For Mor. I don't know if this was exactly what you were looking for, but I hope that you like it anyways.
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Books are Irma's first love. The way that they smell, the knowledge that they hold. She wanted to share that love with the young minds of the Wizarding world, that's why she took the Hogwarts Librarian position after she graduated.
It was thrilling at first, to be in charge of one of the best libraries in the Wizarding world. As time wore on, the thrill wore off and in its place, frustration set in. The students knew no respect for the books that Irma so loved.
They would draw in them, fold the pages, tear them out, throw them. She just couldn't understand how they could do that to books.
.
"They've done it again!" she exclaims. She's pacing back and forth in front of her second love, a man with vibrant hair and a crooked smile. She throws her hands up in the air in annoyance. "They don't care about the books!"
Before she can continue her rant, she feels a pair of arms wrapping around her. She leans back into the touch, the annoyance draining from her body.
"Not everyone is going to share your passion, Irma," he whispers into her hair. "And they aren't going to respect it like you do. The most you can do is try to share it with everyone."
Sighing, she nods. "Alright."
He kisses the side of her head. "Let's go to bed."
.
Albus meets her as she's locking the doors to the library. She bows her head in respect. "What can I do for you this evening, Albus?" she asks.
He doesn't answer her right away, causing her to look at him. The usual twinkle in his eyes is gone; in its place, sorrow shines. She furrows her eyebrows, saying his name in a tone that clearly says that she doesn't want to play.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," he starts.
But he doesn't have to finish for her to know exactly what he's saying. She feels nausea settle in her stomach, and she stops in her tracks. "No," she whispers. Looking up at him, she wants him to tell her that it's just a joke, but she knows that Albus isn't that cruel.
"I'm truly sorry, Irma," he consoles, a caring hand on her shoulder.
She wills the tears away because she won't cry in front of him. "Thank you for letting me know," she says. Turning on her heels, she makes her way to the Floo. Once there, she goes home to an empty house that smells like him.
It's only then that she cries.
.
With the death of her love, she throws herself even further into her duties at the library. She has nothing to go home to anymore, no quirky Ravenclaw by her side, so she buries herself in books that are as tattered as her heart.
She holds the book to her chest, annoyance drumming through her veins. "That's it!" she exclaims, haughtily. "If they aren't willingly going to respect them, I'll make them!"
The next few hours are spent placing hexes on the books closest to her. It's well into the early hours of the morning, when she stops. The pain in her heart has ebbed away and she no longer feels like crying.
.
Over the years, she slowly makes her way through the books, hexing them to retaliate when mistreated. She only places hexes on the books when her heart begins to ache at the memory of her dead love. It's a feeling of relief when she does this; it helps the ache and soothes her annoyance.
She only makes it through a quarter of the books when her life is forever changed.
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It's nearly an hour past library lock up, and Irma is still dusting the shelves and putting back some of the books. As she's doing this, she stumbles upon a student, curled up in the very back corner that once was her favorite place during her school years.
Books are scattered across the desk, and the redheaded student head is lying upon their parchment. Small snores can be heard from her position at the end of the aisle. She immediately recognizes him as Percy Weasley. He's in the library until closing time on the days that he doesn't have Head Boy duty, usually with the boisterous Oliver Wood.
He looks peaceful, she thinks. She puts away the last of the books in her hands, and stands in front of him. "Mr. Weasley!" she says.
At the sound of her voice, his head snaps up. His glasses are crooked as he glances around, panic in his eyes. "What?" he asks, confusion laced in his groggy voice.
"The library closed nearly an hour ago," she informs him, her hands on her hips.
He nods, straightening his glasses. "Right! Sorry, must've fallen asleep," he replies. He starts to close the books on the table, and putting his things in his bags. He throws his bag over his shoulder and gathers the books in his hands.
Irma watches in fascination as he puts back the books in their respectful places. She hasn't seen a student do that before. Usually, they drop the books off at her desk or leave them on the table for her to put back.
As the redhead leaves the library, she smiles.
.
Some days, when Percy comes to the library, he makes a point to talk to her.
"How are you?" he asks.
She smiles, because even if he's just being polite, it still makes her days better. And she hasn't felt this way since her Ravenclaw was pursuing her back in her Hogwarts days.
"I'm fine," she replies curtly. And since she's not good at communicating, the conversation usually ends. But she can't deny that she likes the days that he talks to her the best.
.
She's holding a book, the one that used to be her husband's favorite book, and she can't help the tears that roll down her face. These are the days that she hates the most – the ones where she's drowning in the memories of a war that ended and a husband that died. She's tried to move on, but she just can't.
A loud noise brings her out of her sorrow. She looks up to see Percy standing in front of her, frozen in place, and she quickly dries her eyes. Once he notices her staring at him, he shuffles. He picks up the book. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…I was just…I'll just…" he stumbles over his words, red coloring his ears.
He takes a deep breath, and finally forms a complete sentence. "I lost track of time, but I still need this book." He shows the book sheepishly. "I didn't mean to intrude."
Irma nods, and holds her hand out for the book. He hands it over quickly and she checks it out to him. "You know the rules," she says, her voice still raw from crying.
Percy shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. "Thanks," he replies. He places the book in his bag, and goes to leave.
She watches him leave. When the door shuts, she picks back up the book that she was holding and places it back in the pile with the other things, no longer feeling the urge to cry.
A/n – thanks so much to Lizy for looking over this for me.