Sanctum
Rated K
Author's Note; I work in a library, and after picking up after countless people, countless times, I think Madame Pince and I can relate. However, she's a little more radical than I am…. I wrote this during my night class (I know, another one!) and the final is today. So it's a good luck charm. If you leave a review, my grade will go up (little known scientific fact)!!
Disclaimer; Standard witty disclaimers apply. Special thanks to Matriaya for beta-ing this. Enjoy!
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"When I am attacked by gloomy thoughts, nothing helps me so much as running to my books. They quickly absorb me and banish the clouds from my mind." Michel de Montaigne
Like numerous students before her, eleven year old Irma Pince found a home at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Some students found themselves at home in the classroom, some in the dormitories. Others found themselves at home on the Quidditch pitch, or even in the kitchens.
Irma Pince found her sanctuary in the school library.
This hardly surprised her, an only child, with limited contact with any children her own age; she often sought refuge in her books. She hated to see other students doodling in their books, even if they were personal copies. When others borrowed her books, she almost held her breath until they were returned, safe and sound. She didn't trust them with her precious copies.
So she spent her years at Hogwarts, any changes in her life, either physical (did someone slip me a hair-growing potion?) or emotional (why are they all laughing at me?), could be explained away within the stacks of books.
She made good grades, as she spent all her time studying. Researching for essays with a minimum length of three feet was a joy to her. The smell of books, the ink on the page, everything written down was its own sort of magic. Upon her graduation, she went immediately to Professor Dumbledore to ask for a job.
Even now, she rarely left the library. Her books were her friends, even the few that she hadn't read yet.
It hurt her, almost physically, when students left them on the floor, or dog-eared the corners. Or spilled on them. Or breathed on them too heavily. It wasn't just desecration of property, it was slander against her constant companions.
It wasn't her fault that others saw her as strict, or mean- she was neat and tidy, and slightly selfish. After all, they were her friends first. And who could blame her for wanting to protect her friends? Harry Potter protected his friends and he was considered a hero. But when she protected hers, she was the batty old librarian.
But it was worth it; the library was always a sanctuary, and it was her job to defend it. To defend that particular (albeit, often overlooked) branch of magic. To protect it for the next generation of students. Even if only one student found peace in its dusty, magical stacks and shelves. Because this branch of magic was quiet and subtle. And it took a warrior, yes warrior! to understand and keep it.
Reviewers get to spend as much time as they wish in the library of their choosing. Without a scary librarian breathing down their neck. And the satisifaction of making my history grade go up!