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The Moment You’ve Been Waiting For


A few cool dots landed on James Potter’s cheek.

Speckles of snow falling from the high window.

He groaned as the sensation of the chill stirred him from what had been a very deep sleep, somewhere on the verge of unconsciousness.

He’d been having a dream.

It was a very strange dream for in the dream.

He was laying exactly where he was now, except for one difference. Mopsus. Mopsus was there in the dream. He stood at the edge of the cell, staring through the dark with his milky blind eyes, watching as James was cursed and hexed and as he fell to the stone again and again, his bones aching and his breath leaving him again and again.

“Mopsus is there, he’s there in the corner,” he said, but the Dark Lord, whose feet were the most James could see of him, never turned to look, but circled James with footsteps that sort of shuffled and barely left the stone, as though gliding more than walking. James stared ahead, his eyes unfocusing and refocusing upon Mopsus in the corner.

“Help me, old man,” he whispered, since Voldemort couldn’t see him anyway. “Why don’t you come over and help me?”

But Mopsus stood, clutching a watchin his palm, unmoving. Just watching.

James closed his eyes.

“Beg for death, James Potter,” Voldemort said lowly. “Beg for me to kill you.”

James’s eyes rolled to look up as best he could… Voldemort loomed over him. “Never,” he whispered.

“Oh we will see about that,” Voldemort answered. As he had done every time James had said these words to him.

And the dream changed then, and it was a new scene. A new memory. Voldemort again. And Mopsus in the corner. Watching. Ever watching. James hit the stone and he felt his ribs crack and his breathing began to hurt. It hurt to breathe. How could it hurt to breathe? Oh but it did.

“Beg for death, James Potter,” Voldemort said lowly. “Beg for me to kill you.”

And James had thought about it.

He had because surely it was easier than just laying here in this constant state of pain as he’d been doing. He went so far as to open his mouth… and Mopsus there in the corner met his eye and he shook his head no.

“Not yet, son,” Mopsus breathed. “Do not be giving up yet.”

And James had said, “No” - the shakiest no he had ever spoken.

Voldemort circled… circled… ever like a vulture.

“Do you refuse to beg for death because you are afraid of what others will think of you if they hear? Are you being too noble to beg? Well. You will before I am finished with you, Potter. You will beg me for mercy, you will beg me to end your life. And those who once loved you will be ashamed of you - ashamed of your memory. For how weak you’ve become. Look at you. Pathetic. Laying on the floor like you are. Sickening. You may think yourself noble, but you will beg me, Potter. They speak of you like you’re some great hero already - not even seventeen and you’ve faced me, they say. Not even seventeen and you’ve defied me, they say. Not even seventeen and you’ve saved the Minister for Magic, they say. Well, Potter. From now on - they will not speak of you. And if they do speak of you, it will be of how you begged to die.”

His feet shuffled around…

And a spell struck James that seemed to light his nerve endings on fire, rushing through his veins.

He thought again of begging. Of giving in.

“Don’t, son. Not yet,” Mopsus said in the corner. “Your moment will come.”

And the dream changed again and this time when he opened his eyes, he found Mopsus, sitting upon the floor, legs tangled about before him, with James’s head resting upon his lap, and James had lay there, feeling the Blind Seer’s touch as the man gently prodded at something in the region of James Potter’s heart.

“Just a few more precious seconds, James,” Mopsus whispered, and he continued on with his administrations. “Breathe deeply, my boy. Just a moment more… just a moment.”

James’s fingers had twisted ‘round the seer’s rough cloaks at the ankles that crossed beneath his chin. “I want to die.”

“No, you don’t,” Mopsus said. James closed his eyes as Mopsus’s fingers swept his face. “You don’t,” he repeated, “You are in pain, yes. Great and excruciating pain, but James Potter does not wish to die.”

“Can you take it away? The pain?” James asked.

“No,” Mopsus replied. “Only time can do that.”

“How much time?”

“Time.”

“Can I trade you… precious seconds… to end this pain?”

Mopsus whispered, “Precious seconds have already been paid, Mr. Potter.”

“I am afraid, Mopsus.”

“I know, son.” And Mopsus swept the messy twists of hair from James’s forehead and he whispered, “You hold on my boy. The moment you’ve been waiting for is nearly here...”

“Nearly here,” James breathed against the stone, waking up…

Mopsus was gone. He was alone in the dark and he let his eyes slip shut...

He could hear something far off. Shouting.

He shivered as a couple more snowflakes landed on the side of his face...

“You hold on my boy. The moment you’ve been waiting for is nearly here...”