Minerva/Augusta – Prompt Teacup
"Augusta, if I had wanted to drink average tea in complete silence, I would've stayed home," Minerva said flatly, breaking what had become a long pause.
The witch's dark eyes gazed quizzically across the rim of the cup, resting on her current companion who sat in a similar chair to her own on the other side of an ornate coffee table. Augusta Longbottom was incredibly thin, her long legs crossed and clothed in sensible stockings. The paleness of her ageing skin was accentuated by the almost glowing whiteness of her hair, which was piled dramatically on the top of her head. There was an aristocratic air about her, even when her polished accent couldn't be heard, with her string of pearls and arrogant brown eyes. Right now, there was also an air of danger.
Augusta put her cup down with a sinister clink.
"I thought we would finish our refreshment," she said cooly, "before I tore you apart."
Minerva smirked in an uncharacteristically mean way.
"You haven't got the teeth anymore."
The other witch's eyes narrowed.
"You told my grandson that I failed charms," Augusta breathed.
Minerva raised an eyebrow and replied simply, "you did."
"What I choose to tell Neville about my life is my own business," Augusta's voice sounded slightly strained.
The transfiguration teacher was quick to hit back.
"And the choices Neville makes about his future are my business," she snapped, "Yours too, if you would wake up a little."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Augusta hissed.
"He's not his father," Minerva replied.
"What is that supposed to mean!"
"Stop trying to turn him into Frank!"
Minerva had jumped to her feet, something she instantly regretted when she heard the sound of shattering china. Her cup had fallen to the floor, the dregs of her tea staining the carpet through the shards of now broken pottery. She looked apologetically at Augusta, who was frozen in her chair.
"Augusta, I-" Minerva began.
"- Alice gave me those," Augusta said, staring intensely at the coffee table, "the summer before it happened."
"I know," Minerva said softly, "I know, I'm sorry."
She bent down and began to pick up the pieces.
"Don't," Augusta said softly, "You'll cut yourself."
"I'd deserve it," Minerva whispered.
Augusta rose from her chair, a look of concern on her face. She knelt down Minerva and started to pick up the green shards. Both witches went for the last piece, the handle fully intact, and their hands touched, slightly wrinkled fingers dusting over each other. There was a moment of stillness.
"When did things change," Augusta's voice was hard, almost cracking, "so that all we can do is hurt each other?"
Minerva sighed, raising her head to stare into those all too familiar brown eyes.
"I wish I knew."