Polyjuice Potion and the Heir (6)

The instant the powder and insects fell into the cauldron, the sludge changed from earthy brown to an eerie dark green. It was not an ordinary green, but an almost black, inky green, like the waters of a bottomless pool. The bubbles grew larger and slower, each one rising from the depths of the liquid to the surface as though in slow-motion replay—gradually, laboriously, as if something beneath was forcing it upward.

Then, when the first bubble burst, the smell grew stronger.

So strong that Ron had to bury his nose in the collar of his robes; so strong that Harry felt his eyes beginning to sting; so strong that even Hermione wrinkled her nose.

"One month..." Hermione murmured, using her wand to precisely control the flame's temperature. Her voice held complicated emotions—nervousness, excitement, and the all-or-nothing determination of someone who had burned her bridges. "It has to simmer over a low flame... Specific ingredients have to be added and stirred every day..."

She carefully put the lid on the cauldron, leaving only a narrow gap for steam to escape. Then she stood, stepped back, and looked at the cauldron bubbling away, letting out a long breath.

That breath carried the relief of someone who felt that the hardest part was already over.

"Now," she said, turning to Harry and Ron, "all we need to do is wait. Add ingredients every day, stir it every day, for a month. It should be ready around Christmas."

"Christmas?" Ron's voice rose an octave. "That's still..."

"One month," Hermione said. "I said, one month."

Ron opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end, he merely sighed, slid down the partition wall to sit on the floor, and closed his eyes.

Harry crouched down and looked at the cauldron. From