A/N: The title of this chapter is taken from Algernon Swinburne's 'Garden of Proserpine'. And thanks to Hellinbrand for helping out with the conclusion of this chapter. Also, a quick request for those of you who do feel moved to review: what do you think of the Quidditch match here? Good? Bad? Average? The comments will directly affect how much Quidditch there is in future instalments, so I'd appreciate your feedback.

Chapter 11: Doubtful Dreams of Dreams

January turned to February, and Harry lay on his bed, feeling miserable. The news about Justin and Nick seemed to have covered the entire school by the time he left Dumbledore's office. The common room had fallen silent as he came through the portrait door, and he had gone straight up to bed. After breakfast the next morning, he had stopped going to the Great Hall, getting his friends to bring him food rather than run the gauntlet of whispers and accusatory stares whenever he saw someone.

Aside from his friends, there were a very few people seemed to believe that he wasn't the Heir, and that wasn't a testament to his character. It was more that they were largely Pureblood bigots who believed that as a halfblood he could not be the heir. And he couldn't tell anyone that he couldn't be the Heir, that it was Voldemort, because that would cause too much panic – if he was believed at all. And so he hid away in his room when he wasn't at class or at Quidditch practice. He wasn't sure whether the team believed him or not, but the twins did, and the other players wouldn't risk the team Beaters wrath.

This did nothing to assuage the constant whispering of coward through his brain. And he really was being cowardly. He had even taken to going to classes in his invisibility cloak to avoid confrontations. It was even worse than in the aftermath of the attack on Mrs Norris; people were actually scared of him now, not just suspicious. He knew he should have told Dumbledore everything, that the Headmaster wouldn't judge him. He might even have been able to come to some amazing conclusion based on Harry's information.

Most of the students who greeted him with cold, angry stares were from Hufflepuff. It seemed that most of the second years already knew what Justin had told Ernie and Susan about Harry's 'abnormalities', and that, coupled with the argument in the library and Justin's Petrification, seemed to clinch it in the eyes of the rest of the house. As far as he knew, most of the Gryffindors were on his side, and the other two houses were mixed roughly equally. That still meant that more of the school believed him dangerous than not, which was a depressing thought. Then, with a groan, he remembered that the next Quidditch game was against Hufflepuff. That was going to be great fun, he was sure of it.

"Harry, you've got to come down!"

"Why should I Hermione? I'll just have people staring at me, saying I'm a psycho. Why should I put up with that?"

"Because hiding away isn't going to make it go away. It's just making people think you're guilty and scared. And if you don't face them how can you prove your innocence?"

"I shouldn't have to! Dumbledore could – "

"Dumbledore could what?"

"Never mind. It's stupid. Look, I know that people are just going to keep talking but… I just can't face them Hermione. I'm sorry."

"Coward."

Harry's eyes widened, and he turned to face Ginny. She had a strange expression on her face, a slight shadow of malice that he had never seen there before, and her eyes were in shadow. She looked quite scary.

"What did you call me?"

"A coward. You aren't who I thought you were Harry. I mean, last year you quite casually went to fight a Death Eater by yourself. And you won't even face some children? What happened to you? Or maybe you do feel guilty."

Harry clenched his fists in anger, and his own eyes darkened slightly.

"I am not a coward Ginny. I'm not."

"Prove it."

Harry stared at her a moment longer, then stood up.

"Anyone else coming?"

And he walked out of the common room. Hermione looked at Ginny, an appreciative grin on her face.

"Where did you learn to manipulate people like that?"

"I've got six brothers Hermione. I have to protect myself somehow you know."

Neville shook his head as he stood up to follow his friend.

"He's such a Gryffindor. He's been scared to face them for days, but the moment someone else says that he storms off to confront them."

Harry strode towards the Great Hall in a fog of anger. How dare she talk to him like that? What did she know about it? Well he'd show them. There came a panting behind him as Neville hurried after him, eventually drawing level without a word.

He had calmed down somewhat by the time they reached the hall, and was aware that Ginny had played him shamefully easily; he hadn't realised before that he was so proud. The fact remained that she had been right, so he carried on through the door. Most people were concentrating on their food, only a few people bothering to look up, and if Harry didn't exactly meet their eye, he rationalised it by them being scattered across the room. Besides, he was looking at Dumbledore. The headmaster had a faint smile of approval on his lips, which lifted Harry's spirits a great deal.

As Harry worked his way through a generous serving of steak and kidney pie he heard someone walk up behind him, and braced himself accordingly. He refused to turn around until they actually spoke to him though. It took them a few moments, but eventually someone said his name. Harry scowled slightly as he recognised Ernie Macmillan's voice.

"So, daring to show your face again Potter?"

Harry finished his pie before turning around, which seemed to annoy Macmillan a great deal.

"I was getting a little bored Ernie. All these rumours are rather funny you know."

"We both know they aren't rumours don't we Potter?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, doing his best to imitate Snape's glare. He wasn't sure how well he succeeded.

"Do we? I'm afraid I don't, perhaps you'd care to enlighten me."

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about Potter. You're a dark wizard, the Heir of Slytherin. You're a danger to the school."

"No I'm not. It's nothing to do with me Macmillan. What's your evidence?"

The Hufflepuff smiled. He'd been waiting for that opportunity.

"You don't like Filch, and he tried to put you in detention. You don't like Justin, and you argued. Hagrid started spreading rumours about you in the pub last year, which got you some unwanted attention. You were passed out by Mrs Norris, which could have been magical exhaustion."

Harry smirked slightly. He was beginning to wish he'd come down before. This really was actually quite funny.

"Truly brilliant. Totally wrong of course, but brilliant. I've already told you, Hagrid's one of my closest friends. If I wanted to hurt Filch I'd have done something to him personally, not to Mrs Norris. As for Justin, I barely knew him. I didn't agree with the opinions he expressed, but I don't count that as a reason for trying to kill him. And what about the fact that the Heir of Slytherin is supposed to want to kill Muggleborns? I'm a halfblood; my mother was muggleborn; I've been brought up in the muggle world by muggles who I'm very fond of; one of my best friends is a muggleborn. Explain to me precisely how I'm supposed to hate them then?"

"You've been found at both attacks Potter, that's all the evidence we need."

"Nice to see you can keep an open mind about these things. Go away Macmillan. I'm trying to eat."

And Harry dismissed his accuser from his attention, returning to his food. Macmillan stood there blustering for a few more minutes, but soon realized that short of actually hexing him there was no way that Harry was going to pay any attention him. Grimacing slightly he returned to his seat, and huddled with his friends, casting dark looks at Harry every so often. A low murmur gradually began to ripple around the hall as the other students gossiped about Harry's statement.

Harry smiled to himself.

Harry was in an unexpectedly good mood as he walked down to the pitch for the game. Lockhart had decided to give a morale booster to the school the previous day; this had taken the form of a celebration for Valentine's Day. Lessons had been worse than usual, the ostentatiously pink decorations proving a great distraction. However, by the end of the day, Harry had had more fun than he had had since Christmas. Sitting reading a book in the common room, he had been shocked to see Ginny approach, a card in her hand and a strange expression on her face. She had thrust the card at him before hurrying off before he could say anything. Harry tore the card open with a stunned expression; he would not have expected a Valentine from Ginny. All was explained when he saw the poem. He had flung it aside and spent an enjoyable hour or so chasing Ginny around to make her pay for the joke.

However, as he pulled on his Quidditch robes, Harry was unable to repress his anxiety completely. They would be playing Hufflepuff, and many of the Hufflepuff students remained unconvinced by his counter-arguments. He was expecting a dirty game. It didn't help that the weather was absolutely foul; he would have real difficulty seeing his broom, let alone the snitch.

There was a tense atmosphere as the two teams lined up to fly out to the pitch. Fred and George were kidding around – careful to leave out their jokes about the Heir of Slytherin in the presence of the Hufflepuffs. The only Hufflepuff who seemed to be at ease in Harry's presence was the captain, a student named Diggory who was the team seeker. Harry would have felt better if he had been one of the beaters; as it was, the Hufflepuff beaters were grinning in a decidedly unpleasant fashion. Harry rather suspected that he would be their only target, and resolved to keep an eye out.

Eventually the doors to the pitch opened, and after the captains shook hands, the two teams soared into the air. As he did so, Harry felt his biggest grin in days spread across his face. This was going to be fine he told himself. So the Hufflepuffs would likely be out to get him; so what, he was the seeker, that happened all the time. He felt for the first time that he could afford to ignore the widespread hostility, which lifted an enormous weight from his shoulders.

Hovering high above the pitch, he squinted, trying to see the balls as they were released. The quaffle was surprisingly easy to see, due to its colour and size. The snitch might as well not have been there. As for the bludgers… He couldn't see them, but he could see other players weaving, which allowed him to hazard a guess as to their location.

Ten minutes later, and he was soaked to the bone, and still had no sign of the snitch. He had been floating around the perimeter of the pitch, trying to stay out of everyone's way – and watching Diggory carefully – and all he had achieved was the beginnings of a cold. Suddenly the hairs on back of his neck began to bristle, something which had in the past indicated danger. He swiftly rolled round on his broom, and the air whistled above him as a bludger flew past at devastating speed. There was a cheer from the crowd, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he watched it fly away.

Then it halted in mid-air, before flying back the way it had come – back at him.

Harry flew straight up, swerving to avoid Katie, who was flying past at the same time. The bludger followed, and instead of breaking off to attack the nearer target as it should have done, it too swerved to follow Harry. Harry watched this in disbelief, and had to duck to avoid getting hit full in the face. He flew off again, followed by the bludger. He flew past one of the Hufflepuff beaters, who had the same unpleasant grin on his face; a nasty thought crossed Harry's mind.

Then Fred appeared out of nowhere, smashing the bludger straight back at his opposite number. Fred grunted in satisfaction, before yelping in surprise as the bludger again reversed itself to fly back at Harry. Harry flew away once again, followed by Fred, who continued to try – unsuccessfully – to get rid of the bludger.

The game continued, with Fred and George both trying to send the bludger at someone, anyone else, but all to no avail. It even followed Harry during a time-out session. That proved it as far as Harry was concerned. His nasty thought had been right; someone had definitely tampered with the bludger.

Eventually, Fred and George proved unable to keep up with him. Harry's nimbus outstripped their brooms significantly, and they just weren't capable of doing the kind of acrobatics that he could to avoid injury. They were forced to leave him to it; there was another bludger out there, and it was causing havoc amongst the Gryffindor chasers. As they left, they combined their efforts to beat the bludger an incredible distance along the pitch, and Harry was able to gain a significant lead on it. He used the time to look for the snitch, this time with a new intensity. If he caught it, then the spells on the other balls would deactivate, ensuring his safety. He thought he caught a brief glimpse of it, and flew off in that direction, just as the bludger whistled past him once more. Hunched over his broom, Harry saw Diggory heading the same way, and realised that he had been right, that it was the snitch! He risked a glance over his shoulder, and grinned as he saw that the bludger was a fair distance from him.

But his elation was short-lived; not watching where he was going, he slammed straight into Diggory. The older boy cursed, and rolled away, glaring at Harry. Then he shot off after the snitch again. Harry took a second to get his bearings – and then the bludger finally caught up with him, smashing into his arm and snapping it with a vicious force. Harry screamed in pain and spun away. Incredibly, the bludger still seemed intent on following him, even though it had already hit him, and he now had difficulty keeping a tight grip on his wet broom. He flew off, gripping the broom with his knees, and all of a sudden had to dodge another bludger! The Hufflepuff beaters were now hitting the other bludger at him, although this one didn't seem to be attracted to him anymore than normal. Of course, given his injury, it was still difficult to avoid.

Harry flew straight across the pitch towards the Gryffindor goalposts. Diggory was flying around them, weaving in and out after the snitch, and Harry flew straight across his path. This put the older boy in the path of the ordinary bludger, and it snapped the end of his broom off. He spiralled off towards the ground, slowing himself by grasping the goalposts. Seeing a chance, Harry reached out his good arm, and felt the wings flutter against his fingertips – just as the bludger smashed into his leg. He screamed again, and fell from the sky. He was dimly aware of screams from the crowd as he hit the ground with a thud. His eyes widened as the bludger dropped towards him, and he twisted to avoid it; it couldn't still be after him surely? But after thudding into the ground it stayed still. It had just been deactivated.

He had somehow caught the snitch.

It was safe to say that Harry was not in a good mood – not that his friends were either. Gryffindor had won by a substantial margin, and Madame Pomfrey had fixed his arm and leg in less than a minute (which had been a lucky escape; Lockhart had tried to heal him, but Ron had 'accidentally' shoved him out of the way). But nothing had happened regarding the rogue bludger. Harry and the twins were the only ones who had really been aware of its strange behaviour; from the stands it had been raining so hard that no-one had noticed anything different, and the rest of the team had been dealing with their own problems.

Harry had said nothing to his friends about his suspicions. But anger was smouldering deep inside him, kindling a desire for revenge. He just wasn't sure who to go after. He was fairly sure that the Hufflepuff beaters had been involved in enchanting the bludger, but what about the rest of the team?

Then Fred and George arrived. They both had grim looks on their faces, and were flexing their hands, as if they wanted to hex someone. They sat down, and looked at Harry.

"Well, it was definitely enchanted Harry." said Fred.

"Yep, we heard Diggory having a go at Carter and Pechorin – the beaters. He wasn't happy at all to give him credit."

Harry had a distant look on his face.

"Did they say why they did it?"

"For the good of the school apparently. You know, because you're the Heir of Slytherin and all that crap."

"I see."

Harry sat there in silence, staring off into the distance. Fred and George shuffled in their seats. He was making them nervous. Indeed, the others looked equally nervous. Fred cleared his throat.

"So… Young Harry, name your retaliation. George and I will be happy to make them regret their stupidity."

"No. No I don't think so. Leave them alone. And don't tell anyone, I don't want – Carter and Duncan did you say? – to know that I know what they've done."

"Harry – "

"Promise me."

They all exchanged a worried glance. Neville reached out to his friend.

"Harry, what are you going to do?"

"What makes you think I'm going to do anything Nev? I'm always calm and responsible, you know that."

Ron shook his head, a sceptical expression crossing his face.

"Yeah. And you also told us you threatened Macmillan the other day. So you can understand why we might feel a little sceptical."

"Oh ye of little faith."

"Oh Harry, it's obvious you're going to do something!" Hermione snapped.

Harry grinned, a curiously unsettling sight, with nothing humorous in it.

"Well, I might try and get them to apologise. Goodnight guys; I've got some reading to do."

And with that he left the common room. His friends stared after him, uncomfortable expressions on their faces.

Zacharias Smith sat by the fire in the Hufflepuff common room, a look of disgust on his face. An appalling amount of people were clustered around Jack Carter and Joey Pechorin, the team beaters, congratulating them on taking revenge for the attack on Justin. It was unbelievable.

Zacharias couldn't believe the stupidity of people sometimes. This was Harry Potter they were talking about, the Boy-Who-Lived! As if he could be responsible for the attacks.

Some of Zacharias' closest friends believed that he had an obsession with the Boy-Who-Lived bordering on Colin Creevey levels. This was because not even his closest friends knew the truth about him.

He was a Seer.

Not in the same way as someone like Professor Trelawney – assuming she did actually have the Sight and wasn't a complete fraud. He would never make a prophecy, and he scorned the art of reading tea-leaves. But every so often, when he really concentrated, he would catch a glimpse of the future. It wouldn't always be anything particularly useful; he had once been given a vision of what he would be eating for dinner that evening, something spectacularly useless. The thing was, the significance of a vision wasn't always the important thing. The frequency of visions, and amount of visions he received at any one time were just as important – because too many visions at once could have a hugely detrimental effect on his mind. This would be far more likely to happen when he was around a large number of people, so Hogwarts was a rather hazardous environment for him.

To avoid this, he had made a point of going to see Harry on the train to Hogwarts, at the beginning of his first year. He had grown up hearing the story of the Boy-Who-Lived, and likely would have been something of a fan even without his Sight. However, the Smith family had their doubts about Voldemort's death. They believed that the events in Godric's Hollow were merely the consequences of a battle, not the end of the war. A setback for Voldemort, not his ultimate defeat. They believed that Harry would still have a role to play in the fight against Voldemort, and this had been confirmed in Zacharias' eyes when he met Harry. He had received no specific visions, but to his heightened Sight, there was a distinct air of destiny around the dark-haired boy.

In recognition of this, on his first night at Hogwarts, Zacharias had made Harry his anchor. This restricted all the visions he would ever receive to ones involving Harry from that point on. The benefits of this had been proved before the year was out. He had seen a vision of Harry being attacked in the Forbidden Forest. Of course, Harry hadn't paid much attention to him, and had barely survived the attack, but the point was that he had achieved something useful. He had taken the first step towards becoming Harry's ally in the upcoming war. It had given him a greater sense of accomplishment than anything else he had ever done, despite the limitations of what he had seen. Sadly, he couldn't actually come right out and tell Harry the future. He could only offer hints and advice, even when he had a totally clear, unambiguous vision. If he offered too much information, then he would be stripped of his Sight for violating the ancient laws of Balance.

In the first few days of the school year, Zacharias had been gifted with a vision. People apparently being turned to stone. Death. The constant hissing of some kind of serpent. And a shadowy figure with burning red eyes. Understandably, this had worried him somewhat. As if that hadn't been bad enough, he had heard Justin Finch-Fletchly and Ernie Macmillan talking about Harry Potter, and the way his eyes had seemed to turn red.

Zacharias did not – could not believe that Harry was responsible for what he had seen, but given everything that had happened to him thus far in life, it was easy to believe that he would be at the centre of events once again. So he had given him another rather oblique warning, hoping that would be enough. But now…

Mrs Norris had been attacked, and Zacharias had hoped that would be the end of it. It was obvious that Harry hadn't been responsible, and he had noticed the previous year that attacks against him seemed to galvanise him. However, Harry had done nothing, and more attacks had occurred, culminating in Justin's Petrification. Perhaps Harry needed some more help…

Casting one last look of disgust at his classmates, Zacharias left the common room, heading to his room – each student in Hufflepuff had a separate room, unlike Gryffindor's dorm rooms. He locked the door, and sat down cross-legged on the floor. He closed his eyes, and an expression of deep concentration fell across his face as he began to look.

Seeing the future was not terribly tricky if one was naturally gifted; even those without any natural Sight could achieve basic predictions with the right aids, such as a crystal ball. The difficulty came in refining what you saw so that it would actually be useful. By making Harry his anchor, Zacharias had managed to refine his visions by a significant margin, but he couldn't always control the speed, clarity and order in which they came. He might get a vision of tomorrow, next week, next year or next decade. But again, it was just a matter of concentration and perseverance.

He concentrated hard.

He began to shake slightly as visions began to flood his head, flashing before his eyes, so many of them, dozens of them.

Flash.

Harry was standing in front of a large stone arch, a grey, insubstantial curtain fluttering from it. He had a look of wonder and – sadness? – on his face, but Zacharias couldn't see why.

Flash.

Harry was standing in front of a dilapidated building, probably Victorian. He was wincing as if in pain, and the air around him was shimmering with power.

Flash.

Harry and Sirius were duelling – and unconsciously, Zacharias sighed a sigh of relief and sorrow. Harry's guardians had realised the danger, and were taking steps to prepare him for it. He was just sorry that it had to come so soon; Harry still looked so young.

Flash.

Harry fell to the wet grass as Death Eaters laughed around him. He looked up in fear, and then screamed and writhed in pain as a curse was placed on him.

Flash.

Harry, much older, was standing over a cot, gazing in adoration at the baby sleeping in it.

Flash.

Harry placed a bunch of flowers before a gravestone. The epitaph and name were obscured.

Flash.

Harry sat on the floor, speechless with hysterical laughter, and surrounded by his friends.

Flash.

Harry, lying on the ground, covered in blood, blood pouring from a wound over his heart, a pale glow illuminating the trees around him.

Flash.

Harry stood in one of the bathrooms, in front of a sink. Lockhart was standing behind him, looking nervous. Harry hissed at the sink, and it began to open.

Flash

Harry cowered behind a statue, his eyes shut, as an impossibly big snake slithered behind him, its eyes blazing golden. There was a flash of fire over the snake's head, and Harry opened his eyes.

Flash.

Zacharias came to lying on the floor of his room. He stumbled to his feet, and threw his trunk open, frantically searching for his book of magical creatures. He flipped through the pages, and held it open, staring at the page.

A Basilisk.

That was definitely the snake that he had seen in that vision. Harry hadn't looked any older. That had definitely been this year! And a Basilisk would certainly fit in with the history behind the Chamber. But no-one had died. If a basilisk really was wandering the corridors of Hogwarts then people would have died by now, he was certain of it. He frowned in confusion, and then smiled to himself. The bathroom where Mrs Norris had been found had flooded; there had been a large pool of water. Justin had been with Nearly-Headless Nick when he was attacked. They hadn't seen the basilisk full in the face. Could that have weakened the effect of its deadly gaze?

He slammed the book shut, and flung everything back in his trunk. Sod the laws of Balance. He was going to tell Harry straight out that there was a basilisk in the school. It was his duty as future advisor and guide to the Boy-Who-Lived. And if he lost his Sight… Well, he was capable with a wand, and Harry would need all the help he could get he was sure.

Zacharias hurried out of the portrait door, ignoring his classmates. As he walked to the staircase, making sure to keep an eye out for Filch, he realised that he was still smiling. It took him a moment to realise why. It was the visions. Many of them had indicated that Harry was going to suffer dreadfully over the next few years. But he had a baby. He had friends. He was going to be alright. For some reason, this filled Zacharias with a deep sense of joy.

As Zacharias reached the fourth floor, he stopped. He had heard something. There was a noise coming from further down the corridor. He stood there and listened.

Something was hissing.

Sweating with fear, Zacharias crept down the corridor, following it as it twisted, the hissing growing ever louder, careful not to make a sound. When he reached the corner, he slowly stuck his wand round the wall. There was no reaction. Whoever – whatever – was there, they weren't looking at him. He risked poking his head round.

It took a great effort not to shout out. Her? It couldn't be, not after what he had Seen! It couldn't be! But it was unmistakably a basilisk she was talking to. Hissing to. The serpent hissed, its tongue flickering, and she looked round, straight at him. As he stared in shock, Zacharias remembered that where dark magic was concerned, people weren't necessarily always in full control of their actions.

Nobody had eyes that shade of burning red.

He turned and ran, his heart pounding. He heard her hissing again, and an awful sound began to follow him, the sound of scale on stone. He remembered precisely what was chasing him. He shut his eyes, feeling his way through the twisting corridor by hand. Why did the castle have to be designed like this? He heard portraits shouting at him as he ran out of the corridor onto the landing, and he opened his eyes as he ran onto the stairs.

And then he screamed as he realised, too late, that the stairs had shifted.

He didn't even have time to blink before he hit the floor with a terrible crack. He gasped in excruciating pain. He couldn't move his head. No, he couldn't move at all. He felt his magic try to repair the massive damage to his body, and then he felt it drain away, the task too much for it to manage. He could barely breathe. It hurt to swallow. His cheek was sticky, and he dimly realised that his head was coated with what must be blood. The hallway was beginning to fade for some reason. Or was it simply that he couldn't register what he was seeing anymore?

Zacharias Smith began to cry, gently, before his eyes closed, and he saw no more.

Far above, Tom Riddle smiled in satisfaction as he stared at the still, small body of his first true victim.

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.