Chapter 1
Severus couldn’t breathe.
While there are thousands of plausable causes for a shortness of breath, Severus was experiencing what might be the worst kind. Self-inflicted oxygen deprivation. He sat on the floor, legs pulled to his chest and head between his knees, unbreathing.
How could he dare breathe, when the love of his life lay five feet away, lifeless, having taken her last breath mere minutes before he arrived. Her body now cold and eyes lifeless. Eyes that had been as vibrant as the spell that killed her.
Oh, how he wished it had been him. Maybe that was why his body was robbing him of air.
Maybe it was the lack of oxygen that prevented him from snarling at Hagrid as he left with a screaming bundle in his arms. For daring to enter the room where his beloved lay slain.
It wasn’t until much later that he let out a scream, the shock finally wearing off. Probably the loudest he had let out since he was a child, under the fist or foot of Tobias Snape.
It was then that something magnificent happened.
*･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:･'* ﾟﾟ'･:.｡. .｡.:･゜ﾟ･*
Mahin Rouhani was in Godric’s Hollow.
How this had come to be, she had no idea, considering she couldn’t remember a single thing prior to her arrival. She could however recall the many dreams she had about the place, always with images of a one-year-old boy with a peculiar scar on his head. Of the house standing directly in front of her. But all she could recall were these dreams. These visions.
Mahin knew nothing at that moment. Nothing except that she needed to be in that building immediately. There was someone there, she knew not who, that needed her, in a way she had never been needed before.
She quickly made her way through the open gate and into the home. While her visions had shown her many dead bodies, nothing could have prepared Mahin for the acrid odor of death that permeated what appeared to be the living room. With no time to lose and very little time to adjust, her body guided her to the staircase on the right, so easily that she wondered if she truly had been there before. She was faced with a man she recognized, the father of the boy. He lay on his back upon the stairs. His golden skin now dull of life, desolate brown eyes staring through skewed glasses at the ceiling. She lifted the glasses gently, taking a finger to each eyelid and closing them, in hopes he could now find peace.
As Mahin continued up the stairs, the sound of crying became more clear. At the top she found a man she did not recognize, curled in on himself, shoulders wracked by sobs, his form thrown over the corpse of a red-haired woman. She lay on her stomach, lifeless arm stretched towards an empty crib. At that she faltered.
“Where is the boy." She spoke, for what felt like the first time in her life. It was only then that the weeping man lifted his head, the shock of her sudden presence evident on his face. He seemed to mull over the question for a moment, before shifting his gaze over to the abandoned cradle. His eyes widening for only a moment before he schooled his face once more.
“And what business would that be of yours?” He bit out. Now it was Mahin’s turn to widen her eyes. Although she knew this was quite an odd predicament, Mahin hadn’t been expecting the level of venom directed at her.
“Well, this is a problem. He was just here. Did you really not notice him leave? I don’t believe I must explain to you the urgency of the current situation.” She sniped back, beginning to pace. “I mean, he didn’t just get up and walk out on his own, and he surely survived the curse, I know it.”
Before the man could respond she spoke again, “Oh wait! I know where he is, although I don’t quite know how to get there.” She turned to the now-standing man. “I need your help to find it.”
“And what makes you think I’ll help you, I don’t even know who you are.” He glared, eyes distrusting, nearly manic.
“I’m Mahin. Mahin Rouhani.” She held out her hand, then slowly withdrew it when she received nothing but a raised eyebrow, “I know this must seem strange, insane even, considering the events that have taken place tonight, but there is a terrible fate awaiting that poor boy and we are probably the only people who can help him.” She wipes her sweatty palms on her frock as she continues, “That old man with the long white beard and ridiculous clothes is going to place the child, Harry, with his aunt. His aunt who you very well know doesn’t like people like him. Like you and his mother. He will insist upon it though. Therefore I must insist on the opposite. So, I’ll ask you formally, will you help me get there?”
The man, Severus her brain supplies her in a muffled echo, stares intensely into her eyes for a moment. In his gaze she somehow knows that she must press forward the proof in her mind so that he may believe her, and thus she feels a wind run through her brain, tickling at the memories. Severus’ scowl deepens before he grabs her by the arm. The last thing she hears is a loud ‘crack’ noise as her vision swims.