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Mopsus Sees All


An early summer thunderstorm blew over London, lightning streaking across the sky, lighting up the shape of Gringott’s Bank. Rain poured in sheets so thick it was hard to see and the patrons of Diagon Alley huddled from shop to shop, or else splashed frantically through puddles, rushing to where they needed to go. Carts were shut up and the umbrellas over the tables at the ice cream parlor were folded shut. A cloaked figure walked purposefully down the street, holding his hood on as the wind threatened to flow it off, his long white beard wagging about. He reached the dark storefront, the window panes old and corroded, rusty in color, and he paused a moment to read the barely visible lettering that had once been gold but faded with time and lack of care.

Past - Present - Future - Mopsus Sees All - Free Consultations.

Dumbledore stepped inside.

Out of the rain, he lowered the hood and squeezed the water from his poor beard as he looked about the curious little room he’d stepped into. Every single surface had been affixed with a clock using permanent sticking charms. They hung at odd angles, the hands and faces not always seeming to work properly or even read in measurements that were easy to understand, some covered with runes or symbols or even photographs of people. Some had spoons for hands and one particularly nasty one had actual hands for hands. Dumbledore shuddered at that one as his eyes inspected them all, waiting.

A figure appeared in the doorway - an old man with a cane that looked like the roots of many trees had been twisted together. The man’s eyes were open, but vacant, and milky white with blindness, the pupils faded, giving faded violet irises an eerie, empty sort of look. He man wore long, tattered robes of brown and his face was wrinkled so deeply that his skin seemed to fold upon itself in places. “Dumbledore,” he said in a low, rasping voice. “Headmaster of Hogwarts. You come to see me.”

“You sound surprised,” Dumbledore said in an admonishing voice.

“I sound annoyed is what I sound,” croaked the old man. “I expected you. Come, I have already prepared tea.” He turned and led the way back to a parlor, using his cane to feel the walk away before him, gliding the bottom of it back and forth in a wide arc across the hall.

Indeed, there was a tea already prepared and Dumbledore followed the seer into the room. “You will sit in the blue chair by the fire,” the old man said, and he waved his cane and the pot of tea, which had just begun to whistle on the fire, poured itself into the teacups already waiting on the table as Dumbledore settled into the indicated chair.

“Thank you most kindly, Kostos,” he said.

“Of course. Tea is the least I owe you, as I shall be refusing your request to fill the post at Hogwarts,” replied the seer.

“But Kostos, you’ve promised to come back to the school should I have need, don’t you recall?” Dumbledore said in a friendly, though persuasive tone.

“That was before,” the seer replied. “Things have changed.”

“What things?”

“Dark things.”

“I know that the Dark Lord threatens you,” Dumbledore said, and he looked the tea cup over for a moment, unsure if he fully trusted it or not. After all, Cassandra Vablatsky had died from a cup of tea, and she was heavy on his mind at this moment, seeing as it was her post which he was seeking to fulfill. “I can offer you safety.”

“Safety as you offered Veigler? As you offered Vablatsky? As you provided for the Bell Family and for Honey Pettigrew? Safety as you’ve given all of those who have suffered already for this war?”

The words stung and Dumbledore closed his eyes as the pains hit his heart for each name. He opened them after a beat and said thickly, “You are safer at Hogwarts than you are in Diagon Alley, without so much as a lock on your door.”

“I have locks,” the old man wheezed, “I have defenses. I knew you were coming, Albus.” He paused. “Drink your tea. I haven’t poisoned you. Poison is far too delicate an art for an old man with shaking hands.”

Dumbledore lifted the cup and raised it in a cheers to the old man, then took a sip. The tea was warm with cinnamon. “Sir,” Dumbledore said patiently, “I know your fears about coming to Hogwarts - and I understand - but you were always one of my very favorite professors - despite how I loathed the subject of divination. You were the only one who made me believe in prophecies. And in a time like this, with such dangerous waters being tread, my students need to be awakened to the world around them. You can do that, I know.”

“I can,” the seer replied.

“The Dark Lord demands knowledge from you that you cannot provide and eventually he will tire of pressing and he will kill you,” Dumbledore said point blank. “If you are not here to kill, he will have a far harder time of it.”

“But kill me he will.”

“Don’t say such things,” Dumbledore replied.

“Sometimes, Albus, death is a relief when you are as old as I am. It’s but another great adventure to a well organized mind.”

“I rather like that,” Dumbledore murmured. “But I don’t like you speaking of death as though yours is a death that is coming.”

“Mopsus sees all,” the man answered.

“Perhaps most would be a better term,” Dumbledore suggested. “For you do not see how Voldemort gets the Boy, correct?”

“Vague shapes begin to form, but nothing concrete. There are too many factors yet to come into play that will create the situation upon which the Boy will build his choices. There’s still time to stop him from getting the Boy, if only those factors could be changed, but the courses of time are very hard to change. This you know from your own experience.”

Dumbledore looked down at his palms. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Gellert was always destined for great things… I still recall the first time that I saw him and how hungry he was to gain power…” the seer shook his head, his eyes still vacant and milky, “Gellert was even more starved for it than Tom Riddle. If he had found the wand sooner… it would be an entirely different world, Albus.”

“That is neither here nor there,” Dumbledore replied. Again, pains to his heart as the seer spoke and he put down the tea cup with a slightly shaky hand. “I have not thought of Gellert in years.”

“Liar,” whispered the seer, a smile spread across his face. “The Phoenix flies at least thrice a year, there is no use in covering it up, especially from me. Mopsus sees all.”

It was one of the exceptionally rare occasions that Dumbledore actually blushed. He smoothed his beard to redirect his eyes from the seer’s, even though his eyes were unseeing, he felt as though the old man could see more than even he, Dumbledore, could. He cleared his throat. “This is why I need you at the castle, Kostos,” he said lowly. “I’ve made these mistakes before and I do not wish to make the same ones again.”

The seer paused and drew a breath. “They will be different mistakes this time.”

“Well that is quite unsettling,” Dumbledore chuckled, “Is there no good news?”

“The Chosen One.”

“The Chosen One?” Dumbledore’s voice was confused.

“Mopsus sees all.”

Dumbledore mulled this for a moment, then asked, “Kostos, what will it take to make you return to the school? I’m going to be terribly honest with you. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

The seer thought for a long moment, his eyes closed. “I’ll need my clocks,” he said thickly.

“Of course,” Dumbledore replied, and he drew his wand, “We’ll bring the entire hall, if you wish. You can install it wherever you would like.”

“I will need access to an unmonitored floo network.”

Dumbledore hesitated, “What for?”

The seer said, “The private business of Mopsus.”

“Unmonitored outgoing network,” Dumbledore said, “But only you can physically enter the castle via the floo to your office. Enough?”

“Enough,” agreed the seer. He clasped his hands, “And finally, my third condition, and by far the one that shall be hardest for you to allow.”

“Name it,” Dumbledore said.

“So eager without knowing what it is I need.”

“I need you at Hogwarts, Kostos,” the headmaster answered, “And the cost is of no concern.”

Mopsus murmured, “You may feel differently when it is a child's soul that you must barter…”

Dumbledore’s eyes widened as he looked in horror at the seer, “A child's soul -- but -- why?”

“You shall see in the full of time.”

Dumbledore stammered, “But -- I don’t understand.”

“Mopsus sees all,” the seer replied, grinning in amusement.