Minerva should have burned the letter immediately.
That would have been the sensible thing to do.
After all, she was currently leading a resistance movement from inside an occupied school while Death Eaters stalked the corridors and children learned to fear the sound of footsteps.
She did not have time for nonsense.
Unfortunately, the newest source of intelligence for the Order specialized in nonsense.
The young professor had arrived at Hogwarts under impeccable credentials and deeply questionable circumstances.
Officially, she was tolerated by the Death Eaters.
Unofficially, she was one of the Order's most valuable spies.
The information she provided had already saved lives.
Which made her infuriating.
Because someone risking her neck daily should not have the energy to be irritating.
Yet somehow she managed.
Particularly whenever she addressed Minerva.
Gatita.
Minerva despised it.
She had informed the younger woman of this repeatedly.
The younger woman persisted.
The letter now resting on Minerva's desk appeared harmless enough.
Cream parchment.
Elegant handwriting.
No seal.
No signature.
A terrible sign.
Minerva unfolded it.
Her expression darkened immediately.
"Oh, for heaven's sake."
The visible contents were scandalous.
Not explicit.
Worse.
Poetic.
A lengthy description of silver eyes, sharp wit, graceful hands, and the admirable beauty of witches capable of turning into cats.
Minerva felt personally attacked.
Halfway through, the author compared her to moonlight.
Near the end she compared her to a particularly judgmental goddess.
The final line was the worst.
If I survive this war, perhaps you'll finally allow me to buy you tea, gatita.
Minerva folded the parchment.
Refolded it.
Then considered throwing it out a window.
The audacity.
The absolute audacity.
Somewhere in Hogwarts a spy was risking execution and apparently dedicating her remaining free time to writing flirtatious nonsense.
Minerva set the letter aside.
She ignored it for almost twenty minutes.
Then she picked it up again.
Because the woman was a spy.
A very good spy.
And spies rarely wasted parchment.
A feeling of dread settled over her.
"Fine."
With a sharp movement of her wand, Minerva activated the decoding charm.
The writing shifted instantly.
The compliments vanished.
The poetry dissolved.
Military intelligence appeared.
Her irritation disappeared just as quickly.
Names.
Supply movements.
Planned searches.
Interrogations.
Students under suspicion.
A warning concerning safe houses.
A list of Death Eater visitors expected within the month.
Merlin.
The information was extraordinary.
Potentially enough to save dozens of people.
Minerva sank slowly into her chair.
The young fool had hidden all of this inside what appeared to be an embarrassingly affectionate letter.
Nobody would have suspected.
No Death Eater would willingly continue reading long enough.
It was brilliant.
Infuriating.
Brilliant.
At the bottom, beneath all the intelligence, one line remained unchanged.
The cipher had not altered it.
The words sat there exactly as before.
Please stay alive, gatita.
Minerva stared.
Longer than she should have.
Outside her office, Hogwarts groaned beneath the weight of occupation.
Students suffered.
The war worsened.
Albus was gone.
Yet somehow, hidden among reports of arrests and death, a reckless young woman had managed to send something else.
Hope.
Minerva carefully folded the letter and placed it in a locked drawer.
For evidence, she told herself.
For future reference.
Certainly not because she intended to keep it.
And absolutely not because she was already imagining the satisfaction of deducting fifty points from the woman responsible the next time they met.
Though, if the girl survived long enough to receive that punishment, Minerva suspected she would consider it a victory.