It’s my headcanon that Dumbledore’s memories of Tom Riddle aren’t objective. Nothing will ever excuse Tom Riddle’s behaviour, but he was not a ‘weird’ or ‘wrong’ child - he’d only really snapped after he killed his father.
Malfoy was in love with Hermione, so he hated Ron and Harry even more for not letting him have her, and he sort of hated Hermione for not being in love with him.
Draco is a bit traumatized by the fact he had heard his aunt Bella and Voldermort’s bumping in the night more then once while they lived in the Manor.
The time between Ron leaving and the Silver Doe was when Hermione and Ron really both understood for the first time how much they meant to one another. Hermione knew, despite Ron’s frankly useless role on their journey, that it was his jokes and swearing that kept them down to earth and sane throughout all their adventures. Ron knew that he would never have grown up had it not been for the troll in the girls’ bathroom.
So this time has come at last,
A new year has started.
You come to me as one,
Now to be parted.
Oh come along and let me sort you,
For I am the Hogwarts sorting hat,
Created by the founding four, centuries ago -
It was Gryffindor’s idea as a matter of fact -
To give me a mind from theirs,
To place you into the house that suits you best,
By looking into your thoughts,
I do not jest.
Shall I sort you into Gryffindor?
With its red and gold gleaming,
To be one of the brave of heart,
along with the bold and daring?
Or maybe you belong in Hufflepuff,
It’s black and yellow standing proud,
The house for the kind, just and loyal,
With the strong belief that everyone is allowed,
Perhaps you are a Ravenclaw,
Your colours of blue and bronze soaring,
Your mind is what’s treasured most,
Being a person of wit and learning,
Or do you belong in Slytherin?
The house of silver and green,
Where the cunning are prized,
and ambition is clear to be seen,
So don’t be nervous now,
I do not bite,
Put me upon your head,
So we can begin the sorting this starry night.
Lysander Scamander was nervous about the sorting ceremony, being doubtful that he would ever get into Ravenclaw. He was dyslexic and embarrassed by his lack of reading and writing skills. The sorting hat had said ‘Ravenclaw however prized the cleverest by far…’ after all. He didn’t feel particularly clever.
All worries were put to rest though, when the same hat upon his head reminded him of his passion for knowledge, imagination and creativity. Lysander belonged in Ravenclaw.
Bellatrix learned she was pregnant about two days before the Battle of Hogwarts. She told no one, not even Narcissa, yet she fought in the Battle anyway.
When Kingsley found out, he and Harry informed Narcissa and an imprisoned Rodolphus out of courtesy. When they did, both asked them not to make the information public. Rodolphus didn’t want any pity and Narcissa did not want her sister to get any sympathy. Bellatrix would have sacrificed her child for the Dark Lord anyway.
Harry never told Molly because he knew she could never live with herself if she knew.
The memories of Lily’s death that Harry hears when dementors are around are not his own repressed infant memories. If they were, then he’d be able to see the thestrals from day one.
Rather, these are the memories of the fragment of Voldemort’s soul in Harry: memories of the final moments before it was ripped away from Voldemort, a truly horrible experience it went through.
One of the reasons Dumbledore became so close with Harry is because he now feels he should have done the same thing with Tom Riddle so he might not have become Voldemort in the first place.
While Harry was at Grimmauld Place before fifth year, he tried to let off some steam by facing the boggart in the drawing room while everyone was asleep. Preparing to face a Dementor, he unlocked the desk.
However, this time the boggart did take the shape of Voldemort. Not expecting this, he froze in panic as the fake Voldemort advanced on him.
Ginny appeared in the doorway and shouted ‘RIDDIKULUS!’ The fake Voldemort folded in on himself until he turned into a book, flapping around but unable to do anything. Mumbling about being trapped in a diary again, the book scuttled back into the desk.
After a few moments, Harry asked her, “What are you doing up, anyway?”
“Because I already tried this an hour ago,” Ginny answered. “I made some tea down in the kitchen if you want any.”
Then she walked back down to the kitchen. Ten minutes later, Harry joined her.
