𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍-𝘏𝘈𝘙𝘙𝘠 𝘗𝘖𝘛𝘛𝘌𝘙

Chapter 23

The cauldron simmered into a bubblegum pink. She ran through the ingredients in her head, trying to account for the color.

"When you made this for Pansy, did you stir clockwise eleven times? Or thirteen times counterclockwise?"

The texture evened out. The color shifted into a pale baby pink. So close now. She picked up the Gurdyroot.

"You can't use that."

Her head snapped up. The doorframe was supporting him now, his back flush against it, and his knees weak underneath him. His eyes were squeezed closed.

"What?"

"The Gurdyroot will counteract the Ashwinder shells, negating—negating the effects." He took a shuddering breath. "You need to use willow bark."

Her heart thrashed in her chest until her ribs hurt. Willow bark had to be added at room temperature, and its effects only released properly if it was slowly, gradually brought to a boil. Another fifteen minutes, at least. Steeling herself, she banished the flames, summoned the willow bark, and began cracking it into fingernail-sized pieces.

"I'm sorry," she said numbly. "I should have started with the bark. It's going to be a bit longer. You—you should sit."

She chanced a look up at him as he stiffly lowered himself into the chair she'd conjured. He was clammy and flushed, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. Unable to either look at him or stand still, she began clearing up her station, darting around the room and putting things away by hand.

Five excruciating minutes later, the potion was cool enough. She sprinkled the willow bark into the cauldron and lit the flames, chewing the inside of her cheek while she waited.

He was quiet and still for the next ten minutes while Hermione worked, adjusting the temperature as she peered into the cauldron. If she hadn't seen his chest rising and falling out of the corner of her eye, she would have assumed he was catatonic.

"How are you feeling?" No response. She wiped her brow, then waved away the smoke. "I can brew you something for concentration—"

"Stop talking," he bit out. Her eyes darted to him. He stared at her darkly, sweat dripping from his temples. "Your voice—"

He tore his gaze from her. She nodded, pointedly ignoring the way he adjusted himself in his trousers. She continued easing the castor oil into the cauldron, one teaspoon every ten stirs.

"Stop biting your lip," his voice snarled.

She jumped. "Sorry. I didn't realize..."

He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. "How much longer?"

"Not long."

He stumbled out of the chair, standing to press his back against the cool stones. He tugged at his shirt, fanning himself with the material, and his eyes slid over to her again.

Her heartbeat fluttered as she blinked away, doubling her efforts. She could feel him staring at her hands as she worked, making her fingers shake and the knife slippery in her grip.

The cauldron bubbled into a deep blue as soon as she added the crushed daisy roots, the consistency exactly right. She just needed to wait five more minutes for it to simmer.

"You should Stun me."

Her eyes jerked up to see him closer to the table, still pressed against the wall. His gaze was on her neck and chest.

She swallowed, her throat thick. "Just a little bit longer."

"Stun me."

She focused back on the potion, wiping her brow again, trying to ignore the way his eyes slid over her. "I don't think you should be unconscious in this state. Putting you into a stasis could—"