Several hours after having arrived at Madeleine's safehouse Hermione was stuck standing over a bubbling cauldron, stirring twelve clockwise, and three counter clockwise. She'd stripped off her jersey; it was so hot standing over the boiling liquid, wafting drifts of medicinal-smelling steam into her face. Madeleine kept throwing her odd looks, and Hermione realised slowly what the other witch was staring at. Her scars. She felt a cringe falter through her, and hunched her shoulders. In a vee-necked tee-shirt they were fully on display and Hermione was so used to them now, she hadn't thought about it. But now she was excruciatingly aware, and she wished she'd worn a different shirt. She refused to pull her jersey back on though, just stiffened her shoulders and kept stirring; twelve clockwise, three counter clockwise, a sick feeling swirling in her stomach in time with the liquid in the cauldron.