If asked, Mrs McMillan of Surrey Primary School would be happy to tell you – over a glass of wine, of course – that Harry Potter was always a strange child. He wouldn't play with the other children, and – the day after his crayons were stolen – innocently informed her that Terrence had broken his leg falling down the stairs. All the other kids agreed, but Terrence always said that he'd been pushed…
Then there was Dudley Dursley. She'd always found it strange how the mean boy, and something of a bully, was so terrified of his far smaller cousin. And all she knew was that the two boys got into a fight one day and the next Dudley Dursley was found lying, dead, at the bottom of the school tower. For such an ugly child, he was strangely beautiful in death – unnaturally bended limbs arranged prettily, almost artistically, and squished face buried in the mud. The police ruled it an accident but, noticing for the first time just how cold those jaded eyes were as they stared, strangely focussedly, at her throughout the boy's funeral – which the whole class had to attend – she didn't quite agree.
All of this she would've been happy to tell to Professor Dumbledore – and what a charming man he was, thought the blushing older woman, as she fumbled with the keys to the staffroom where she'd gone to make the two of them some tea… If only the poor, elderly lady had seen the warning sign left by the cleaners about the slippery floor and hadn't banged her head against the handle – the reason for the large bruise on her face – on the way down. Or at least, that was what the official hospital record said – and nobody said anymore.
Tired of waiting for the teacher – and really, what had he been thinking, checking up on Harry Potter. The boy was surely perfectly fine! – Professor Dumbledore apparated out of the school, laughing internally at himself, and making sure to pocket a particularly nice bottle of wine that Mrs McMillan had left, lying out, for his inconvenience.
Ron Weasley would be happy to tell you that Harry Potter was his idol. He was the Boy-Who-Lived – he'd killed he-who-must-not-be-named (and didn't he sound like a bloody horrible guy, if what Ron's parents had told him was true). And so, when he'd met him on the train, Ron decided to ignore the cold eyes, and thin smile – happy to blabber on in his own incessant, rambling way – the slight grimace, and flicker of disgust, must've just been his imagination, after all, and – Harry Potter just had to like him!
They'd gotten into a fight soon after Ron proclaimed their 'friendship'. He'd asked to see the scar, and had been coolly rebuffed and, ignoring the now undisguised venom on the 'false Harry Potter's' face, had launched into a long, whining explanation about how he boy sitting opposite him had to be lying, then, and 'thanks for leading him on'; leaving the compartment with a huff, and still indignant that his door to fame and stardom with Harry Potter had been closed.
When the 'fake's' name was read out to be sorted, Ron knew he'd blown it. It was then that he finally noticed the man behind the mask – and who was he kidding, it wasn't like Harry Potter even needed one! He could do anything short of murdering someone and people would still maintain that he was perfect – and it was then that Ron – for the first time in his life – wished to be sorted anywhere other than Gryffindor.
And so, Ron Bilius Weasley became the first Weasley of eleven generations to be sorted into Ravenclaw. "And the only wizard I've ever sat on with any common sense." The Sorting Hat would later say.