Madness Does Not Exclude Love
"Libraries are our friends."
― Neil Gaiman
The silence has fallen to the library.
It is, of course, what Irma usually desires. No babbling, chattering children who leave their nasty fingerprints on the pages of her precious books and who are never careful enough with the oldest tomes and their fragile bindings. So carefree, always thinking that if they damage a book it can be easily replaced. Tearing and marking the pages, scarring the books as if they can't feel a thing!
The silence is louder than the noise. Irma sits behind her desk, her arms folded in her lap and eyes closed. She's listening to the library. It's her madness.
She has opened her retirement present from the other staff. A book, of course, had been wrapped in dull brown paper with a white string and she appreciates the simplicity of it, as she has never been one to care for such niceties. She has cleaned her quarters and the library and packed all her belongings. Every fine feathered quill, every bottle of ink, and all her personal books are strictly on their places in her three valises. Rolls of new parchment and a collection of Witch Weekly magazines she never showed anyone, too. Robes and photographs are all packed. Only a vase full of wilted roses remains.
Soon it'll be as if Irma Pince had never set foot in there.
For decades she was what she will always be: a librarian. For many Hogwarts is their only true home, and at a time like this, Irma feels she is one of them. She is a tired woman with an aching back and greying hair and she just wants to spend a moment longer with the library.
For the first time in years she feels somehow hollow. She's retiring. It's her last day. She's about to leave the place that has become so precious to her that through years of people mistreating it, through a bloody war even, she has always stayed to protect it. Like Professor Sprout has her greenhouses and Madam Hooch has her Quidditch pitch, the library has always been there for Madam Pince.
It has always been a part of her, but she realizes that she has not always been part of the library. The library has always had someone worthy; someone who looks after it. Year after year, the library has always found someone who can hear how alive it is, but Irma is still afraid. Maybe this time there will be no one as worthy as she is.
And Irma can hear how the library breathes.
The door creaks. Irma sits up straighter and her eyes, sharp as ever for a woman of her age, dart at the newcomer. The witch is young, tall, and freckled. She has three bright feathers on her hat and her unruly curls almost touch her shoulders. From her head to her toes she's dressed in the autumn colours.
She glances around the dimly lit room before stepping forward with her tiny suitcase. "Oh," is all she says when she notices Irma.
"You shouldn't be here, my dear," Irma says sharply but by no means maliciously, dusting her dress as she stands up. "The library is closed."
"I heard about it," the young witch says. "The librarian has retired, that's why I'm here."
Irma arches her eyebrow, her eyes squinting. The young witch has some nerve to talk to her like that. "The correct term is retiring," Irma says as casually as she can muster at the moment. "I'm still here, as you can see. I think I didn't even hear you introducing yourself to me."
The witch's face reddens in embarrassment. "Oh. Oh! I didn't realise, I'm terribly sorry," she says quickly when Irma approaches her. "You're Madam Pince. I'm Ellen Page, ma'am. I'm the new librarian." She inhales sharply, eyes widening at shock. "No, that came out wrong! I am the will-be-librarian. Your successor."
"Yes, I think I got who you say you are, thank you."
Irma's tone is almost weary as she studies the young witch. She doesn't know what to think about young Miss Ellen Page yet. A librarian, she said. It wouldn't even be up to her to decide that. No one can just decide to be a librarian. The library decides the librarian, just like the wand chooses its bearer. The librarian is one with the library, a living part of it, not just someone who works there.
The magic from every inch of the library, from the creaky floorboards to the furthermost corner of the Restricted Section, must be heard and understood. Not anyone can do that.
"I suspect that you know what it means to be a librarian," Irma starts in a steady voice, "especially here at Hogwarts. Only the mad can work in the library." Her voice cracks in the end.
Ellen puts her suitcase down and takes a few steps forward until she's directly in front of Irma.
"Madam Pince," Ellen takes Irma's wrinkly hands in hers. They are surprisingly warm, Irma notes, her abdominals clenching at the sudden intrusion of her personal space. "I know what you're trying to say," Ellen says, carefully picking her words, but never breaking the eye contact. "I can hear it, too. I can hear the library breathing. Hearing it is not madness. It's love."
Irma sucks in a breath, a sudden warmth spreading in her chest. She never expected to hear those words. Her eyes twinkle with mirth. She couldn't hear it a moment ago, but now the will of the library echoes through the walls, clear as day.
"Well then, Miss Page," Irma says quietly, radiating happiness and squeezing Ellen's hands before she lets go and briskly walks back to her desk. "Luckily I have some free time today, starting–"
Irma flicks her wand, lighting up the space. Ellen stares at her in amazement.
"–right now. I shall introduce you to the library."
"I wouldn't really want to bother you, ma'am," Ellen starts, her voice soft but joyful, only to be shushed by Irma. The old librarian smiles widely, her cheeks aching. She feels younger, lighter, than she has in a long time.
"It's my last day," Irma says and strolls back to Ellen's side. "I think I'm entitled to do just that."
She'll make her last day count.
Semi-Final – Support Staff
MAGPIES: Madam Pince
CHASER 3: Write about your member of staff's last day on the job
OPTIONAL PROMPTS: 6, 11, 15
6. (picture) www . /wp-content/uploads/2012/12/Photo-Dec-04-4-03-11-PM .jpg
11. (picture) www . .jpg
15. (restriction) No question marks