"I know," Alisa said softly. "I know exactly what you saw. Because I have the same thing."
Eleanor's head snapped up. "What?"
Alisa took a deep breath. This was it. The moment she'd been dreading.
For her. Do it for her.
Slowly, carefully, Alisa stood. Her hands moved to the waistband of her trousers.
"I'm going to show you," she said quietly. "Not to embarrass you or make you uncomfortable. But because I need you to understand that you're not alone. That someone else knows exactly what you're going through."
Eleanor's eyes were huge, but she didn't look away.
Alisa lowered her trousers and underwear just enough to reveal the truth.
Her dick hung there—not up and hard at the moment, but undeniably present. Undeniably real. A part of her body that hadn't existed just some time ago, that she'd never wanted, that she'd learned to live with through necessity rather than choice.
Eleanor stared.
For a long, horrible moment, no one spoke.
Then Eleanor made a sound—half sob, half hysterical laugh—and buried her face in her hands.
"I thought I was going crazy," she choked out. "I thought the demon had done something to my mind, made me see things that weren't there. But it's real. It's actually real."
Alisa pulled her clothes back up and sat down again, moving slowly, giving Eleanor space.
"It's real," she confirmed. "The curse changes your body. Gives you... a cock. I don't know why. I don't know what purpose it serves. But I've been living with it for some time now, and I'm still here. Still fighting. Still me."
Eleanor lowered her hands, her face blotchy and tear-streaked. "Does it... does it go away?"
The hope in her voice was painful to hear.
"I don't know yet," Alisa admitted. "I'm working with Professor McGonagall to try to break the curse. But I can't promise anything."
"So I might be stuck like this? Forever?"
"I don't know," Alisa repeated, hating how inadequate the words felt. "But I promise you—I promise—I will do everything in my power to help you. To find a cure for both of us. You're not alone in this, Eleanor."
Tonks stepped forward, her expression gentle. "And in the meantime, we'll help you manage. The curse has... side effects. Urges. We can teach you how to deal with them safely, privately. No one else has to know."
Eleanor wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Side effects? What kind of—" She stopped, her face going red. "Oh. Oh. You mean it... it works?"
"Unfortunately, yes," Alisa said dryly.
The girl looked like she wanted to sink through the floor and disappear. "I can't—I've never—I don't know how to—"
"We'll help," Tonks repeated firmly. "That's what we're here for."
Eleanor was quiet for a long moment, processing everything.
Then, in a very small voice: "The professors. They want to examine me, don't they? They want to see."
"Professor McGonagall proposed a compromise," Alisa explained. "Either you show her the curse's effects, or I do. She agreed that one of us demonstrating would be enough."
"You'd do that?" Eleanor's voice cracked. "I don't—"
"I will do it."
The words came out without hesitation.
Eleanor stared at her, something shifting in her expression. The fear was still there, but underneath it now was something else. Gratitude, maybe. Or the beginning of trust.
"Why?" she asked. "You don't even know me."
Alisa thought about the demon knight in Russia. The moment the curse had struck her. The shame and confusion and desperation that followed.
"Because no one helped me," she said quietly. "When it happened to me, I was alone. I had to figure everything out by myself, and it was..." She paused, swallowing hard. "It was terrible. I don't want that for you. I don't want you to feel as lost as I did."
Eleanor's eyes filled with fresh tears. "Thank you," she whispered. "I don't—I don't know what to say. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," Alisa said with a faint, tired smile. "We've got a lot of work ahead of us."
Tonks placed a hand on Eleanor's shoulder. "So. What do you say? Will you let us help you? We can keep this between the three of us—four, if you count McGonagall after Alisa shows her. But no one else needs to know. Your friends, your classmates, your family—they never have to find out unless you want them to."
Eleanor looked down at her lap. At the slight, tell-tale bulge beneath the hospital blanket that she'd been trying so hard to pretend wasn't there.
"I don't want anyone to see," she said finally. "I don't want anyone to know. If you can help me keep it secret, then... yes. Please. Help me."
Alisa nodded, relief and determination settling into her bones in equal measure.
"Then that's what we'll do."
She raised her hand, and the concealment barrier dissolved as smoothly as it had formed. Sound rushed back in. Light returned to normal. The Hospital Wing reasserted itself around them.
McGonagall emerged from Pomfrey's office almost immediately, her sharp eyes scanning the scene.
"Well?" she asked. "Has Miss Vance made a decision?"
"She has," Alisa said, rising to her feet. "Eleanor has agreed to let us help her with her recovery. And I'll honour our agreement, Professor. Whenever you're ready for that examination, so am I."
McGonagall studied her for a long moment. Then her gaze moved to Eleanor, who was watching Alisa with something approaching wonder.
Whatever she saw seemed to satisfy her.
"Very well," McGonagall said. "Tomorrow morning, Miss Novikova. My office. Eight o'clock sharp."
"I'll be there."
McGonagall nodded once, then turned to Eleanor with an expression that softened almost imperceptibly. "Rest, Miss Vance. You've been through an ordeal. We'll discuss your return to classes when you're feeling better."
"Yes, Professor," Eleanor murmured.
As McGonagall and Pomfrey retreated to give them space, Eleanor reached out and caught Alisa's hand.
"Thank you," she said again, her voice firmer this time. "For showing me your… you know. For... for making me feel less like a freak."
Alisa squeezed her hand gently.
"You're not a freak," she said. "You're just a girl who got caught up in something terrible. And we're going to get through it together."
For the first time since waking up, Eleanor managed a small, watery smile.
It wasn't much.
But it was a start.