Prompt: The job interview of Madam Pince
Optional Prompts: (word) passion, (word) invidious, (word) prod Thanks so much to my amazing betas Ari 347 and Queen Bookworm the First!
Irma Pince was not feeling particularly spiffy. And it was most important that she looked absolutely, perfectly, one hundred percent spiffy on this very day because Irma Pince had a job interview. Her seventeenth job interview to be precise.
If you are someone who has frequented the Hogwarts library, then you will be shocked to hear that it was not because she had turned the other jobs down, but rather because she was never given them.
"A little too serious."
"I'm sorry, Ms. Pince, but we have already found a candidate."
"No way are we hiring someone with that fashion sense."
And so, Irma had turned to more and more libraries, but each seemed be even more unforgiving than the last.
"I think we're looking for someone with a little more . . . flair."
"Can she even take a joke?"
"Have you ever seen an outfit more boring than that?"
In desperation, Irma turned to schools and even museums, but still she could not find a job.
"What happened to her hair? Why is it so . . . flat and lifeless?"
"She's like wet paper bag."
"Ms. Pince, I'm so sorry, but we just aren't hiring right now."
And then, finally, she had applied to Hogwarts despite the tales of death and terrible accidents that seemed to leak continually from it. To her surprise, it had looked fairly normal, so normal, that she had not even thought about getting lost, until she was hopelessly entangled in a large mess of sprawling corridors.
Somehow, though, she had still managed to find her way to the library where she supposed the interview was to be conducted.
The library was large and marvelous with large open windows through which golden sunshine spilled through onto a plethora of deep mahogany tables that looked so smooth she almost wondered if one could slide down them.
She was so lost in thought, she did not notice the first adult she would ever see in Hogwarts ambling toward her until he was almost upon her.
The man had the most remarkable head of hair Irma had ever seen. It was a startlingly vibrant shade of auburn and the beads hanging from his long beard served only to accentuate the color. He smiled amicably at her and casually raised a sapphire clad arm in greeting.
Irma began to feel even more boring in her drab grey pantsuit and her plain blonde bun, but she smiled awkwardly nonetheless.
"You're applying to be the new librarian, I trust?" he said.
Irma nodded stiffly and then realized with horror, that she was still staring at the eye-popping colors of his ensemble.
"Albus Dumbledore," he said happily as he reached a slender hand out to shake her bony fingers.
"Irma Pince," she returned with a curt nod. She had a sinking feeling that this encounter was not going well, not at all. She could only hope that Albus Dumbledore was not the headmaster.
And then, as though Merlin had answered her prayers, Albus Dumbledore opened his mouth to tell her that he was not, in fact, the headmaster. What he really said was, "I do believe Headmaster Dippet is in his office," but all Irma heard was that this man was not the headmaster and there was a still a chance, however slim, that she might get the job.
But before Irma could properly react to that statement or even react at all, she spotted something that made her blood curdle.
In the back of the library, stood a girl with messy black ringlets and a careless sort of slouch and who was doodling—doodling—on one of the library books! It did not even look like a very good book, with it's childishly colorful cover and far too enthusiastic title (A Passion for Potions!), but Irma could not let even the most awful of books become subject to the horrors of a quill and a bored teenage witch.
As though preparing for battle, she straightened her back and lifted her chin ever so slightly. "Excuse me," she said curtly to Albus Dumbledore, and she marched across the library, giving a large bespectacled boy preparing to prod his friend a sharp look as she passed.
"This is unacceptable," she told the girl. "Drawing on books is not permitted in any library. Please cease this nonsense at once."
Instead of protesting, the girl flushed scarlet, so that she looked rather like a strawberry. "S- sorry," she stuttered and despite the few glares that followed Irma back to the entryway, she felt very satisfied. The role of a librarian was often an invidious one, but Irma still felt that there was no greater joy than protecting books.
She headed straight toward the direction she believed the offices to be located in, unable to keep a slight jauntiness out of her steps.
Unfortunately, it was only a matter in minutes before she became completely and hopelessly lost. And so, with a small gulp, she swallowed her pride and walked cautiously up to a nearby ghost.
The ghost was kind and friendly and gave her directions without delay, which was good because there was now a high possibility that Irma would barely arrive on time. As someone who was always at least twenty minutes early, Irma began to feel a quick sort of panic that crept up her arms and forced her into an awkward sort of jog as she struggled to make it there before the clock began to strike.
It seemed as though fate was conspiring against Irma however, and not two minutes into the journey, she heard a soft gentle weeping, not unlike that of a lost child. Hesitating slightly, she peered into the cool stone corridor, which had numerous shadows thrown haphazardly around it from the tree outside its windows.
In the very center of the corridor, clutching his chest and leaning gently against the wall, sat a small Gryffindor with tears sliding endlessly down his dark cheeks.
Irma was not used to crying students, and she dithered for a second before sitting stiffly beside the boy. She could not think of what to say, and so they sat there in silence, one sobbing quietly, the other staring awkwardly at the coarse golden threads of the snitches that were zooming around on the tapestry across the wall.
After what seemed like eternity, the boy sniffled last time. "I got an A on the last Charms exam," he said, sounding slightly like a croaking frog.
"There is always time to improve," Irma spouted, completely at a loss for words.
The boy cleared his throat noisily. "Thanks," he said, and then he clambered to his feet and walked so lightly down the stairs, that Irma almost wondered if he was floating. She did not notice that Albus Dumbledore was standing at the other end of the corridor, in fact, she did not notice him at all.
And then she remembered the interview. "Turn right at the four Knights playing checkers and then walk up three flights of stairs turn left, and look for two stone gargoyles," she mumbled to herself as she pelted through the halls, ignoring the scandalous looks of the portraits around her.
She had just spotted the first stone gargoyle when the clock struck twelve. "I'm more than an hour late!" she whispered astoundedly to herself. Irma Pince had never been so much as a minute late before, and she had to grasp a nearby suit of armor to keep from feeling too faint.
She had dust all over her pants on account of trying to help that poor crying boy, she had ink on her hand from the book in the library, her hair was remarkably disheveled, and to top it off she was very, very late. She was just about to turn around and head back to her little flat in the village to sulk miserably in her beige colored bedroom forever, when the spiral staircase directly in front of of her began spiraling down.
From it emerged a rather stout and kindly looking man whose dark black hair was looking ever more silver by the minute.
He looked very disappointed and for a moment, Irma almost felt like she was going to cry.
"I'd like to begin my interview for the position, sir," Irma said in a voice much steadier than she felt.
Headmaster Dippet sighed, but he led her up the slowly revolving stairs and into his immaculate office.
"Your name?" he asked.
"Irma Pince," she replied, just a bit breathier than she had intended.
"Experience?"
Irma simply handed him her resume.
"Any unique skills?"
The questions seemed to go on forever, and it was a welcome relief when the office door swung open to reveal the vibrant man Irma had seen earlier.
"May I chat with you for a moment, Armando?" he asked firmly. "I would not interrupt you if it were not important."
Headmaster Dippet nodded. "Excuse me for a moment," he said, and he followed Dumbledore out of the office.
Irma counted the portraits on the wall, looked out the tall glass windows, and wondered what exactly those vials in the cabinet were for, but she could not ignore the butterflies that were rapidly appearing in her stomach.
At length, Headmaster Dippet and Albus Dumbledore returned, the latter looking exceedingly pleased.
Dippet paused for a moment and cleared his throat before speaking. "I have decided to appoint you to the position of Hogwarts Librarian," he said.
Irma refrained from jumping up and down with difficulty. Despite the smudges on her grey pantsuit and the tendrils of hair that hung around her face like wavy tentacles, she suddenly felt absolutely, perfectly, one hundred percent spiffy.