Fic: "Old Friends" (HP femmeslash)
Getting around to posting those exchange fics, finally... I'm actually very pleased with this one, seeing as it was a pinch-hit and all. *g*
Title: Old Friends
Author:
miss_morland
Fandom: HP
Rating: R
Pairing: Minerva McGonagall/Augusta Longbottom
Summary: Some decisions are not worth regretting.
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 1991
Author's Notes: Written for woldy in the femmefest exchange; originally posted here. Beta-read by the ever-awesome kellychambliss .
After all, it has only been fifty years.
They smile at each other, wryly, fondly, not bothering with any formal phrases; they are, when it comes down to it, old friends.
"Have a seat," Augusta says, and Minerva nods, sliding off her cloak and pulling out a chair.
It is Friday night, and the Leaky Cauldron is almost full. After Augusta has had her Firewhisky and Minerva her glass of red wine, nobody looks twice at them. Minerva doesn't mind in the least: she doesn't want anything right now, except to sit here quietly, observing the marks the years have left on Augusta's face and hands.
~
They are not supposed to do this. Not together.
"Shhh," Augusta hisses as Minerva gasps, her hands curling the bedsheets, her hips jerking. They have cast a Silencing Charm on the door, of course, but one can never be too certain. Not these days, anyway.
No, they are definitely not supposed to do this. But old habits die hard, they say, and it isn't as if Augusta is married yet, or even as if she is risking having another man's baby.
Minerva watches her own legs part to make room for Augusta's touch, strong fingers finding their way to all the spots where they are most needed. Just as Minerva feels the familiar rush of pleasure which means it's almost over, Augusta looks up, her eyes dark and large. Their gazes lock as Minerva comes, stuffing her fist in her mouth in order to hold back the scream.
~
Outside the window, night is already falling, soft and dark-blue like it should be in the end of May: through their reflexions in the glass, Minerva can see groups of people strolling through the Alley, young couples and families enjoying their freedom and their peace.
"Yes," Augusta says, following her gaze. "They're still celebrating, and damn right, too."
Minerva quirks a smile. "How is young Neville?"
"Quite well, quite well," Augusta says, looking genuinely proud. "He did a right good job fighting You-Know-Who, and I've told him so. He didn't believe me at first." She shakes her head, somewhat ruefully. "I'm not what you'd call a doting grandmother, am I?"
"Not exactly," Minerva admits. "You are as tough as nails, the way you've always been."
"Indeed." Augusta takes a swig of Firewhisky and stares out the window. "I may have been too hard on him. It seemed necessary, at the time... I thought he needed something to spur him on."
"Other than a sense of justice, you mean?" Minerva asks, and when Augusta doesn't answer, she sighs. "You aren't the only one with ideals, you know."
"I know," Augusta says, somewhat tersely. They fall silent for a moment.
Then, clearing her throat a little, Minerva asks, "Frank and Alice. Are they still...?"
Augusta nods. "No hope for those two. But I've known that for years."
Well, Minerva thinks, taking a sip of her wine, her friend has never been one for sentimentality.
"And you?" Augusta's eyes are searching hers, dark and stern as always. "How much longer are you going to stay at Hogwarts?"
"As long as they want me," Minerva shrugs. "It's my life, after all."
Silence again. Augusta is still studying her, her expression thoughtful, almost sly.
At length, she says, "Do you regret it?"
"My life? No." Minerva holds her gaze. "Do you?"
"There are some decisions I regret, and some I don't," Augusta says, waving for another drink. "Maybe I'll tell you about some of them."
~
She knows what they will say: N.E.W.T.s or no N.E.W.T.s, an academic career is still not what a young witch should aim for. There are jobs out there that are more suitable and easier to obtain -- perhaps she could apply for a position as secretary in the Ministry, or as assistant to the Healers in St. Mungo's? Such jobs are easy to quit, should she get married -- and she does want to get married, doesn't she?
Therefore, when Minerva gets the owl with the results, she doesn't tell her parents at once. Instead, she Apparates to Diagon Alley and goes straight to the Leaky Cauldron, where Augusta is serving drinks, a smile on her face which becomes real as soon as Minerva walks through the door. Coming over, she thrusts a Butterbeer into Minerva's hands and tells her to wait there until she's finished for the day, and then they will do something to celebrate properly.
~
They are well into their third drinks. By now Minerva's face is hot, and she's feeling as light-headed as a girl: Augusta has pulled out her pipe -- a funny habit, Minerva has always thought -- and is now lighting it with a tap of her wand.
"Do you remember when you used to work here?" Minerva asks, waving her hand at the pub.
Augusta rolls her eyes. "How can I forget? Long shifts, endless rows of customers..."
"Your pretty barmaid's robes..."
"Oh, those." Minerva laughs; Augusta drains her glass, then grins. "I suspect they were what caught Albert's interest to begin with."
Minerva doesn't reply. The subject of Augusta's husband is still a sore one, even after all this time. There is no good reason for it, she knows -- Augusta has made her choices in life, just as Minerva has made hers. Still, it's not something she likes to think about. She did enough of that, back then.
"So." Augusta sets down her newly-emptied glass on the table with a movement of sudden determination. Her eyes are glowing, as if she has reached a decision. "Are you staying in London tonight?"
Such an innocent question, yet it makes Minerva's heart skip a beat. She takes a deep breath. "Why are you asking?"
The small smile that lurks in the corner of Augusta's mouth is the sole reply she gets.
~
Being appointed Head Girl doesn't help. Being a top student doesn't help. Being one of Professor Dumbledore's favourites doesn't help, for Augusta Bones is done with her N.E.W.T.s, and Minerva is alone when she comes back to school in September, more alone than she was ever prepared for, with only her books to save her.
Books, and letters. Their owls fly back and forth, almost non-stop London-Scotland, at least during the first few weeks. After Christmas, Augusta's letters arrive more rarely, but Minerva is exceedingly busy herself, and so she almost doesn't notice.
~
Augusta's flat is not very large, but it is cosy, stuffed with old furniture, photographs, and souvenirs from Neville's childhood. The house where she and Albert once lived was sold after Frank and Alice's attack, she explains as Minerva sits down on the large, worn sofa. This is the place her grandson grew up, and this is the place where Augusta will spend the rest of her days.
"It's nice," Minerva says as she accepts another glass of wine, cheerfully ignoring the small voice of reason that tells her she has had enough already. She'll only live once, after all, and now that she's here, finally, in Augusta's home, reason can mind its own business for a while.
"Thank you," Augusta says, sitting down next to her. The smile is gruff, but fond; Minerva learnt to read it years ago. "It was nice of you to come."
This is the key. They both know it.
When Augusta reaches out to touch her cheek, Minerva finds herself frozen to the spot: she knows what is coming, she longs for it, she dreads it. She hardly dares to breathe as Augusta's fingers ghost over her face.
"You were always so pretty," Augusta murmurs. Minerva squirms a little, self-consciously. "You still are. These lines -" and her index finger traces the wrinkle between her eyebrows, gently, " - they tell me of your character. The years have only made you stronger."
Minerva closes her eyes as the finger rests lightly on her lips. "I'm not the only one."
"Indeed, you aren't," Augusta says, and kisses her.
~
"Do you like it?"
The whisper is intense in her ear, and Minerva nods, biting her lip as another finger slides into her.
"I'm not hurting you, am I?" Augusta asks, and there is real worry in her voice. Shaking her head, Minerva leans closer, until their lips are almost touching.
"Continue," she manages. "It's good."
And it is, even if it burns a little, because her friend is inside her now, touching her body from within, and it's the closest Minerva has ever been to anyone. She doesn't want it to stop.
The seventh-year dormitory is vacated, thankfully; everyone else is outdoors, enjoying the spring sun. Normally Minerva would have joined them, but she knows that nothing comes close to this, to letting Augusta show her this mystery of what she has finally come to realise is a woman's body.
~
They never leave the sofa. Instead, they end up lying there wrapped together like teenagers, all clumsy mouths and roaming hands. It feels, Minerva thinks dizzily as Augusta unbuttons her robes with trembling hands, as if she has slept -- no, been under a curse is more like it -- for the last fifty years, but now it all comes back, as if all her body needed to remember was a kiss.
Two old women, yes, and two old warriors; two old friends who have a great deal of catching up to do.
When they are both naked, Minerva remembers with a pang that they used to be shy around one another, normally keeping their undergarments on until they both were under the sheets. There is no need for that, now, and so she allows Augusta to look and touch all she likes, while Minerva, in turn, scrutinises the body of her friend, tentatively running her hands over skinny arms and drooping breasts, loving each mark and wrinkle.
"May I?" Augusta asks, her voice low and blurred. Minerva swallows, but nods, lying back on the sofa and spreading her legs.
It is just as wonderful as it used to be. If anything, it is even better than she has allowed herself to remember, and she moans, eager as a girl on her wedding night, as Augusta presses on, tongue and fingers caressing her in ways which are absolutely incomparable, and Minerva sobs as she shakes, for this is all she could have dreamt of and hoped for and longed for, and now she has it.
Afterwards, Augusta suggests they move to her bed. There is a wry tone in her voice which seems to hint that they won't be leaving it anytime soon.
~
It is quite normal for prefects to befriend one another. Moreover, it is quite normal for two young witches to become friends, especially when they are both headstrong and stubborn and impatient, or when they both lack aptitude for -- as well as interest in -- wooing young wizards.
At least, that is what Minerva tells herself. But it doesn't explain why her books and her studies, once so important to her, seem to have been overshadowed by the enormous, incredible, unfathomable miracle of Augusta's smile.
She'll do anything to bring that smile out.
~
"You know," Minerva says, several hours later, when the sky is already growing lighter in the east, "I will go back to Hogwarts in September."
"Of course you will."
Augusta lights her pipe and raises a finger to caress Minerva's cheekbone. "But you will stay here with me until then. Won't you?" she adds, a strange and sudden quiver in her voice.
Minerva smiles, touching her cheek in return. "Maybe."
She is old; they both are. She does not regret her life, even if she has not had everything she wanted -- but then again, who does?
Right now, she does not want to do anything but lay here in Augusta's arms, comfortably resting and knowing that fifty years isn't really that much time.
Title: Old Friends
Author:
miss_morland
Fandom: HP
Rating: R
Pairing: Minerva McGonagall/Augusta Longbottom
Summary: Some decisions are not worth regretting.
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 1991
Author's Notes: Written for woldy in the femmefest exchange; originally posted here. Beta-read by the ever-awesome kellychambliss .
After all, it has only been fifty years.
They smile at each other, wryly, fondly, not bothering with any formal phrases; they are, when it comes down to it, old friends.
"Have a seat," Augusta says, and Minerva nods, sliding off her cloak and pulling out a chair.
It is Friday night, and the Leaky Cauldron is almost full. After Augusta has had her Firewhisky and Minerva her glass of red wine, nobody looks twice at them. Minerva doesn't mind in the least: she doesn't want anything right now, except to sit here quietly, observing the marks the years have left on Augusta's face and hands.
~
They are not supposed to do this. Not together.
"Shhh," Augusta hisses as Minerva gasps, her hands curling the bedsheets, her hips jerking. They have cast a Silencing Charm on the door, of course, but one can never be too certain. Not these days, anyway.
No, they are definitely not supposed to do this. But old habits die hard, they say, and it isn't as if Augusta is married yet, or even as if she is risking having another man's baby.
Minerva watches her own legs part to make room for Augusta's touch, strong fingers finding their way to all the spots where they are most needed. Just as Minerva feels the familiar rush of pleasure which means it's almost over, Augusta looks up, her eyes dark and large. Their gazes lock as Minerva comes, stuffing her fist in her mouth in order to hold back the scream.
~
Outside the window, night is already falling, soft and dark-blue like it should be in the end of May: through their reflexions in the glass, Minerva can see groups of people strolling through the Alley, young couples and families enjoying their freedom and their peace.
"Yes," Augusta says, following her gaze. "They're still celebrating, and damn right, too."
Minerva quirks a smile. "How is young Neville?"
"Quite well, quite well," Augusta says, looking genuinely proud. "He did a right good job fighting You-Know-Who, and I've told him so. He didn't believe me at first." She shakes her head, somewhat ruefully. "I'm not what you'd call a doting grandmother, am I?"
"Not exactly," Minerva admits. "You are as tough as nails, the way you've always been."
"Indeed." Augusta takes a swig of Firewhisky and stares out the window. "I may have been too hard on him. It seemed necessary, at the time... I thought he needed something to spur him on."
"Other than a sense of justice, you mean?" Minerva asks, and when Augusta doesn't answer, she sighs. "You aren't the only one with ideals, you know."
"I know," Augusta says, somewhat tersely. They fall silent for a moment.
Then, clearing her throat a little, Minerva asks, "Frank and Alice. Are they still...?"
Augusta nods. "No hope for those two. But I've known that for years."
Well, Minerva thinks, taking a sip of her wine, her friend has never been one for sentimentality.
"And you?" Augusta's eyes are searching hers, dark and stern as always. "How much longer are you going to stay at Hogwarts?"
"As long as they want me," Minerva shrugs. "It's my life, after all."
Silence again. Augusta is still studying her, her expression thoughtful, almost sly.
At length, she says, "Do you regret it?"
"My life? No." Minerva holds her gaze. "Do you?"
"There are some decisions I regret, and some I don't," Augusta says, waving for another drink. "Maybe I'll tell you about some of them."
~
She knows what they will say: N.E.W.T.s or no N.E.W.T.s, an academic career is still not what a young witch should aim for. There are jobs out there that are more suitable and easier to obtain -- perhaps she could apply for a position as secretary in the Ministry, or as assistant to the Healers in St. Mungo's? Such jobs are easy to quit, should she get married -- and she does want to get married, doesn't she?
Therefore, when Minerva gets the owl with the results, she doesn't tell her parents at once. Instead, she Apparates to Diagon Alley and goes straight to the Leaky Cauldron, where Augusta is serving drinks, a smile on her face which becomes real as soon as Minerva walks through the door. Coming over, she thrusts a Butterbeer into Minerva's hands and tells her to wait there until she's finished for the day, and then they will do something to celebrate properly.
~
They are well into their third drinks. By now Minerva's face is hot, and she's feeling as light-headed as a girl: Augusta has pulled out her pipe -- a funny habit, Minerva has always thought -- and is now lighting it with a tap of her wand.
"Do you remember when you used to work here?" Minerva asks, waving her hand at the pub.
Augusta rolls her eyes. "How can I forget? Long shifts, endless rows of customers..."
"Your pretty barmaid's robes..."
"Oh, those." Minerva laughs; Augusta drains her glass, then grins. "I suspect they were what caught Albert's interest to begin with."
Minerva doesn't reply. The subject of Augusta's husband is still a sore one, even after all this time. There is no good reason for it, she knows -- Augusta has made her choices in life, just as Minerva has made hers. Still, it's not something she likes to think about. She did enough of that, back then.
"So." Augusta sets down her newly-emptied glass on the table with a movement of sudden determination. Her eyes are glowing, as if she has reached a decision. "Are you staying in London tonight?"
Such an innocent question, yet it makes Minerva's heart skip a beat. She takes a deep breath. "Why are you asking?"
The small smile that lurks in the corner of Augusta's mouth is the sole reply she gets.
~
Being appointed Head Girl doesn't help. Being a top student doesn't help. Being one of Professor Dumbledore's favourites doesn't help, for Augusta Bones is done with her N.E.W.T.s, and Minerva is alone when she comes back to school in September, more alone than she was ever prepared for, with only her books to save her.
Books, and letters. Their owls fly back and forth, almost non-stop London-Scotland, at least during the first few weeks. After Christmas, Augusta's letters arrive more rarely, but Minerva is exceedingly busy herself, and so she almost doesn't notice.
~
Augusta's flat is not very large, but it is cosy, stuffed with old furniture, photographs, and souvenirs from Neville's childhood. The house where she and Albert once lived was sold after Frank and Alice's attack, she explains as Minerva sits down on the large, worn sofa. This is the place her grandson grew up, and this is the place where Augusta will spend the rest of her days.
"It's nice," Minerva says as she accepts another glass of wine, cheerfully ignoring the small voice of reason that tells her she has had enough already. She'll only live once, after all, and now that she's here, finally, in Augusta's home, reason can mind its own business for a while.
"Thank you," Augusta says, sitting down next to her. The smile is gruff, but fond; Minerva learnt to read it years ago. "It was nice of you to come."
This is the key. They both know it.
When Augusta reaches out to touch her cheek, Minerva finds herself frozen to the spot: she knows what is coming, she longs for it, she dreads it. She hardly dares to breathe as Augusta's fingers ghost over her face.
"You were always so pretty," Augusta murmurs. Minerva squirms a little, self-consciously. "You still are. These lines -" and her index finger traces the wrinkle between her eyebrows, gently, " - they tell me of your character. The years have only made you stronger."
Minerva closes her eyes as the finger rests lightly on her lips. "I'm not the only one."
"Indeed, you aren't," Augusta says, and kisses her.
~
"Do you like it?"
The whisper is intense in her ear, and Minerva nods, biting her lip as another finger slides into her.
"I'm not hurting you, am I?" Augusta asks, and there is real worry in her voice. Shaking her head, Minerva leans closer, until their lips are almost touching.
"Continue," she manages. "It's good."
And it is, even if it burns a little, because her friend is inside her now, touching her body from within, and it's the closest Minerva has ever been to anyone. She doesn't want it to stop.
The seventh-year dormitory is vacated, thankfully; everyone else is outdoors, enjoying the spring sun. Normally Minerva would have joined them, but she knows that nothing comes close to this, to letting Augusta show her this mystery of what she has finally come to realise is a woman's body.
~
They never leave the sofa. Instead, they end up lying there wrapped together like teenagers, all clumsy mouths and roaming hands. It feels, Minerva thinks dizzily as Augusta unbuttons her robes with trembling hands, as if she has slept -- no, been under a curse is more like it -- for the last fifty years, but now it all comes back, as if all her body needed to remember was a kiss.
Two old women, yes, and two old warriors; two old friends who have a great deal of catching up to do.
When they are both naked, Minerva remembers with a pang that they used to be shy around one another, normally keeping their undergarments on until they both were under the sheets. There is no need for that, now, and so she allows Augusta to look and touch all she likes, while Minerva, in turn, scrutinises the body of her friend, tentatively running her hands over skinny arms and drooping breasts, loving each mark and wrinkle.
"May I?" Augusta asks, her voice low and blurred. Minerva swallows, but nods, lying back on the sofa and spreading her legs.
It is just as wonderful as it used to be. If anything, it is even better than she has allowed herself to remember, and she moans, eager as a girl on her wedding night, as Augusta presses on, tongue and fingers caressing her in ways which are absolutely incomparable, and Minerva sobs as she shakes, for this is all she could have dreamt of and hoped for and longed for, and now she has it.
Afterwards, Augusta suggests they move to her bed. There is a wry tone in her voice which seems to hint that they won't be leaving it anytime soon.
~
It is quite normal for prefects to befriend one another. Moreover, it is quite normal for two young witches to become friends, especially when they are both headstrong and stubborn and impatient, or when they both lack aptitude for -- as well as interest in -- wooing young wizards.
At least, that is what Minerva tells herself. But it doesn't explain why her books and her studies, once so important to her, seem to have been overshadowed by the enormous, incredible, unfathomable miracle of Augusta's smile.
She'll do anything to bring that smile out.
~
"You know," Minerva says, several hours later, when the sky is already growing lighter in the east, "I will go back to Hogwarts in September."
"Of course you will."
Augusta lights her pipe and raises a finger to caress Minerva's cheekbone. "But you will stay here with me until then. Won't you?" she adds, a strange and sudden quiver in her voice.
Minerva smiles, touching her cheek in return. "Maybe."
She is old; they both are. She does not regret her life, even if she has not had everything she wanted -- but then again, who does?
Right now, she does not want to do anything but lay here in Augusta's arms, comfortably resting and knowing that fifty years isn't really that much time.