A gangly boy stands before you. He's got bright orange hair and hundreds of freckles. He has an upturned, rather dirty nose. Agin, you surmise that this Ron Weasley is J.K. Rowling's creation, and not Warner Brothers.
'Hiya Ron,' you say. It doesn't sound normal. 'How are you?'
'Alright thanks, mate,' he says back to you. 'Listen, we're going down to have some breakfast. You coming?'
'Sure,' you say, getting up. You realise you're still in your pyjamas. 'Just let me get changed.'
'Hey, listen,' Ron says, his back turned to you as you begin to slip into your robes. 'I can't find my timetable. Do you know what our first lesson is?'
'Er...' As a matter of fact, you don't. 'No, I'll have a look in a minute. Any lessons you're particularly looking forward to?'
That doesn't sound right. It doesn't sound quite... Harry. But it's too late to take it back now.
'Er... dunno, mate. Transfiguration sounds alright. I think we've got McGonagall though. She's supposed to be dead strict.'
'Yeah,' you say.
You're dressed. You root around for a timetable, finally finding it tucked in the pocket of your robes. You walk down to the great hall with Ron, unable to take your eyes off the timetable. Transfiguration, Herbology, Defense against the Dart Arts, Potions... this dream seems so real, so vivid. You begin to wonder if it's really a dream at all.
You start to walk to the great hall. On the way there...