before. Removing it would be like trying to remove an original limb—the body would treat it as an amputation, not a restoration."
Alisa's heart sank.
"However," McGonagall continued, "that doesn't mean it's impossible. It simply means we need to approach the problem differently. Rather than trying to remove the physical manifestation, we should focus on breaking the curse at its source—the soul-anchor. If we can sever that connection, the physical changes might revert on their own."
"And if they don't?"
McGonagall met her eyes steadily. "Then we'll find another way. I'm not giving up, Miss Novikova. On you or on Miss Vance."
Alisa nodded slowly, not trusting herself to speak.
"You may dress," McGonagall said, turning away to give her privacy. "I'll make us some fresh tea. I think we've both earned it."
龴ↀ◡ↀ龴
Ten minutes later, they sat across from each other again—but the dynamic had shifted.
Something had changed in the way McGonagall looked at her. Not pity, exactly. Not disgust. Something closer to... respect? Understanding?
"I want to thank you again," McGonagall said, cradling her teacup. "I know that wasn't easy."
"It wasn't," Alisa admitted. "But if it means Eleanor doesn't have to go through the same thing..."
"You care about her. Even though you've only just met."
"I know what she's feeling. The confusion. The shame. The fear that everyone will find out." Alisa stared into her tea. "No one should have to face that alone."
McGonagall was quiet for a moment.
"You mentioned that Miss Vance's curse is less potent than yours," she said eventually. "What does that mean in practical terms?"
"The arousal component should be less intense. She'll still experience it, but it won't be as constant, as demanding. She might be able to manage with... less frequent intervention."
"And the physical aspect?"
"The same. She has—" Alisa hesitated. "She has a cock, like me. I don't know if it's the same length or shorter, but it should be as functional as mine."
McGonagall absorbed this. "A twenty-year-old young woman. Dealing with something like this."
"Yes."
"Merde." The French curse slipped out before McGonagall seemed to catch herself.
She cleared her throat. "Forgive me. This situation is... distressing."
"I'm going to help her," Alisa said firmly. "Whatever she needs. Someone to talk to, someone to explain what's happening to her body, someone to—" She stopped, suddenly aware of how that might sound.
But McGonagall didn't seem scandalised. If anything, she looked relieved.
"Good. She'll need guidance from someone who understands." McGonagall set down her teacup. "I'll leave her care in your hands, Miss Novikova—and Ms Tonks', of course. But I expect regular updates. If her condition changes, if the curse worsens, I need to know immediately."
"Of course."
"And—" McGonagall hesitated, something flickering across her face. "If your condition worsens, I expect the same courtesy. You're not alone in this either, Miss Novikova. Despite what you may think."
Alisa's eyes stung. She blinked rapidly, refusing to cry.
"Thank you, Professor."
McGonagall nodded briskly, the moment of warmth passing as quickly as it had come. "Now. I have matters to attend to, and I'm sure you do too."
Alisa rose, steadier now than when she'd arrived.
As she reached the door, McGonagall called after her.
"Miss Novikova?"
She turned.
McGonagall's expression was unreadable, but her voice was soft. "What you did today—choosing to spare Miss Vance the embarrassment of this examination—that was brave. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
Alisa didn't know what to say.
So she simply nodded and left.