Leigh!fic- Belle de Jour (1/1)- Irma Pince
Title: Belle de Jour (1/1)
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Irma Pince
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 815
Summary: Irma Pince wasn’t always just the Hogwarts librarian.
Author’s Notes: Warning: this is pure, unadulterated crack. This was written for gelsey for the Summer Activity at hp_wishes. I in know way, shape, form, or fashion take this seriously, and neither should you. Don’t ask me what I was thinking when I wrote this, because honestly? I have no idea. It plays fast and loose with the prompt ("Restricted section") and the pairing ("Madame Pince/book"). I hope y’all don’t have me committed after this.
The castle was quiet, and all the students were snug in their beds as Madame Pince turned the lock on the library door, barricading the entrance until breakfast the next morning. She was bombarded by pesky children all day, every day; little, smudgy hands touched her precious books, degrading the pages with splotches of ink, love notes, and general neglect. This was her time, her sanctuary. Between the hours of one and six in the morning, Irma was able to escape the hordes of adolescents who defiled her sanctuary.
Dodgy little bastards, the whole lot of them, she thought, no respect for the written word.
It was true; most of the Hogwarts students had no idea that they were taught by the best and brightest minds in the wizarding world. After all, there were standards to live up to, and nearly every professor had published works or some sort, whether they were articles in academic journals, columns, or textbooks.
Minerva's great success, Twelve Treatises on Transfiguration, was widely considered to be the greatest foray into transfiguration theory since Anne Whittle's last treatise had been written in 1612.
Pomona and Severus were no different. The chubby Herbology professor was considered an expert in Highland water flora, and her book- Highland Herbs: Healing and Harmful- had sold more copies than Lockhart's last foray in medicinal herbs. As for Snape, his essay on stewing methods and the Draught of Living Death had won him numerous accolades in his field.
So yes, nearly every professor at Hogwarts had, at some point, published an academic work.
Even their vulture-like old librarian, Irma Pince.
Irma's lips twitched as she waved her wand over the flickering lamps in the library, lowering their glow to a much softer light. True, hers wasn't an academic tome, but she was a published author nonetheless. She hadn't celebrated her success over drinks at The Three Broomsticks, nor had she signed copies for her colleagues.
Her memoirs were her own; anonymous but to herself and her publisher.
She pointed her wand at the ancient gramophone in the corner, casting a quick spell to fill the air with the soft sounds of Celestina Warbeck. The raspy, seductive lyrics to "A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love" sounded, radiating throughout the library as she made her way back through the stacks and into the Restricted Section.
A s a rule, Hogwarts maintained copies of every piece of writing published by staff members. Most of them were widely publicized, but this one was not. It was tucked away, high atop the tallest stack, and dwarfed between two ancient tomes on dark curses. When summoned, it floated neatly to her hand, and she had to resist cooing at it like a mother to her newborn. This was her one true love, this book and its contents.
And, unbeknownst to the Hogwarts staff and its students, it sat in the restricted section, waiting for a curious student to stumble across it.
The book held lovingly in her arms, Irma waltzed back to her desk, humming along with Celestina the entire way. Her long black robes swept the floor, fanning out around her as she moved. She didn't need to reread her book to know what was inside; after all, they were her words. She had lived them. But every now and then, she liked to revisit old memories.
Settling into her high-backed desk chair, she kicked off her boots and propped her feet up on her desk, ignoring the way her old bones creaked in protest. Irma missed the life she used to lead, one so full of excitement and sensuality. At least she still had her memories, in black and white and preserved for eternity.
With a small, knowing smile on her face, she flipped the book open to a random page and began to read.
N met me outside the hotel just before sunrise. He's a close friend, we used to date, he knows what I do, and can double for George Clooney in the right light. As in, pitch black. N was smirking. "Have fun in there?" I opened my coat to show him two whips tied to the inside. "You brought the Persuaders. So you were having fun."
"Sort of. Yes. He couldn't stay hard, so we drank the minibar and watched Chanel Five for the last hour."1
Pomona could keep her notes on her plants, Minerva could transfigure to her heart's content, and Snape could brew potions until the end of time, for all she cared. It wasn't academic, but it was hers.
She was Belle de Jour, and Secret Diary of A Call Girl was her life's work.
1. Secret Diary of A Call Girl by Anonymous- Not entirely sure what page this passage comes from as I can't exactly call home and ask someone to look it up for me
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Irma Pince
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 815
Summary: Irma Pince wasn’t always just the Hogwarts librarian.
Author’s Notes: Warning: this is pure, unadulterated crack. This was written for gelsey for the Summer Activity at hp_wishes. I in know way, shape, form, or fashion take this seriously, and neither should you. Don’t ask me what I was thinking when I wrote this, because honestly? I have no idea. It plays fast and loose with the prompt ("Restricted section") and the pairing ("Madame Pince/book"). I hope y’all don’t have me committed after this.
The castle was quiet, and all the students were snug in their beds as Madame Pince turned the lock on the library door, barricading the entrance until breakfast the next morning. She was bombarded by pesky children all day, every day; little, smudgy hands touched her precious books, degrading the pages with splotches of ink, love notes, and general neglect. This was her time, her sanctuary. Between the hours of one and six in the morning, Irma was able to escape the hordes of adolescents who defiled her sanctuary.
Dodgy little bastards, the whole lot of them, she thought, no respect for the written word.
It was true; most of the Hogwarts students had no idea that they were taught by the best and brightest minds in the wizarding world. After all, there were standards to live up to, and nearly every professor had published works or some sort, whether they were articles in academic journals, columns, or textbooks.
Minerva's great success, Twelve Treatises on Transfiguration, was widely considered to be the greatest foray into transfiguration theory since Anne Whittle's last treatise had been written in 1612.
Pomona and Severus were no different. The chubby Herbology professor was considered an expert in Highland water flora, and her book- Highland Herbs: Healing and Harmful- had sold more copies than Lockhart's last foray in medicinal herbs. As for Snape, his essay on stewing methods and the Draught of Living Death had won him numerous accolades in his field.
So yes, nearly every professor at Hogwarts had, at some point, published an academic work.
Even their vulture-like old librarian, Irma Pince.
Irma's lips twitched as she waved her wand over the flickering lamps in the library, lowering their glow to a much softer light. True, hers wasn't an academic tome, but she was a published author nonetheless. She hadn't celebrated her success over drinks at The Three Broomsticks, nor had she signed copies for her colleagues.
Her memoirs were her own; anonymous but to herself and her publisher.
She pointed her wand at the ancient gramophone in the corner, casting a quick spell to fill the air with the soft sounds of Celestina Warbeck. The raspy, seductive lyrics to "A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love" sounded, radiating throughout the library as she made her way back through the stacks and into the Restricted Section.
A s a rule, Hogwarts maintained copies of every piece of writing published by staff members. Most of them were widely publicized, but this one was not. It was tucked away, high atop the tallest stack, and dwarfed between two ancient tomes on dark curses. When summoned, it floated neatly to her hand, and she had to resist cooing at it like a mother to her newborn. This was her one true love, this book and its contents.
And, unbeknownst to the Hogwarts staff and its students, it sat in the restricted section, waiting for a curious student to stumble across it.
The book held lovingly in her arms, Irma waltzed back to her desk, humming along with Celestina the entire way. Her long black robes swept the floor, fanning out around her as she moved. She didn't need to reread her book to know what was inside; after all, they were her words. She had lived them. But every now and then, she liked to revisit old memories.
Settling into her high-backed desk chair, she kicked off her boots and propped her feet up on her desk, ignoring the way her old bones creaked in protest. Irma missed the life she used to lead, one so full of excitement and sensuality. At least she still had her memories, in black and white and preserved for eternity.
With a small, knowing smile on her face, she flipped the book open to a random page and began to read.
N met me outside the hotel just before sunrise. He's a close friend, we used to date, he knows what I do, and can double for George Clooney in the right light. As in, pitch black. N was smirking. "Have fun in there?" I opened my coat to show him two whips tied to the inside. "You brought the Persuaders. So you were having fun."
"Sort of. Yes. He couldn't stay hard, so we drank the minibar and watched Chanel Five for the last hour."1
Pomona could keep her notes on her plants, Minerva could transfigure to her heart's content, and Snape could brew potions until the end of time, for all she cared. It wasn't academic, but it was hers.
She was Belle de Jour, and Secret Diary of A Call Girl was her life's work.
1. Secret Diary of A Call Girl by Anonymous- Not entirely sure what page this passage comes from as I can't exactly call home and ask someone to look it up for me