HP: Hogwarts Snake

After class, Della was called to Snape's office, and unsurprisingly, she saw Dumbledore sitting in his office chair.

"What is this? Skipping the agent interview step entirely?" Della curled her lips slightly, looking at Snape with a mocking expression.

“If you insist on calling yourself an agent, then, with all due respect,” Snape said coldly, “you are not qualified, Miss Riddle.”

He emphasized the word "Miss," engaging in a fierce battle of wits with Della, neither of them gaining the upper hand.

Dumbledore watched the two Slytherins bickering and chuckled twice, his aged voice brimming with unusual vitality. "You're in much better shape than I expected, Della. You're quite like a child."

Snape frowned, clearly disagreeing with Dumbledore's assessment that Della was 'like a child,' while Della nodded nonchalantly, accepting Dumbledore's kind words well, "I'm glad I didn't cause you too much worry, Headmaster Dumbledore."

"Is there anything you'd like to share with me, Della?" Dumbledore beckoned to Della, gesturing for her to sit in the chair in front of his desk.

Della pulled out a chair and sat down, glancing at Snape again. "Is Professor Snape going to stay here all the time? Even a double agent is better at feigning ignorance, isn't he?"

“You seem to have a problem with me today, my nominal daughter?” Snape raised an eyebrow.

“I can’t help it, spiders and black magic have stirred up some unpleasant memories of another father of mine,” Della tilted her head, her smile never fading. “So please forgive me, Professor.”

Della has become a bit of a troublemaker, I don't know where she picked it up from...

Dumbledore and Snape both thought the same thing as they looked at Della.

“So you really want to hear it, Professor Snape?” Della asked again. “For example, my first question is about the date of Headmaster Dumbledore’s death.”

Snape frowned, looking at Della more scrutinizingly, but he couldn't detect any genuine emotion of regret or fear in the girl's cynical smile.

"You can leave now, Severus," Dumbledore said decisively, ignoring Snape's attempt to argue, and waved him out again. "Remember to tell him you left Della in the office to clean."

Reluctantly, Snape left. Only after the door closed did Della focus her attention on Dumbledore's deep blue eyes. She asked, "Headmaster Dumbledore, why are you so calm about death?"

She anticipated that Dumbledore would know about Voldemort's orders to Draco, given Snape's presence as a spy, so she took the opportunity to trick him. However, Dumbledore's reaction was beyond her expectations.

It was as if they were ready to die.

But there's no need for that.

"Isn't death a normal thing for someone my age?" Dumbledore said, still as kind and calm as ever.

“I don’t believe you’re the kind of person who would accept the idea of ​​birth, aging, sickness, and death during wartime,” Della said, scrutinizing Dumbledore. Her gaze paused briefly before settling on his hand. “What happened to your hand?” she asked.

She noticed that Dumbledore's right hand on the table was wearing a black glove, while his left hand, adorned with a square ring, was exposed. This left hand was the same one Dumbledore had used to raise a glass to her a few days earlier.

“Your insight is beyond my expectations, Della,” Dumbledore sighed, removing his gloves to reveal his charred hands. “But death is indeed a normal thing for someone my age.”

"How did you do it?" Della asked softly. "Is there no other way?"

“I think a quick death would be a mercy to me,” Dumbledore smiled, putting his gloves back on. “It would be even better if the death had some value.”

“However, I don’t want you to lay a hand on me,” Dumbledore looked up at Della. “Your soul has never fallen, Della, and I don’t want to become the soul that drags you down.”

“But I killed Quirrell, you know, Professor Dumbledore,” Della said, her voice trembling slightly as she spoke of this past she could now face with equanimity. “A soul tainted by murder is impure.”

“You did it out of necessity, you repented, you suffered for it for a long time,” Dumbledore’s voice was filled with admiration and affection, “and I think this flash of humanity is proof of the purity of the soul. You have never changed, nor have you fallen, Della.”

“…” Della raised her chin, took a deep breath with trembling hands, and managed to hold back her tears. She said in a hoarse voice, “I am so touched that you never gave up on me, Dumbledore.”

Dumbledore looked at Della, reached out and touched her head with his withered hand, just like that night before. "This 'never' started with you, Della."

Della looked at the kind old man, her eyes becoming even more moist. She quickly averted her gaze, swallowed hard, and swallowed all the trembling she felt, ending this topic that she could no longer bear.

"Alright, Professor, let's get back to the main topic. Before your worthwhile death, I'm afraid I need to trouble you with one more thing."

“What?” Dumbledore withdrew his hand. “I would be more than happy to help you, Della. You have always been one of my favorite students.”

“Recently, some people have said the same thing about me, that I’m one of their favorite students.” Della smiled again, returning to her composed demeanor, only the tears in her eyes betraying her true feelings.

"However, just as I cannot interfere with your decisions, I think I would also find it a bit difficult to interfere with that teacher."

Dumbledore frowned, a vague guess forming in his mind, yet he found it too absurd. "Which teacher?"

“Grindelwald,” Della said, voicing the speculation that Dumbledore had denied, “In fact, I secretly broke him out of prison, and in about half a month, news will spread that he has ‘died of old age’ in Nurmengard.”

The girl's deliberately emphasized pronunciation indicated that things were not as they seemed. Dumbledore's eyebrows furrowed more and more, revealing an astonishment he had never shown before. He asked incredulously, "Are you... joking?"

“When I lose control of him, the professor should know whether it was a joke or not,” Della said, her voice suddenly rising, finally revealing her regret over Dumbledore’s impending death. “I forgot, Headmaster Dumbledore will be gone by then, it seems—”

Della drew out her words, but remained silent, only looking at Dumbledore, waiting for his response.

“And you say you can’t interfere with my decisions,” Dumbledore smiled helplessly, “but I’m going to die, Della, unreality always has flaws.”

“This kind of thing is best left to the person who asked you to do it,” Della smiled slightly, extending her hand to Dumbledore. “If I may ask, what is your expected date of death?”

"Watch Draco and Harry's progress, especially Harry's," Dumbledore said, shaking Della's hand.

The cooperation agreement has been officially reached.