At home in London for Christmas, Hermione sat cross-legged on her bed with a scattered untidy ring of notes on parchment arrayed around her. She’d begged Madam Pince to let her take some books home from Hogwarts for the holidays, but despite her persistent wheedling the librarian had remained firm on her point – Hogwarts library books were not to leave Hogwarts. So, she’d copied out notes from all the best books mentioning Flamel until her right hand ached with writer’s cramp, and both hands were covered in blotches of ink stains so thick that only spells could remove them. She had two copies of notes in a few cases, so that Harry would get to reap the best fruits of her labours. Right now she just had to rifle through the scrolls unrolling and read them one by one until she found the information she wanted to share with her friends.