THE POLYJUICE POTION
head and Ron pulled out several of Crabbe’s hairs. They also stole
their shoes, because their own were far too small for Crabbe- and
Goyle-size feet. Then, still stunned at what they had just done, they
sprinted up to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.
They could hardly see for the thick black smoke issuing from the
stall in which Hermione was stirring the cauldron. Pulling their robes
up over their faces, Harry and Ron knocked softly on the door.
“Hermione?”
They heard the scrape of the lock and Hermione emerged,
shiny-faced and looking anxious. Behind her they heard the gloop
gloop of the bubbling, glutinous potion. Three glass tumblers stood
ready on the toilet seat.
“Did you get them?” Hermione asked breathlessly.
Harry showed her Goyle’s hair.
“Good. And I sneaked these spare robes out of the laundry,”
Hermione said, holding up a small sack. “You’ll need bigger sizes
once you’re Crabbe and Goyle.”
The three of them stared into the cauldron. Close up, the potion
looked like thick, dark mud, bubbling sluggishly.
“I’m sure I’ve done everything right,” said Hermione, nervously
rereading the splotched page of Moste Potente Potions. “It looks like
the book says it should . . . once we’ve drunk it, we’ll have exactly
an hour before we change back into ourselves.”
“Now what?” Ron whispered.
“We separate it into three glasses and add the hairs.”
Hermione ladled large dollops of the potion into each of the
glasses. Then, her hand trembling, she shook Millicent Bulstrode’s
hair out of its bottle into the first glass.
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