Disclaimer: I don't own anything, or else I wouldn't be writing a disclaimer.

Chapter One

Funky Sunglasses

'Students,' Dumbledore bellowed. Like magic, every young person in the hall silenced simultaneously. Neville Longbottom and his toad Trevor, who had been trying to communicate with each other, stopped in mid croak. The both gaped at each other and wondered why the heck they couldn't talk. Neville shrugged it off and turned to listen to Dumbledore. An unsuspecting Trevor was snatched by a random house elf, and moments later the Slytherin table enjoyed a requested entrée of fried frog's legs.

'Students,' Dumbldore repeated. He lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. 'Students. Students. Wow, that's one neat word. Anyway, welcome new squirts, welcome back old fogies. The food will come after the sorting, followed by my usual spiel about the forbidden forest and that stupid list of Filch's. Now, where's that singing hat…'

The students would have started whispering again had professor McGonagall not stood to say something nervously in the Headmaster's ear. The pupils stared vacantly at Dumbledore, who looked alarmed at first. It was only for a minute, however; he managed to regain his cool by stuffing some funky sunglasses on his head.

'Students,' he said, very calmly. However, a sheen of sweat covered his balding head from behind the funky sunglasses. It looked like he was nervous, but about what? A few students wondered if he'd just hit senility. Old, senile folk sometimes sweat like that…but senile people generally don't have sunglasses that darn cool.

Dumbledore continued, wiping his face off with his beard. 'I'm afraid I have some bad news for you all,' he said slowly. 'The sorting hat, I have been informed, is either possessed by Lord Voldemort or having an identity crisis… Therefore, I have just brilliantly come up with a strategic and orderly way to sort the first year midgets over there into their houses. You're all in Slytherin, go to that table over there. Now eat.'

But no one ate the food that magically appeared on their tables. For, at that very moment, a gorgeous someone happened to strut into the Great Hall. Everything in slow motion, heads swiveled around a full three hundred sixty degrees, like in The Exorcist, and then turned normally to watch Hermione Granger enter Hogwarts. She strode (slowly) over to the Gryffindor table and sat (slowly) in her seat with a toss of velvety hair.

The new and improved Hermione Granger was home.