Minerva McGonagall had not trusted easily before the war.
After Albus's death, she trusted almost no one at all.
The castle felt wrong without him.
Too quiet.
Too cold.
Every corridor carried the weight of unfinished conversations and unspoken grief. Even the portraits seemed subdued.
The resistance meeting had ended hours ago.
Most of the students had returned to their dormitories.
The professors had dispersed.
Minerva remained alone in her office, reviewing reports by candlelight.
Then she felt it.
Movement.
A presence.
Her wand was in her hand before conscious thought arrived.
The door opened.
A figure stepped inside.
Minerva fired first.
A stunning spell crossed the room like lightning.
The witch barely dodged.
A second curse followed.
Then a third.
Only when the intruder shouted her name did Minerva finally stop.
Silence fell.
Breathing.
Footsteps.
The scent of rain and smoke.
The young woman slowly lowered her own wand.
She looked exhausted.
Thinner than Minerva remembered.
There was dried blood on one sleeve.
"You might have killed me."
Minerva's expression did not soften.
"You approached a wanted resistance leader in the middle of a war. What did you expect?"
The woman actually smiled.
A reckless thing.
A tired thing.
The sort of smile people wore when they had become too accustomed to danger.
Minerva hated it instantly.
Because she remembered when that smile had been warmer.
Years ago.
Before espionage.
Before funerals.
Before the war consumed everyone.
"You have information?" Minerva asked.
The witch nodded.
Immediately serious again.
She crossed the room and handed over several folded parchments.
Names.
Locations.
Supply routes.
Movements.
Enough intelligence to save lives.
Enough intelligence to get her tortured if discovered.
Minerva read in silence.
Her jaw tightened.
Merlin.
The risks this woman was taking were becoming intolerable.
"You should not be here."
"Probably not."
"You should have sent a Patronus."
"They're monitoring communications."
Minerva closed her eyes briefly.
Of course they were.
Nothing could ever be simple.
When she looked up again, she found the younger woman studying her.
Not fearfully.
Not challengingly.
Simply watching.
The realization struck her suddenly.
This witch had crossed enemy territory.
Risked capture.
Risked execution.
Risked being mistaken for an enemy and cursed on sight.
All to deliver information to the Order.
To her.
A flicker of guilt appeared.
Only a flicker.
Years ago, Minerva had defeated her in every duel they ever fought.
The younger woman had improved considerably since then.
Yet Minerva knew one truth remained unchanged.
If she truly intended harm, she would never have walked through the door openly.
"You are injured."
The woman glanced at the blood on her sleeve.
"It looks worse than it is."
"A statement universally followed by something catastrophic."
A faint laugh escaped her.
There it was.
For the first time all evening.
A glimpse of the person beneath the spy.
Minerva felt something in her chest tighten unexpectedly.
Not suspicion.
Not quite.
Concern.
The sort she had spent months trying not to feel.
Because caring about people during a war was dangerous.
Because Albus was dead.
Because too many names already occupied the memorial list.
Yet despite every warning from reason, Minerva found herself stepping forward.
"Sit down."
The younger woman blinked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You are bleeding on my floor."
A pause.
Then another small smile.
Tired.
Relieved.
Human.
Minerva pretended not to notice.
Somebody had to remain sensible.
Merlin knew it was not going to be the spy standing in her office after crossing half of Britain to deliver intelligence personally.
And for the first time since Albus's death, Minerva allowed herself to feel something dangerously close to hope. You remained loyal. Unlike Severus. You risked everything... Just to bring information to her. To her. This shouldn't make her heart flutter.