I am a librarian. I work with teenagers primarily. I love my job. I hate the way Irma Pince is portrayed in the books - most librarians aren't like that! I wanted to find out more about her. Hence this little tale. Please enjoy.

Disclaimer: Characters, settings, etc. are not my invention. I am not attempting to pass my work off as Ms. Rowling's in any way.

CHAPTER ONE

Irma Pince brushed the chocolate from her hands and sighed. Would these filthy children never learn the basic rules of the library? Certainly she didn't expect much from the Weasley girl, with six barbaric brothers to influence her, but Potter should certainly know better, as a friend of Hermione Granger. She tapped the sign on the door of her library with her wand, and the letters swirled and morphed from "OPEN" to read "CLOSED". She sat at her desk and buried her thin face in her hands. Another horrible day over.

"If only Evan were here," she thought, and stopped. Evan Rosier had been her husband for ten short years before his allegiance to Voldemort had proved fatal. If Evan were here, she would be hosting parties for other influential wizarding families and fawning over her own children, rather than babysitting other people's brats all day. They had always planned on two, but her dreams for a family had died with Evan. If Evan were here, she would be Alma Rosier, lovely, wealthy, admired – and a little feared.

As Irma Pince, she was certainly a little feared, or at least, respected – the same students that mocked Trelawney never mocked her, not to her face. She had been beautiful once, but years of anger, grief and loneliness had transformed her into the sharp, fanatical librarian-type the students saw. Dumbledore had been...kind, is the word...to take her on after Evan's death. The Ministry had seized all of their assets – the house, everything – claiming they had been "pirated from innocent wizarding families by violent and aggressive means". The Rosiers had lived in that house for 600 years, and Evan had been hard pressed to spend all of the money his ancestors had left him. He had no need to steal from anyone. Everyone knew this, but nearly everyone had turned away from the Rosiers once his activities became common knowledge. No one would support Alma with the taint of Voldemort on her robes.

For a while, she had stayed with the Lestranges; she and Rodolphus were distant cousins. When the Lestranges were captured, however, she had nowhere, no one, but Dumbledore offered her the position at Hogwarts, knowing her love of study and order from her school days. She had never been accused of Death Eater activities herself, but marriage to Evan was enough to condemn her to staff and parents alike. At her own insistence, she had changed her name and appearance enough to maintain anonymity – she rarely even felt like Alma Rosier anymore...until Bellatrix Lestrange broke out of Azkaban.

Bellatrix made a person feel as if everything was easy, and anything was possible. Alma was sure Azkaban hadn't changed her too much, though they had not been in contact. Bella had always been filled with a restless, maniacal energy, and was as passionate in her love as in her hatred. She never forgot, and never forgave. Her intensity was what Alma most admired about her. They had always been friends, and although Alma was several years older, she deferred to Bellatrix in everything. Before her imprisonment, Bellatrix had been plotting Evan's revenge – she had tortured the Longbottoms in part in an attempt to draw Moody into open combat, but was captured before he arrived, to her great disgust. Alma remembered this, and knew Bella would have used her time in Azkaban well....

Irma jumped as a light hand rested on her shoulder. "Sorry, Irma," said Minerva McGonagall, low and urgent. "Dumbledore would like a word with you, if you aren't afraid of jeopardizing your position here."

Irma bristled. Umbridge's purges were, of course, causing all of the staff members to live on edge, but Minerva should know of her loyalty to the Headmaster. "I have little love for the Ministry or its rules. You know that well."

More loudly, McGonagall said, "I would like a break from the castle for a few hours tonight. So much stress. Will you join me, Irma? I fancy a walk to Hogsmeade."

The two women strolled conspicuously through the castle corridors and out the front door, chatting lightly, thankful nonetheless that Dolores Umbridge, self-styled Headmistress, was currently ridding the North Tower of leftover fireworks. "Well, the Weasleys aren't all bad," Irma thought, with a faint smile reaching her thin lips, as the doors shut behind them. Only the lamplike eyes of Mrs. Norris gleamed in the dimly-lit entrance hall, watching the witches stroll into the night.