"Kid, we've talked this to death, come on, I have work to do." 

"Less than I do, I'd wager. You know, since I am self-studying your bloody curriculum." 

"Oh, is that your new excuse, it's somehow my fault you failed your OWL." 

"Marchbanks is biased to all hell. I did fine in Trocar's class." 

"You audited Trocar's class." 

"Yeah! And did fine! And you're just being a dick because you think, what, your niece-in-law can do better?" 

Scoff. "It's not actually my problem if she decides she'd rather have a dead boyfriend than an evil one." 

"She wouldn't have to have either if you'd teach me how--" 

"I could spend ten years on you and all it'd do is make you die about ten seconds slower." 

"Argh!" Stomp stomp stomp. Mutter mutter. "Goddamned racist. Oh the Weasleys are blood traitors, that totally means they'll be normal about it, ha..." 

"Minerva, dear! I was so delighted to hear from you, it's been entirely too long," hums Augusta, sweeping through the entrance hall like it's her own estate and hooking an elbow around the Transfiguration professor's without breaking stride. "I know you think work-life balance is some kind of exotic fruit but really." 

Most people under this circumstance would stumble and perhaps even fall over upon this occurrence; Augusta Longbottom moves at something of a speed. 

But if you were to try to rank every wizard in the Isles by combined total athletic ability and combat effectiveness, Minerva McGonagall would probably be in the top ten. Maybe even the top five.(1) She's pivoted smoothly and fallen into step slightly before she even actually consciously registers her old friend as a human person and not an environmental hazard. "I'll have you know," she sniffs, "I'm well above average on this metric for Hogwarts professors."  

(1) This depends on weighting, since you have to consider outlier-uneven combinations like Albus Dumbledore, who could outfight any three other people on the planet while standing perfectly stationary but if somehow completely prevented from doing magic would be no more resilient against being punched in the face than any other ninety-year-old man who spends most of his time sitting at desks, or Aidan Lynch, who is astoundingly talented at Quidditch and could probably physically lift and throw a person twice his mass without breaking a sweat but cannot cast a shield charm to literally save his life. But the skillsets overlap nonzero enough that by any reasonably sensible weighting, you'd see a lot of the same names pretty near the top of the list, at least in this decade: Filius Flitwick, Arcturus Black, Septimus Weasley, Peggy Carter (Sr.), Abraxas Malfoy, Antonin Dolohov(2), Peter Pevensie, Bellatrix Black-Lestrange... 

(2) Unless of course you have an accurate view of his combat prowess (which most people don't). Antonin Dolohov is an exceptional strategist and not actually a very good duellist. He mostly survives fights by standing behind Abraxas. 

"I suppose how this statistic is known is rather self-explanatory, isn't it." 

Wry smile. "Yes." 

It's a lovely day outside. 

".... my office is that way." 

"Yes, yes. It's sunny! Let's sit in the courtyard!" 

"The students," this isn't exactly a question or a statement and she cuts it off before actually saying might hear something they shouldn't, which will only cause anyone within a hundred years to be listening very closely. 

"Pah. Learn to choose your words. I know this is very difficult for Gryffindors but I believe in you." 

Fond, resigned sigh. 

Minerva sits down at an outdoor table and says, firmly, to the table, "An Elf, please." 

One appears promptly. "Yes'm!" 

"Could you please fetch me my chess set, from the shelf above my desk, and also a tea service." 

"Certainly!" the little creature in his Hogwarts tea towel chirps, and vanishes again with a pop. 

A moment later a chessboard appears on the table in front of her, populated on one side, and next to it a wooden tray with a merrily steaming teapot and two ceramic cups with hand-painted hogwarts logos on them. 

"Ooh!" says the white King in a tiny tinny voice, peering up at Augusta with delight. "A lovely afternoon to you good madame!" 

Augusta produces black pieces neatly one at a time from her hat.