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Irma Pince did not have favourites. She was (unlike some professors who claimed to be of the same integrity) (cough Minerva cough) equally strict with every student, always. First year, NEWT level, delinquent, exemplary student, muggleborn, halfblood or pureblood, not even the professors were excused from following the rules of the Hogwarts' library.
But.
If held at the wand point and told to choose one student she preferred over all others... She would never admit it, not even under the threat of death. But if she were to pick one person, it would be the little Regulus Black.
It started with a book, as many histories do.
Borrowed books often returned with food stains, drink stains, ink stains, drool stains, blood stains, stinking of cat piss or owl droppings. Folded corners, wrinkled pages, ripped spines. Burn marks, spell damage. And more. Thus, when she found a copy of Colours In Potions in the return box several shades less grey and smelling of lavender soap, Irma suspected the worst. Oh, how many texts were destroyed in clumsy attempts at masking minor damage done by spilled pumpkin juice! However, when she leafed through the pages she was met with a very pleasant surprise: the book was in perfect condition.
She wrote it off as a happy accident. The next time she laid her eyes on the youngest Black, it was without any prejudice or expectations.
It was Sirius who started it (by making faces at his little brother? or perhaps, a sibling might say, merely by sitting in direct line of sight?) and Regulus who crossed the line (by hitting his brother with One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, the largest tome in reach).
Irma kicked them both out. The next time she laid her eyes on either of them it was without any prejudice or expectations.
By the Christmas rolled by, a pattern has been established. Every book Black or his dorm mates checked out returned as good or better than it left the library grounds. There were no crumbs between the pages, no tears, no spills. Where the ink has been rubbed thin with usage, young Black traced the letters with a steady hand. She found herself quietly smiling to herself whenever she handled these books.
Irma allowed herself no prejudice and no expectations when it came to students and therefore didn’t feel a twinge of disappointment when the boy neglected to turn in Men Who Love Dragons Too Much upon his return from the holidays. She sent him a notice, as she did to all students with this same issue. It often happened that the book has been forgotten at home and a parent had to send it by owl, causing unpredictable delays and simply put, a mess.
The young Black avoided her gaze for two days. On the third day a copy of the book appeared in the return box early in the morning.
“Mister Black,” Irma said two weeks later, on the first day since the Christmas break that Regulus visited the library in person. He very visibly stiffened. His hands came to connect behind his back and only after he has composed himself did the boy acknowledge her.
“Yes, Madame Pince?” he asked, feinting indifference. It was a better act than the ooze of innocence the Potter-Black duo usually tried to pull. Irma was not swayed.
“The copy of Men Who Love Dragons Too Much you returned is not the one you checked out in December,” she looked at him over the frames of her reading glasses.
“No, Madame Pince. It isn’t,”
“Do you have the original copy available, Mister Black?”
“Yes, Madame Pince.”
“Good. Go fetch it then, please.”
The boy nodded faintly. Irma watched him go, boy was stiffer than a board. She wasn’t doing it to be mean. To receive a brand new copy of a book usually meant the original was either hopelessly lost or quite destroyed. Irma needed to know which it was to sufficiently present the loss in her end of school year report. (For such wealthy individuals the Board of Governors sure were a stingy lot.)
Regulus Black set the book on the counter and took a step back, shoulders square and hands clasped behind his back. His eyes had a glassy glaze over them, Irma noted, before she turned her attention to the book.
It was bad. One half of the front cover was chewed off and the rest of it was charred. The pages were all loose, stained with ash and singed on the edges. It looked like a dragon had played a tug-o-war with it and won.
Normally, Irma would decide fixing it was not worth the time and trouble. She would log it as a lost cause, return the brand new copy to Black and send him away with a proper scolding. If she considered his habit of taking care of his other borrowed books though…
“Come here,” she told the boy and waved him over to her side of the counter. They were going to need a new cover, in the same shade of greenish gray and the gilding supplies for the title. She would do that while Black sorted out the pages. “Hold out your wand.”
The boy paled; he honestly looked like he thought she was going to snap his wand as a punishment for destroying library property, but obeyed anyway. Irma snorted inwardly; first years always had such silly ideas. She placed the textblock in front of him. “You will sort pages by the order and clean them for me. There is a very gentle cleaning charm, Repulus, and as we want it to repel ash, the incantation is going to be Cinis Repellero.” She waved her own wand. The supplies she needed floated to her from the storage.
“Um,” said Regulus, still pale but no longer on the verge of tears, “what is the, wand movement? Ma’am?”
“A simple upward flick,” she informed him, though most of her attention was already on measuring the cover.
They worked side by side. While Regulus diligently cleaned page after page and repaired burned edges with a paper tape, Irma measured, cut, glued and sewed until at last, ten minutes past the curfew, she tapped the book twice against the counter to make sure everything was even and solid. She smiled at her little helper and handed him the replacement copy he’d bought. “I believe this is yours.”
He flushed ever so slightly, a proud shine making itself home on his face. “Thank you, Ma’a-am.” The last word turned into a barely suppressed yawn.
Irma huffed, a laugh to those who knew her. “Run along to bed, Mister Black,” she told him, placing a small origami crane in his free hand. “This will lead you to your dorm without trouble. Do not dawdle. But do stop by the kitchens for something to eat,” she adjured, remembering that she kept him over dinner. “The entrance is on the staircase behind a portrait of a bowl of fruit. If you tickle the pear it will turn into a door handle. The elves will make sure you don’t go to bed hungry.”
“Yes Ma’am. Thank you Ma’am,” the boy bobbed his head. Held back another yawn. “Good night, Ma’am.”
“Good night, Mister Black." She smiled after his retreating back. Then, her usual steely expression shuttered over her face as she set out to chase out all the OWL and NEWT students who were still there. The next time she laid her eyes on little Regulus Black, it was with no prejudice, no expectations, and with a little bit of warmth.