Hermione hadn’t enjoyed the idea of innocent people dying, had agonized over the threat hours after Harry informed them, and yet rationality continued to win the internal debate. They couldn’t afford to simply toss Harry to the dogs, so to speak — they would need a plan, and a good one this time. For the time she heard the boys speaking upstairs, Hermione had been in the kitchen, having spread out the ingredients and instruments needed to complete the Polyjuice. It certainly wasn’t a potion you could rush in the brewing, not by any means, but she knew her efforts would need to double if they were going to have it ready in time.
Familiar, acrid smells wafted throughout the flat as she withdrew her wand from stirring the boiling cauldron, surveying her work on the lacewing flies. Satisfied enough to let them sit for an hour, she proceeded to make her way up the stairs, knuckles rapping upon the door out of habit (more to signal her arrival, as it was already open). "Fourteen days, and the potion will be ready. If you’ve come up with a plan to save those people, it had better be a good one."
She looked a bit peaky, having spent the entire night stirring lacewing flies, but with her determination renewed. The Horcruxes could wait. There were lives at stake.