December 1991 (first year)

Irma Pince does not hate the students of Hogwarts, no matter what the spiteful rumours might say.

More accurately, she feels quite indifferent about them. As a librarian, she owes her first allegiance to books and the wonderful, limitless knowledge stored between their covers. She is their protector, their guardian against all the force majeure that threatens their sanctity. Students who are polite and respectful of her charges might even warrant something akin to fondness from her.

What Madam Pince does not hold any leniency for is students looking to cause a scene in her precious library. Students like this jeopardise everything she's worked so hard to conserve, and as the commander of her domain, it's her job to maintain its safety.

So, when she witnesses the young Potter boy leaning against the gates that bar the Restricted Section, eyeing shelves of tomes he has no business ogling, she ejects him immediately. He's a first year for Merlin's sake, he has no idea what secrets and dangers await him behind that barricade.

Knowledge is power, so they say.

It's in this flustered mood that Madam Pince runs across two more first years, holding a whispered debate in the History section. She listens in, acutely unembarrassed to be eavesdropping. As far as she is concerned, if it happens within the walls of her library, it's her business.

"I've checked all the modern history books I can think of, but I can't find anything. He's working with Dumbledore, so he's likely to be a prominent member of wizarding society, don't you think?"

"I dunno, maybe they're just in a Jaculum league together."

"A what league?"

"You know, that lawn game that old blokes play. They stand around drinking firewhiskey and levitating darts at a target."

"You think Dumbledore plays lawn games?"

"'Course. He's probably really good at them."

Then Madam Pince is witness to the most unbecoming sound: a giggle. She's heard enough and rounds the corner of the shelves with nostrils in full flare.

"Out! Get out of my library!"

The children look at her, their young eyes wide with fear.

It's a shame really; Irma had hoped the bushy-haired girl might have had potential after their first encounter. The young lady had asked for an education on the wizarding version of the Dewey Decimal Classification system, impressing the strict librarian despite her blanket suspicion of the younger students.

The red-haired boy is a Weasley if Madam Pince is any judge of genetics, and he seems to be cut from the same cloth as all his siblings. A loud bunch, that family. Madam Pince does not stand for it.

She points a bony finger towards the exit.

"Out!"

November 1992 (second year)

What gives these parents the right, trying to tell her how to manage her library?

Madam Pince exhales sharply, though resists the urge to slam the books she's reshelving. Libraries are meant to be centres for scholarly learning, not for social events! She cannot stand for these…these mushy ideas of story-time, book clubs, or– she shudders– craft hour.

Death was a better alternative to the outlandish proposals of the meddling Parents Association. What kind of institution did they think Hogwarts was? A daycare?

No! Her purpose here is for the pursuit of knowledge, and if Dumbledore takes their side in the debate, she'll resign in protest.

Hugging the stack of books she's holding tight to her chest, she apologises silently for the empty threat. She'd never leave her sanctum unprotected.

The lunch period is close to ending, though Madam Pince continues to patrol the crowded tables as she shelves books from the Returns cart. Students tended to be most boisterous this time of day, and it did not due to slack on her responsibilities, no matter what consternation she might feel towards the interfering PA.

The bushy-haired girl and redheaded boy she'd added to her watch-list the previous year are sitting at a table in the back, open books strewn about them. Irma is too diligent to accept this polite behaviour at face value, and patrols closer to confirm they are not up to anything.

The boy is measuring an essay when she arrives, and the girl is adamantly, though quietly, insisting that he do his own work. Good, this pleases Madam Pince.

She raps her knuckles on the table with a sharp crack, making the young man jump in his seat.

"Professor Binns measures from the top of the writing, not the top of the scroll."

Spinning on her heel, she continues her surveillance of the library.

April 1994 (third year)

"Er- Madam Pince?"

She peers up from her hefty catalogue, which she'd been updating with the delivery of the new Skyler Magnolis book: A Portraiture of Pollinators.

She's not one to admit surprise, but usually, only the most avid of students dare to approach her voluntarily. The young man on the other side of her desk is shifting his weight from foot to foot as he awaits her response.

"Yes. Mr Weasley, is it?"

"Yes ma'am."

"What do you need?"

She doesn't mean to sound impatient, but she really does have an extraordinary amount of work to do today.

"I was helping my friend over there." He jerks a thumb over his shoulder to the table behind him. "Hermione Granger. We're researching lawsuits involving magical creatures?"

This is unexpected. Madam Pince allows herself a glance at Ms Granger, whose bushy hair is standing nearly on end as she rifles feverishly through the dozens of open books scattered about her.

The child had been spending an inordinate amount of time in the library this year. While Irma admires her dedication to education, she isn't sure she agrees with the decision to allow Ms Granger a Time-Turner. She's been watching the young lady's approach to revision deteriorate all year.

And then to add this elective project on top of it; all this extra work she'd been doing in an effort to save Hagrid's hippogriff? Well, even Madam Pince has her limits. Research is best left to the dedicated mind. To divide one's attention among too many disciplines is folly.

She sniffs, looking down at Mr Weasley. He fidgets with his robes but meets her gaze straight on. Determined, this one. She approves. Research is not for the faint of heart.

Irma pushes her seat back to stand, and turns to collect a stack of books she'd set aside earlier in the day for Ms Granger.

"I'd start with the one on the top; there's a chapter specific to hippogriffs in the back."

Mr Weasley pulls the pile to himself and turns to leave. "Right. Thanks."

She knows too much about the cleanliness of teenagers to not add a departing warning. "Don't you dare defile the pages!"

November 1994 (fourth year)

The feather duster has obvious magical properties, and Madam Pince shouldn't need to explain that to anyone, let alone an entitled French teenager. What kind of librarian would she be if she subjects her charges to the whims of a scouring charm? They are notoriously harsh and can cause damage to the delicate paper pages.

That might be an appropriate solution for the Beauxbatons library, but it was certainly never going to happen on Irma's watch.

Her feather duster collects dust particles to itself, instead of pushing them back into the air, and its touch is much gentler against the fragile bindings and scripts of the books. She'd picked it up at the annual conference for the European Magical Library Association in 1987.

If it's good enough for EMLA, it's certainly good enough for Madam Pince.

She has no idea what Dumbledore had been thinking this year, allowing additional students into the castle for the tournament, as if her territory wasn't highly trafficked enough.

Peals of giggles erupt from behind the third set of shelves in the Transfiguration section, and Irma closes her eyes, praying to whatever deity oversees libraries to give her strength. It was the fourth time today she'd had to chase students, who were behaving nothing short of nonsensical, from that exact location.

She strides briskly to the offending area, brandishing her feather duster as she hisses quiet but ominous warnings. The students– girls this time— run away, and Irma rounds the corner, hoping to find whatever the source of this silliness is. She lays eyes on the same young man from Durmstrang who'd been at that table since the morning.

He has a heavy brow and is slightly pigeon-toed when he walks. Based on the rate at which she'd been helping him get books, he was a slow reader but had been otherwise quiet and courteous.

She isn't sure how he's related to the antics of the other students, but she resolves to keep a closer eye on him, just in case.

Madam Pince continues to clean the shelves methodically, releasing the feather duster with a little flick whenever she needs it to reach the higher spots for her. It dances with practised movements along the spines of the books before returning to her hand.

"I wish you two would just talk to each other, Ron."

The whisper is quiet, though it still carries to Irma's pristine ears. She is comfortable with hushed conversation, as long as it's related to academia.

"Not until he admits that he put his name in the Goblet."

"He didn't, you know he didn't."

"I don't know that at all."

"You're both being so stubborn."

This is, most decidedly, not homework related. Madam Pince edges down the aisle, hoping to catch the offenders in the act.

"I know, alright. I know. I'm just…Hermione, I'm not ready. Lay off it, please."

There's a long pause in which Irma stops walking, so as not to inform the students of her location. She can just see them, holding this unseemly conversation between two piles of books stacked so high she can barely make out the bushy hair of Ms Granger.

Finally, the girl wraps her arms around Mr Weasley's waist and squeezes, releasing him as suddenly as she'd started the hug. The tips of his ears flush pink, but his lips curl in a satisfied way.

"Fine," Ms Granger sniffs, turning back to a parchment in her hand which appeared to hold a short list of titles. "But only because we need to study, and I'm having a hard enough time concentrating with all the people fluttering around, attempting to get a look at Krum."

Krum, that's the name of the surly young man that Irma had vowed to watch earlier. Given they are in such alignment on the preposterous behaviour that seems to follow Krum around, and that she'd already refocused her attention, Madam Pince decides to let Ms Granger's gossipy conversation slide.

This time.

May 1995 (fourth year)

The chains that bind the more, er, enthusiastic books in the Restricted Section don't oil themselves, you know. It wouldn't do for a NEWT level student pursuing their final thesis to be dissuaded by rusted metal. Most people assume the chains are there to stop the removal of the books from the library, but the reality isn't quite as glamorous.

In most cases, the restraints serve as safety harnesses, to stop the books from attacking students or otherwise causing mayhem.

That's why two days a month, Madam Pince focuses on this section, lovingly pulling each volume from its designated seat and inspecting not only the chain itself but the spots where it's anchored to the wall and the book spine.

Plus, it allows her to spend a little quality time with each of these books. She believes they benefit from the attention. Sure, others might think her crazy, but it'd been almost three years since the Grievous Grimoire had attempted to devour anyone and five years since she'd had to expel a befuddled student from its pages. The results speak for themselves, don't they?

She lets the studious conversation of the students sitting at the table just beyond the Restricted Section wash over her. Ms Granger is helping Ms Weasley with a Potions assignment, and her steady, consistently accurate answers give Irma hope for the student body as a whole.

Maybe she'd soon be able to admit that Ms Granger is her favourite pupil. It'd been a long time since she'd had one of those.

Lost as she is in her thoughts and to-do lists, Madam Pince is surprised when she registers quite a new topic of conversation floating from beyond the bookshelves.

"Is he ready?"

"Ron and I have been prepping with him. We've been practising hexes, curses, counter-curses, charms…anything I can find that I think might help him."

Ms Weasley releases a slow breath. "Good. That's good."

"He'll be ok, Ginny."

"Of course, he's brilliant. I just…I wish I could help more."

"If you wanted to join us–"

"Nah, thanks for the offer though."

They fall silent.

"I think you just need to relax more around him. Maybe try dating other people a bit; loosen up."

"Hermione."

"I'm serious, Ginny! You and I have gotten to know each other much better this year, haven't we?"

"Well, yes, but–"

"You're just always so nervous around him. He might take a bit of notice if you act more like yourself, because you're brilliant too, Ginny. You are!"

"I, well…I'll think about it. Thanks, Hermione."

If she hadn't had Axe and Inferno unchained, Madam Pince would have already interrupted the discussion. As it is, she'd been delayed by making sure that the book was safely secured before she could round the corner of the shelves to impede upon the dialogue.

"Dating someone else worked for you, I suppose, didn't it?"

Ms Granger's voice is rather shrill. "I…I don't know what you mean."

"You definitely got a certain bloke's attention."

"We should really focus on Potions, Ginny."

"I'm just saying, he–"

"You'll find the table on the transitive properties of congealing agents in Appendix B."

"Oh, alright then."

Irma stays hidden behind the shelves for several more minutes, but, after confirming that the young ladies are indeed working on homework, she returns to her duties in the Restricted Section.

January 1996 (fifth year)

Irma is just finishing helping a third year (who's woefully behind) learn how to use the card catalogue when two senior students entering her library create a commotion by the entrance.

Ms Granger has Mr Weasley by the elbow, and he's making his protestations well-known.

"I don't see why you had to drag me up here."

"Couldn't you see that Cho wanted to talk to Harry alone?"

"I didn't get a chance to, you got us out of there so fast."

"Well, it was obvious, wasn't it?"

Madam Pince marches towards the clamorous scene, which, even held at a moderate volume, is beyond her threshold of tolerance.

Mr Weasley jerks his elbow from Ms Granger's grasp, though with rather less aggression than Irma thought he would. In fact, he's nearly smiling as he speaks again.

"I thought the library was an excuse to give them privacy. We didn't have to actually come here."

Madam Pince halts next to the two students, arms crossed as she glares at them. She expects them to acknowledge her presence, but to her surprise, Ms Granger's cheeks flush and she answers Mr Weasley as though she has no idea that the librarian is there.

"I do need to check something for Moody's class though, and I thought…since we're here…"

Mr Weasley chortles but then jumps as Madam Pince clears her throat and dons her most intimidating sneer.

"What do you two think you're doing, causing a scene? Ms Granger, I expected better out of you."

"I'm sorry, Madam Pince," she says sweetly, readjusting the bag on her shoulder. "I was just telling Ron that we ought to look at that reference book you helped me find the other day. The one on protective enchantments, remember? It was such an important text; I really think it'll make a difference on the essay we need to write."

"Well, yes, I do remember."

Madam Pince is torn between her desire to see good academic research in action and keeping her sacred space preserved. She decides to give Ms Granger the benefit of the doubt.

"If you cannot keep your voices down, you will have to leave."

"I understand, Madam Pince." Ms Granger moves towards the depths of the DADA section, jerking her head at Mr Weasley to follow. "Thanks for the help."

This is why librarians shouldn't have favourite students, Madam Pince decides. She'll have to work harder to keep her biases in check.

June 1996 (fifth year)

Mr Potter is back.

He is not built for libraries. He's loud, angry, and disruptive to those aspiring towards the most noble, intellectual pursuits. The only book he's ever checked out was related to Quidditch, for Merlin's sake.

Needless to say, Irma hasn't historically been impressed by his motivation to learn, and he's been extra raucous this year. Looking up from her catalogue for the thousandth time, she monitors his status with a critical eye. She has to admit that, today at least, he's been studying in his corner, alone and unusually quiet, for several hours. Smirking, she focuses her attention again on writing neatly in her book.

OWL examinations break even the most undisciplined of students.

The next time she raises her head to make a compulsory sweep of the library, she notices that a certain Ms Weasley is sharing Mr Potter's table.

She's affronted. The last time these two were together, they'd had chocolate near the delicate pages of several textbooks.

Chocolate.

This will not stand.

Madam Pince collects her feather duster and begins to prowl the aisles near them, determined to catch them in an act of depravity.

"Thanks again for letting me share your table. There aren't any empty ones right now."

"No problem." Mr Potter sighs. "I've been here for a while. These OWLs are no joke."

"I've fallen behind in Charms because we were training so hard for the Quidditch final. And, seeing as it's Ravenclaw that we beat, Flitwick isn't exactly open to my excuses."

"Congrats on that, by the way! I, um, missed the game."

"Ron told me. Complained about it quite a bit, actually. He was very disappointed." Ms Weasley snorts.

"I heard you played really well."

"Er…thanks. Still not as good as you."

"I don't know, catching the Snitch from right under Cho's nose? Sounds pretty impressive to me."

"I'm surprised you're not cheering her up."

There's a pause.

"No. I don't think we'll be seeing much of each other anymore."

"I'm sorry, Harry."

"I'm not."

Madam Pince has heard enough. Nostrils flaring with victory, she hurries out from behind the bookshelf, ambushing them.

"This doesn't sound like studying," she exclaims.

Mr Potter hurriedly pulls a book towards himself. "Just taking a short break, ma'am."

Irma is not so easily convinced.

"Students who aren't studying are not welcome here."

"We are," Ms Weasley insists. "We're very focused."

"Hmm." Madam Pince scrutinises them but is unable to find any condemning evidence with which to evict them. "No chocolate on your person, is there?"

"No food or drink this time, I swear." Ms Weasley raises both her hands in an expression of innocence. Madam Pince stares her down, then turns on her heel, tutting.

December 1996 (sixth year)

Madam Pince unlocks the gate to the Restricted Section, levitating an organised tray of oils and brushes in front of her. She glares at a first year who's skipping outside the barricade, bringing the subject of her scrutiny to a sobering walk, then settles into a corner to begin her audit of the book restraints.

Her impeccable ears pick up on the distinctive low whispers of Ms Granger, who talks so quickly when she's on a topic of enthusiasm that it sounds rather like an air leak. Irma doesn't fine-tune her hearing to eavesdrop on the topic right away, generally trusting Ms Granger to focus on studies.

The chain attached to Nimble Notes on Necromancy has become quite tangled, and, as she carefully undoes the knots, Madam Pince lectures it about its tendency to cavort instead of staying on its shelf to do its duty.

"You look quite ridiculous," she murmurs, keeping the covers closed in the tight grasp of her fingers as she uses her free hand to tug at the chain. "It's unbecoming of your station."

Only when the book is preening on the shelf again does Irma register the change in Ms Granger's tone. Acting on the instinct of two decades dedicated to the preservation of order, she listens in.

"I don't know, Ginny. Maybe not."

"My brother is a prat, but you can't just never talk to him again."

"He doesn't seem to want to talk to me."

"I told you about our fight!"

"So?"

"You know he's reacting to the idea of you and Krum."

"Yes." Ms Granger lowers her voice. "And I know what you're going to say, but that doesn't prove anything, Ginny."

"Yes, it does, Hermione. He's jealous. He likes you."

"He has a funny way of showing it. I can't spend any time in the common room when he and Lavender are there."

"Well." Ms Weasley pauses, as though at a loss for words. "Like I said, he's a prat."

"He's being awfully immature."

"Like you can talk. McLaggen, Hermione?"

Ms Granger sighs. "I know."

"You gave me some good advice at this table once, so let me return the favour."

"Fine."

"He's jealous, Hermione, and for Merlin knows what reason, his self-esteem is really low. I know he likes you, and I think you like him too. Please, don't give up on him just yet."

There is a very long pause before Ms Granger utters words so soft that Irma can barely make them out.

"Honestly, Ginny, I couldn't if I wanted to."

It isn't until some time later that Madam Pince realises that she hadn't made a single move to break up the non-academically related conversation. Was she losing her touch?

May 1997 (sixth year)

Madam Pince is dusting. Some might wonder how she has the patience for such an activity, but she doesn't mind the monotony. It provides an opportunity for her to spot check the inventory of her library's shelves, as well as a natural cover for patrolling students.

Many behavioural wizards have published studies that recommend repetitive work in keeping the mind fresh. Besides, Irma finds that it maintains her favourable relationships with the books.

Is a connection with a book worth maintaining? Try asking The Communication Accords if it appreciates how much time Irma spends with it.

It will answer that of course it does, and that she makes a delightful stenographer.

She surveys the students studying near the Transfiguration section. Blinking a few times in disbelief, she narrows her eyes at Mr Potter and Ms Weasley, who are sitting across from each other at a table. They're both, in an unprecedented level of silence, looking at authentic textbooks (not the atrocities of Quidditch magazines that Mr Potter likes to skim). Though they're holding hands atop the shared desk, Mr Potter is still managing to scratch notes on a scroll about his reading materials.

Ms Weasley isn't even chewing gum, for once.

Madam Pince, under the pretence of returning a few stray books to their rightful homes, watches the two students for several more minutes to assuage her suspicions. Aside from occasionally meeting each other's gaze and smiling in a dewy-eyed sort of way, she can find no reason for complaint.

Sniffing, she continues her chore of dusting into the main aisle between sections, not catching Ms Weasley grin at Mr Potter and deliver a mischievous wink.

The Arithmancy section is nearly on the other side of the library, and the last stop on Irma's cleaning tour. It's with some surprise that she finds Mr Weasley and Ms Granger holed up at a table together. Usually, they seem to prefer the shared company of Mr Potter and Ms Weasley.

Madam Pince wonders if the two pairs know that they're all there.

Ms Granger is flanked by two towering piles of books, spines stacked in absolute alignment. She's lounged in her seat, a particularly hefty tome levitating at eye level as she scribbles furiously in a Muggle notebook in her lap. Her feet– Madam Pince will admit that she's surprised to see it– are resting in Mr Weasley's lap, crossed at the ankle.

He's leaning over a scroll on the table and writing an essay, though he sneaks many looks at Ms Granger that she doesn't notice. Each of these stolen glances results in Mr Weasley's face breaking into a somewhat lopsided grin before he resumes his studies. After one such occurrence, Mr Weasley rests his free hand on Ms Granger's ankles, and although the tips of his ears tinge pink, he says nothing and stares at his scroll.

Ms Granger looks up at him in surprise, then, with a soft smile, shifts ever so closer to him before continuing her pursuit of knowledge in the sustained silence.

Again, Madam Pince can find nothing to complain about. Quiet and focused study is all she ever asks for. If Ms Granger is technically not abiding by Irma's preference for all shoes being kept on the ground at all times, well…

She'll overlook it. Just this once.

Irma isn't a fool, there's a war brewing. She imagines there will be much worse within these walls before the end. Her job is to protect her realm– a preservation of knowledge and study. When the worst comes, trying to destroy everything she holds dear, she'll be ready.