Had Augusta not been intimately familiar with Minerva’s hair, she may have walked right past the table where her old friend was waiting. Minerva’s hair had grown since the last time Augusta had seen her; the dark locks were gathered at the nape of her neck in pinned curls, which disguised their length, but it was artfully arranged as always, fringe swept to the side and shining in the lamplight of The Leaky Cauldron. The jolt of recognition from across the nearly empty common room gave Augusta pause; in that moment Minerva turned and spotted her.

"Augusta! I'm right here."

Simultaneously, the nerves both calmed and crested in Augusta's middle as she stepped closer to the table. Minerva had changed glasses, too - in fact, a great many small things had changed since they had parted ways after Hogwarts. "Mina," Augusta breathed, finally finding her voice. It did not sound like her at all, and she cleared her throat as she folded herself onto the bench across her. "It's been far too long."

Across the table, Minerva grinned. "Only about a year. I've been busy at the Ministry." The statement was almost challenging, and Augusta had to consciously keep her eyes from narrowing.

"I'm sure you have," she managed neutrally. Well, how had she expected this to go? Running headlong into one another's arms? A quick, socially appropriate kiss on the cheek? No, there was far too much sour aether that wafted between them, still managing to drive them apart even after so many months.

But Minerva had come. That was, at least, something.

Augusta ordered a Gillywater while Minerva continued to sip at her Firewhisky, watching Augusta somewhat warily over the rims of her glasses. "So have your parents managed to marry you off yet?" Minerva asked with overly calm innocence that did nothing at all to hide the icy resentment beneath.

"Nearly," Augusta responded with aplomb, looking down at her left hand in an exaggerated motion. "I have a fiancé. Do you remember Nevyn? Little Algie's older brother?"

"Longbottom?" Minerva asked sharply. Augusta nodded. "Merlin, Augusta, he's fifteen years older than you. You can do better than that."

"He's from a very old family," Augusta said, her face growing warm, "and he's a perfect gentleman, a talented wizard, and he's very devoted to the idea of a family, unlike some other younger suitors I've entertained!"

Minerva flinched. It wasn't obvious, and had Augusta blinked at the wrong moment, she'd have missed it, but it had definitely been a flinch. The arrival of her Gillywater provided a momentary distraction, and, feeling slightly foolish for her remark, she took a sip.

"We were both young," Minerva said quietly, almost as though to herself. "And very, very silly."

"It was less than a year ago," Augusta pointed out, but Minerva shook her head.

"Enough time to grow up, even if just a little bit." She reached into one of the inner pockets of her robe and pulled out a tiny velvet-covered box, and Augusta rather felt like her heart stopped when Minerva opened it. "It's not much. Certainly not like what you have there." Minerva looked suddenly very far away. "He told me to keep it, when I told him I couldn't. Something to remember him by."

"You said no?" Augusta asked sharply. "Why?"

And then Minerva looked up, her piercing gaze very nearly taking Augusta's breath away. She knew that look. Minerva had worn that look the very first time Augusta had been foolish enough to utter the words "I love you" - just before Minerva had solemnly repeated them back. It had only been two years ago, but it seemed an entire lifetime.

But the words Augusta was expecting never came. "He's a Muggle," Minerva said instead, snapping the box shut. "Kind and good-hearted - but I saw what that did to my parents. I refuse to make that same mistake." She tucked the box back away into her robes.

Augusta cast about in her mind for something to say. "Did you love him?" It perhaps was not altogether appropriate, but it was better than silence.

Minerva pressed her lips into a thin line before answering. "Yes. I did.� She swallowed, hesitating. “I do. But it wouldn't be fair to him or to me." She glanced at her glass of Firewhisky and reached for it before returning her eyes to Augusta's. "And do you love Nevyn?"

"That - will come in time, I expect," Augusta replied, faltering slightly. "It's a good match," she said defensively after a moment of silence that stretched too long. "The Longbottoms are a good family - a bit dull, I suppose, but I don't mind dull, honestly I don't."

"And does he know? About us?"

That was too far. Augusta pushed her Gillywater to the side. "No," she said stiffly, "he does not. And as I remember you saying, there isn't an 'us'. There will never be an 'us'. I seem to recall the use of the word ‘impossible’. So no, he doesn't know, and I see no reason to clutter his mind with impossibilities."

"That's not what I -" Minerva looked frustrated. "I meant - what we used to be. What I...sometimes wish we still were."

The last words had been said very softly into Minerva's Firewhisky; Augusta wasn't certain whether she had even been meant to hear them. "I don't see how that's any of his business," she said briskly. "Aside from the fact that I've never been 'left unchaperoned' with a man, since that was in the betrothal document, he knows nothing at all about personal aspects of my past."

Despite how closely they were skirting a very dangerous subject, Minerva cracked a smile. "There's a document? How many heirs are you contractually obliged to produce?"

Augusta chose to ignore that. "Nevyn is a good man," she insisted. "He already has a ward in St Mungo's named for him - and not just for donating money; he helped develop quarantine measures for the last Dragonpox outbreak. He'll make a good husband." She dropped her eyes to the ring on her left hand. "And I'll make him a good wife. What more is there, really?"

"Oh, I don't know," Minerva said sardonically. "Love? Passion? Ardour? Excitement? Shall I continue?"

"I gave up on those when you left," Augusta said with false brightness, "when you went off to your fancy job and your blessed independence and everything else that meant I couldn't follow you."

"You could have," Minerva said sharply, returning her empty glass to the tabletop with a hollow clunk. "You could have then and you could now. You could run away from that ridiculous life right now and actually live, instead of just surviving."

"Just surviving?" Augusta repeated. "You think that's what this is? I have a place in society. I have a bloodline that I am duty-bound to continue. I have a mission in my life -"

"You have six O.W.L.s and four N.E.W.T.s that you're going to do nothing with," Minerva interrupted. "You have remarkable magical talent that you're just going to let atrophy. From here on out, your greatest achievements will be the birth of your husband's heir and then his marriage, and then what? What are you doing for yourself?" Her eyes were like cold fire now. "This precious mission of yours, that you think gives you purpose? It seems to me that your sole life goal is to accommodate everyone else."

"So I should be more like you and not give one sliver of a damn about anyone else but myself?" The ice in Augusta's Gillywater had melted, diluting the liquor to almost intolerable levels. "Should I refuse to marry a good man, too?"

"I give a damn about people who deserve it," Minerva shot back, visibly wounded. "I’m not going to marry him because I give a damn about him. And I still give a damn about you, though I honestly don't know why I do, because you're too obtuse to understand that there's a difference between being honour-bound and being a slave to convention."

"I think we've just about exhausted the possibilities of this conversation." Augusta said coldly, drawing a handful of Sickles from her handbag and slapping them to the tabletop as she stood. One rolled off the table into Minerva's lap; when Minerva went to grab it before it fell to the floor, Augusta took the opportunity to turn on her heel and leave.

The alleyway that led to Diagon Alley was empty, the red bricks a curious colour in the slanting orange light of sunset. With no one to see her, Augusta leaned against one of the cleaner sections of wall and scrunched her eyes shut, teeth gritted together until her jaw trembled. She would not cry.

She heard the door click shut down the alleyway and she hurried her face into a semblance of composure. Of course Minerva had followed her. Minerva never allowed Augusta to enjoy a dramatic exit.

Augusta continued to stare stubbornly at the cobblestones in front of her. Before too long, the black pointed toes of Minerva’s shoes filled her vision and Augusta reluctantly looked up.

Minerva’s green robes looked brown in this light; she tucked an errant curl behind one ear as she took a breath. "Why exactly did you ask me here tonight?"

"I wanted to apologise," Augusta said after a long moment, during which she tried to remember the actual purpose of their meeting.

"Oh," Minerva said flatly. "Well, thank heavens you got that out of the way."

Minerva had always been able to make Augusta laugh, even when she really didn't want to. With the laughter came the first tear, as though it had been merely looking for a weakness in her defences to exploit.

And then Minerva was there, palms running lightly along Augusta's upper arms, not exactly embracing her but making her presence and her closeness felt. Augusta's skin relished the warmth of her touch, and she allowed herself a few more self indulgent tears before she brought her hands to her face, brushing them away. "I wanted to say I'm sorry that I couldn't come with you. I...said a lot of stupid things that day." Augusta took a deep breath. "I don't actually want to never see your face again."

"I don't actually think you're letting your father sell you to the highest bidder."

"And please forget the string of Welsh that I yelled at you towards the end."

Minerva nodded solemnly. "For the sake of our friendship, I'll forget what it translated to, as well."

The smile that came to Augusta's face was very small. "Can we still be friends? After all the horrible things we've said to one another? After everything else we've shared?"

"We can," Minerva asserted. "After just one more of these."

Minerva still tasted faintly of Firewhisky, the heat dancing across Augusta's lips and tongue in an irresistible complement to the kiss that made Augusta sigh softly through her nose. She rested her hands lightly on Minerva's hips and let herself float, revelling in this one last indulgence before her new life drew her inexorably back.

As though Minerva could read her mind, she broke away from the kiss, looking seriously into Augusta's eyes. "You could still leave. Come away with me. We could be happy. You aren't trapped. You have a choice."

"Mina. Minerva," Augusta corrected herself; Minerva looked stricken at that. "I don't think you understand that I can be happy with what I've chosen. I have a responsibility to my family and now to Nevyn's. And I'm proud to fulfil that responsibility. I really am."

"I don't understand," Minerva said bluntly, stepping back; her hand squeezed Augusta's arm, softening the words. "But I suppose... if you're happy..."

"I am. Especially if I have you back in my life. I think I'll need a stubborn, clever, jaded friend to keep me grounded."

"I'll be here," Minerva promised. She reached forward and caught Augusta in a tight embrace. "And maybe, one day, we'll actually understand each other."

Augusta did not look up from her needlepoint straight away; she let her grandson fidget for a few long moments before she set it aside. "Good morning, Neville. To what do I owe the visit?"

He was obviously nervous, but he took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. Good. More like his father with every passing day. "Good morning, Gran. I - there's a girl. She was in my year at school. In Hufflepuff. You’ve met her. And I know that you tend to - that is, you're - well, traditional - and she's a half-blood - but she's really very clever, and a very good witch, but if you don't approve, I’ll tell her right away that it's not going to work out -"

"Do you love her?" There was, after all, very little point in beating about the bush, and he was likely to asphyxiate himself if she didn't stop that infinite sentence soon.

Her grandson turned crimson. "I - I think so. Yeah. I do."

Augusta let him twitch for a few more moments before she picked up her needlepoint again. "Don't run out and buy an engagement ring. You're too young to be officially married yet, and after all, you inherited your mother's ring, which is far more suitable than any of the ridiculous modern designs you'll find in the shops." After a few stitches, she continued. "Close your mouth, dear. You'll catch flies."

"Gran, she's - not a pureblood."

"Yes. I heard you the first time.� She looked up over the top of her spectacles. “Your mother being pureblooded was almost entirely an accident - and considering how thoroughly the rest of the family approved, I thought it prudent to behave as though I’d intended it all along.� The comprehension slowly dawning on Neville’s face was very gratifying. Augusta returned her eyes to her stitches. “But I hardly have to please them anymore, and neither do you. Integrity of character is far more important than the purity of blood, and some of the most talented, honest, and admirable witches I've known were half-blood. I'd be doing a disservice to every one of them if I didn't trust your judgement." She made a shooing motion with the hand that held the needle. "Go and fetch her. Bring her for tea. We have a great deal to talk about.�

Her grandson, his expression the very definition of disbelief, was almost at the door of the sitting room before she called after him. "Do try and convince her to take your surname. I've sacrificed too much to let that disappear into obscurity."

Augusta tied off the thread before selecting a new colour and deftly passing it through the eye of the needle, inwardly very pleased. If Minerva had thought she was being sneaky, engineering Neville and Hannah’s relationship like she had, Minerva was not half as clever as she thought she was.

"The joke is on you, Mina," Augusta Longbottom murmured to herself, and she settled herself back into her needlework, wedding plans and the notion of great-grandchildren already bringing a faint smile to her face.