Author's Note: Here it is, the first chapter of the rewrite. It's similar, in many ways, to the first version, but there are some specific differences. Any thoughts?
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything involving Harry Potter.
Warnings: May contain Spoilers for HBP.
Harry Potter and the Hidden Truth
In following him, I follow but myself;
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
But seeming so, for my peculiar end;
For when my outward action doth demonstrate
The native act and figure of my heart
In complement extern, 'tis not long after
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve
For daws to peck at. I am not what I am.
Othello Act 1, Scene 1, Line 56-65
The air around him was heavy with the scent of death; the fog so thick he could barely see the brilliant flashes of red and green lights as the curses flew past him. The only sound he could hear were the shrieking words echoing through his head.
"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"
His mother begging, pleading for not her life, but his. She'd sacrificed herself for him - and how had he chosen to repay her? By surrounding himself in darkness, in the madness that now lay in front of him. The mindless killing, the violence, the power... causing her sacrifice to become null and void.
He was hidden underneath his invisibility cloak moving away from the lingering fog, away from voice in his head. His feet moving numbly, mechanically. He knew where he was going - to whom he was going. He no longer attempted to fight it. The draw was much too strong, and he was far too weak. Pain seared through his forehead, but he'd grown accustomed to it - welcomed it even. It kept him grounded, kept him focused.
He scanned the area out of habit, still - even now - in denial about his reasons for coming tonight, his reasons for disobeying a direct order. He hated the man, loathed the man, and he was quite certain the feeling was absolutely mutual, as much as he protested, as much as the Headmaster had protested while he was still living, but Harry knew. Twenty years of hatred did not end because of a little blood. Yet here he was, standing on the battlefield, thinking not of fulfilling the prophecy as he surely ought to be thinking, but how to save his life no matter what the cost.
He was pulled to the side by a pair of strong hands. Hot air tickled his neck as the offender pressed against him.
"You shouldn't have come," a drawling voice hissed in his ears.
Harry nodded at the whispered words before pulling himself free and pushing his way through the crowd that had gathered around the two men.
The two men in question moved with the grace only the two deadliest of predators could boast, each hunting their prey. On and on it went, neither one of them gaining much ground, but neither of them losing ground either. It was only a matter of time though, Harry knew. Lord Voldemort was a master dueler, after all, and although Snape himself was an excellent duelist, his stamina would never compare to the Dark Lord, who was now more immortal than any other man alive.
Voldemort whipped his head around to where Harry stood, rage etched onto his every feature. It was only a moment, just a moment, but Snape took advantage of it, and Harry watched in horror as Severus Snape raised his wand, the green light beginning to eminate from it's tip.
"Avada- " he began.
Time stood still as Harry threw himself still covered by his invisibility cloak in front of the on-coming Killing Curse.
"Kedavra," Snape finished coldly.
Green light flashed in front of Harry, and then he knew no more.