A Moment's Peace (Esme)

[mimbs]

Heavy rain clouds loomed above the village of Hogsmeade. With brisk steps Professor Gregory Mimbs cut across the cobbled street, weaving between the shoulders of students before coming to a halt along the outer wall of The Three Broomsticks. Ebony eyes shot upward, peering back and forth in a methodical search. The Headmaster was not in sight, lucky enough for Mimbs. Smoking was frowned upon by the other professors and displayed as a negative influence for the students; but hell most of the kids did as they pleased using magic to conceal their antics. He had picked up the habit in his fifth year and found it something incapable of tossing. Diving a calloused hand into the depths of his coat’s pocket Mimbs produced an unopened carton of cigarettes; relief pooled in the pit of his stomach. He fumbled to tear the plastic wrap from the box and used the tip of his nail to scrap it apart, wincing as he nicked the flesh of his forefinger. Removing a stick he shoved both the container and covering back into a pocket before igniting the cigarette with a tap of his wand. A ribbon of smoke coiled upward.

Inhaling Mimbs felt his muscles loosen against the brick pressed against his back. Hogsmeade trips were a favorite of his; he delighted in the moment of freedom shared by nearly the entire school. Mimbs hated the pressures placed upon his students due to an impending war; a battle only a fool would doubt. He especially disliked the way the wizarding community treated the boy Potter, placing all their hopes and worries on a sixteen year old was beyond all the logic he could possibly fathom. Couldn’t they let the kid be a normal teenage boy? He blew out a ring of smoke, watching as it grew unit only a thin circle of mist was distinguishable. Mimbs supposed normalcy was naught but a vain thing to seek. In these darkening days one simply had to roll with the punches, no matter how abstract they may seem.

Mimbs rolled the cigarette between pinched fingers. His gaze settled upon the glowing embers reminding him of long ago summers; his sister had been married four Junes ago. A muscle within his jaw twitched at the memory. A chorus of high-pitched laughter brought him out of his silent reverie and Mimbs peered up towards a cluster of Gryffindor third years; this was without a doubt their first venture into the wizarding village and excitement infiltrated their lip-glossed smiles. It gave him a sparkle of mirth to see his students in such a mood.

Lifting what his sister had ceremoniously dubbed ‘cancer stick’ to his parted lips, Mimbs breathed in deep feeling a bit uplifted from his previous thoughts. He was here to ensure the wellbeing of the enthusiastic adolescents that had permeated the streets of Hogsmeade, but he was also in attendance for a break from mundane essays and first-year scribbles. Mimbs rubbed his chin, feeling the darkened whiskers tickle the pads of his fingers. He had forgotten to shave that morning while fretting over a rather disastrous collection of tests piled in by second year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Due to the high percentage of poor marks the lesson, Mimbs had realized with horror, had been ineffective. Nothing made him feel worse as an educator than failing to enrich the minds of his students, especially when their minds were young and fresh. He blew out a cloud of smoke and sighed, sniffing. He’d have to have a discussion with the class in an effort to see what information, if any at all, they had gleaned and what had thrown them off course.

Lost like always within his mind’s prison Mimbs had lowered his guard. He jolted, standing straighter before quickly peering around. His eyes darted left than right with a speed that elicited a sharp pang. He did not fancy being caught by the Headmaster or any other colleague as they would surely give him grief or a disapproving glare. It wasn’t as though the students would tattle; they hardly noticed him being wrapped within their own exhilaration. For a moment he considered going inside for a butterbeer. The cigarette had dried his palate.

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; height: 380px; background-color:#E3E3E3; border-left: 3px solid #331E13; border-right: 3px solid #331E13;] tears and stars collide, AND ALL THE WHILE WE WEAR THAT PARTY SMILE

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Saturday – field trip day to Hogsmeade. It was quite ridiculous really that she found herself days before growing excited. Afterall she could now head to Hogsmeade anytime she pleased or even further a field. Still she remembered her own Hogsmeade trips with joy, the freedom away from the castle, causing havoc with her small group of friends and rummaging through the shops, a butterbeer in the warm pub over lunch. This would be her first trip to Hogsmeade as a chaperoning Professor and the idea of a day away from the castle surrounded with all that excitement and glee once again sounded magnificent. Esme had promptly found she rather liked seeing her new students out of class. Watching the quiet ones who hid at the back running about boisterously with their friends, or the more lippy of her students who liked to give abit of cheeky back chat engaged in quiet considerate talks. There was so much more to most of the teens as they fumbled and stumbled over who they were and what they wanted, it was lovely to watch that clarity and understanding slowly dawn and grow. These were dangerous times though she could think of no better shelter, no better bubble where the outside world could be temporarily forgotten for these kids to grow up then Hogwarts.

As her days always started she popped her head into the greenhouses for a quick check over, water and pruning of the more sensitive plants that required it. She soon found Pomona fiddling with her new pet project. Brightly asking if the older witch would care to join her on the trip she received a rather prompt merlin’s pants no quickly followed by a request for new naming tags and a bottle of sherry from Aberforth. Pomona Sprout had been a role model to Esme for many years. She’d almost forgiven her old friend for the deception used to drag her from her wallowing to Hogwarts. She had meant well… even if her methods were rather dubious. What Pomona actually did with her time other then occasionally interrupt and take over her protégé’s classes she wasn’t sure, but if after years of work her role model wanted to spend her twilight years pottering around the greenhouses and enjoying a tipple of sherry in the evenings then fair play to her.

Making her way through the ground to the main gate she mentally ran over her shopping list. Name tags, sherry and… quills! Yes definitely quills. Much the same as it had been in her student years no matter how careful she was with her writing implements as soon as she put it down for any length of time she could never find it again. Esme knew full well that other’s might describe as ‘scatty’, head so far lost in the clouds she was often utterly inobservant to what was happening around her, tripped over constantly and all to often ran late or forgot she’d actually had something to do to start with. But even by her standards the rate her quills vanished was ludicrous, she was starting to think someone might actually be sneaking in and removing them for kicks. Perhaps a house elf… she supposed quills could make interesting attire.
As was often the case her own fashion choices for the day were somewhat questionable. The odd mismatch of 1950’s muggle fashions and wizarding attire, today in strange choices of orange and green with the ever trusted dragonhide boots. Focusing her thoughts away from any complications of her rather horrendously messy personal life she focused on her new job, the pile of essays she’d cast her eyes through quickly this morning, the three new species she’d borrowed for a few weeks from a friend and fellow academic to show her students, hopefully some would share her rather ecstatic enthusiasm over the rare specimens. It didn’t take long, lost in her ravine of thoughts to take the slow amble from the shadow of the castle to the city centre. A shriek of high pitched laughter tore her from her thoughts back to reality. The students had well and truly taken over the town just as she always remembered, the cobblestone streets filled with raucous enjoyment, gabbling students pouring in and out of the shops. Great for business she imagined though the locals must be glad the trips were a rare treat.

Her attention was caught by a small curl of smoke from against the wall of the Three Broomsticks, the owner of the cigarette looking shiftily from one side to the other as if expecting to be caught any second. An amused smile lit up her features. She still hadn’t met many of her new colleagues yet, which after a few weeks since the start of term was probably a little rude. She’d become rather engrossed with the greenhouses and the moment she stepped back into the castle she found that old sense of adventure returning, leading her off down corridors that usually led to hours of lost though enjoyable wonderings. Out of those colleague’s she had met she found herself ever shocked by just how… human they all were. It was quite ridiculous really but the old image of professional untouchableness had some how remained. This case was no exception, it seemed more then amusing for a professor to be stood looking around suspiciously, expecting to be caught and told off like a student up to no good.

She had not met Professor Mimb’s personally. Though ever the academic she knew of his work professionally had even exchanged many a letter concerning his previous articles in the Daily Prophet of which she’d often found she had endless intrigued questions, ever searching for more and more knowledge. She’d shot a look of utter incredulousness at Pomona at one breakfast when she’d given a quick run over the staff members names and pointed out Mimb’s, much to Esme’s shame she’d rather painted the stereotypical picture of someone involved in the study of ancient runes, older with a shock of white hair and huge spectacles. Though she supposed many people probably did the same when she introduced herself in letters as a herbologist.

Attempting to move discreetly she circled around her fellow Professor’s line of vision. She stopped as she managed to get to just a few feet away, trying her best at the crossed arms and stern teacher expression and failing miserably. She couldn’t care less if her colleague’s snuck off for a crafty cigarette, the teens they taught would be well aware of what cigarette’s were and would make their own decisions no matter what their professors did, infact the more they protested about it the more likely the kids were to give a try to spite them, but she couldn’t resist the open door she’d been given. “Busted!” She announced unable to stop the obvious humour at the sheer silliness of the situation from entering her voice.

TAGGED: GREGORY MIMBS WORD COUNT: 1158 NOTES: --

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i love brooklyn from caution !!!

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[mimbs]

The students flocked nearby shops, pressing their faces up against the windowpanes to peer at the goodies within. It must have been an annoyance to the locals who continuously had to clean the nose prints from the glass, but to see the children smiling in such a fashion was a treat to all. In a handful of years their innocence would be stolen, consumed greedily by the jaws of war. It made something within his gut stir; a prickle stung at the muscle like the spikes on a cactus. But Mimbs knew he couldn't let such thoughts burrow within his mind else he himself fall into a deep pit. Today was one for peace and he would damn well get it. Thunder resonated in the distance eliciting a low-pitched groan from Mimbs. Unlike the students who fantasized of dancing between the liquid pellets Mimbs had no desire of being caught in the rain. The thought itself made his skin itch in disgust. The sensation of being draped in damp clothing was a bit nightmarish for the professor; as a boy his sister had locked him outside after a particularly nasty argument. Baring him in or out was an unfortunate habit of hers when angered. Mimbs had been out in the wetness for nearly an hour after which he had ended up developing one of the worst colds of his life. 

The hushed padding of feet ghosted beside him. He didn't think much of it as the students were running amuck in the village; most likely one was trying to slink quietly around him with little interaction to meet with a group of mates for a butterbeer. A smirk crested his lips. Nearly eighteen years ago, the sheer length in time always surprised him, when Mimbs had been a student it was a universally acknowledged fact that the professors were not entirely normal. Of course it had been foolish as the educators were merely common witches and wizards with lives and families of their own. But still there was an air of awkward mystery surrounding them. It would seem that that "truth" had still carried on into the new generation. He had found the job rather strange at first. Once he had caught himself mindlessly strolling towards the Ravenclaw common room as though to nestle within a dormitory. Thankfully Peeves had floated by stomach down chucking frozen peas at the new professor; it had been a stinging slap to reality. He missed the old four-poster bed and the company of roommates. One of the more stressful demands of his occupation was the order of discipline; taking away house points was the worst. It always made him feel lousy. 

"Busted!"

The sudden exclamation brought Mimbs upright in a matter of seconds. His fingers twitched violently in shock and the cigarette fell limp to the ground, coating the dirt in smoldering ashes. He blinked feeling his jawline slacken. Coughing into the blade of his shoulder Mimbs attempted to garner what little dignity he still possessed. His foot slipped forward snuffing out the cigarette with a gruff stomp. Expecting an amused glare from the headmaster Mimbs blurted a stumbled apology. He scratched the back of his head. "Headmaster I..." Mimbs froze. Instead of half-moon spectacles Gregory found himself peering into the warm eyes of a woman. Though the two had yet to meet face to face, Mimbs gathered her to be the newest addition to the staff; Esmerelda Echo. Lines crinkled his brow. Like always he had made a startling first impression. "Oh." Mimbs reeled. A chuckle escaped through his parted lips. "My apologizes, I thought you were the headmaster." Heat pooled beneath his cheeks. Mimbs suddenly had the sensation as though caught in an act of wrong doing. He felt like a small boy. "I actually...strict regulations and such...well, heh, you know I 'm sure." He gave the sizzling cigarette one last press to emphasize his point before pulling on a modest grin. Extending a hand Mimbs said, "I take it you're the new kid in town now, Esmerelda Echo? Your letters were quite a treat when I was with the Prophet. Brilliant insight." He dipped his head realizing he had allowed himself to ramble. Clearing his throat Mimbs brushed ash from the collar of his jacket; his nerves beginning to steady. 

The playfulness laced with the undertones of her words made him laugh softly to himself. He had failed to introduce himself to her on a more timely matter and was relieved that she did not hold his rudeness against him. But a new year after a dry summer always sparked his mind into fiery thought. Something told him that she 'd understand. Based on the deeply knit logic sewn into her letters Mimbs had gleaned that she possessed a high level of intelligence. It had been refreshing to say the least. Other owls that had been sent in at times contained muddied critique and half-assed theories. Some had proved mildly entertaining and had ignited a thorough search, after all he never liked to leave any page unturned. 

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; height: 380px; background-color:#E3E3E3; border-left: 3px solid #331E13; border-right: 3px solid #331E13;] tears and stars collide, AND ALL THE WHILE WE WEAR THAT PARTY SMILE

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Esme made a slight movement as if to stop the cigarette falling before it became obvious such was futile, she felt a little bad for making him loose what was probably with the strict regulations a rare indulgence, though there was little that could be done now. Thunder gave a crackling boom over head. Esme was rather fond of the rain. Infact like some of the students she’d have taken a great joy in dancing through a down pour, sadly it seemed doubtful such would be deemed professional and she was trying to give her best hand at that when infront of the students. Most seemed to have already figured out it didn’t take much to shatter the illusion really they need only talk to her about one of the more interesting plants in the greenhouses for her to bubble over in excitement while explaining it. She was certainly no where near used to being called Professor Echo and any such call usually went inadvertently ignored by it’s owner. She loved her new job, loved teaching young minds, loved the freedom of the greenhouses but she was far from perfecting giving off the image of what she deemed a true professor like Professor McGonagall or Snape who both had a professionalism she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to achieve. She’d certainly never be very good at the discipline measure, the first time she’d had to deduct house points and seen the horror on a young students face she’d felt like the most rotten creature in existence, at least with detentions they were only letting themselves down rather then a whole house.

Headmaster? Well she’d never been mistaken for that before. Her smile merely grew as he gave a laugh when he turned around to find it wasn’t Dumbledore with those infamous blue eyes that seemed to cut straight through you. She remembered full well just the gaze the headmaster might have given from her own youth in the few visits she was sent to the headmasters office to be reprimanded that mixture of amusement and disappointment only a teacher could give. The idea of facing that as an adult seemed heart rendering. She was more then glad to see her new found collegue seemed humoured by the situation rather then irked or angered. She supposed in reality if she had thought on her actions before undertaking them (something Esme had never really been all that good at) she might have figured some of her colleague’s might not have found such an interruption as funny as she did. Her knack for making terrible first impressions was rather notorious.

She gave a soft laugh as he apologised. “Well I’ve never been mistaken for that before.” The bright smile imprinted on her features clearly displaying there was nothing but amusement taken from the misunderstanding. Ah, she had indeed read the rather impressive array of regulations for the Hogwarts staff, many of which she suspected had been written many centuries before hand and only ever added to occasionally. It seemed rather contradictory really that a school that seemed rather progressively… was liberal the right word? Well certainly it seemed contradictory a school that seemed happy to employ even the dottiest of professors (she supposed she would probably fall into that category) should have so many rules in existence, not that most of them seemed to truly be adhered to. “Technically you are off Hogwarts grounds.” Esme offered the loophole with a light shrug having no strong opinion either way on Professor Mimb’s habit. Everyone had their vices.

Esme gave a nod in assurance that she was who he had guessed. Really she supposed it was pretty hard to miss her, she had rather spectacularly chocked over her drink when Professor Dumbledore introduced her over dinner in the great hall, she’d expected to hear the words ‘assistant’ certainly not ‘taking over as professor and head of house’. Bloody Pomona. New kid seemed a very apt term, she certainly felt like it wondering around the halls of Hogwarts or facing the staff room. “That would be me. Professor Mimbs I presume. It’s nice to meet you in person.” She took the offered hand in a friendly handshake.

A blush threatened to creep to her cheeks as he praised her letters. Esmeralda had never been very good at receiving praise, now critique she could take that on board with all the acceptance in the world, but praise still remained awkward for her and she often brushed it off as quickly as possible. She had always been fascinated with history in both the muggle and the wizarding world and the fact so much still remained to teach them of bygone eras just seemed wondrous. When it came to the academic there was little that Esme didn’t find fascinating, she constantly shifted to and fro between subjects and back again, delving into articles and huge tomes to further her knowledge. “Any insight came from the articles. They were fascinating. There’s still so much of both magical history and muggle society in history that we have no idea of, and so much of the information we have is mere speculation. I had no idea how much is still out there to be found that can trace back and teach us of things gone.” She exclaimed rather excitedly, knowing full well she would be able to ramble on the subject for weeks on end if allowed. Her plaguing questions and suggested theories after almost every article must have driven him insane. She promptly stopped herself before she fell into the usual pattern of their letters, questions upon questions tracing back through centuries. “Pomona mentioned you taught Ancient Runes?” Esme had to cut herself short on another babble of how the subject had so much to offer their knowledge of their society and its foundations, things Professor Mimb’s no doubt already knew.

TAGGED: GREGORY MIMBS WORD COUNT: 981 NOTES: --

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i love brooklyn from caution !!!

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