If anyone's wondering about the time period, perchance, I was assuming something around 30 years after the Second Wizarding War; all the Potter children would have graduated from Hogwarts.

As the three siblings walked towards Hogwarts from their stop, they heard the vague sound of the current Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Hagrid, ordering all of the first years to come to him. They traded snorts and glances, then separated.

[Live. Laugh. Learn.]

Rigel progressed through the crowd of people over to what he vaguely remembered as the Ravenclaw table. It was already nearly half-filled, and the sound of utensils being moved, platters being tapped, and glasses being poked filled the air expectantly. Sitting himself down in the middle of a rather large void, he could not help but eavesdrop upon the entire mass of people talking all around him.

"It's none of your business!", Rigel heard a feminine voice shriek.

"Give me back my spork!"

"Go stick your quill up your arse!"

"Damn it!"

Snorting slightly, the boy turned his attention to the glass being charmed sixteen feet to his right. It was now scintillating and releasing a violent noise reminiscent of one beating up a cat with a large broom. He took a furtive glance towards the teacher's table; none of them seemed to have spotted anything amiss, and were apparently chatting about something involving dramatic hand movements. Rigel was given the uncomfortable idea that even if a proverbial riot plowed before them they would continue talking amongst themselves. Just as he reached that conclusion, however---

"If all would kindly pay attention?"

He looked up to the Headmaster's or Headmistress' platform, expecting to see the form of Professor McGonagall up there, but instead found a rather large man. Rigel blinked.

"There has been a change this year," the man warbled in a low, song-like voice. "Professor McGonagall has retired to spend more time with her remaining posessions. As such, I, Professor Charles Sariqualnigo-", a few chuckles came forth from the first-years, which were quickly hushed up,"-- will be your new Headmaster. Professor Rubeus Hagrid will be our deputy Headmaster, as well as the Gryffindor Head of House. Now, for the Sorting--"

The old Sorting Hat flew out of absolutely nowhere and started up an impromptu song:

"What may be wrong may be right

What may be live is a wight

Yet what is life without excitement?

Everyone needs a bit of brightment.

But now I sing of my old oath

To divide enemies, friends, and oafs

Now come, and I will spin a story

Of the four houses and all their glory.

Gryffindor isn't for the meek

Nor is it a place for the weak.

Their courage and their heart

Are what set them all apart.

Hufflepuff holds the just

Never is power much of a lust.

For those who treasure the journey

You'll really not have to worry.

Is Ravenclaw your ambition?

Their wit is ammunition.

Be sharp of mind and quick of spirit;

You'll never find one more lyric.

Does Slytherin suit your ideals?

You surely must have zeal.

For all is justified by the ends

At the finish we'll make amends."

Rigel blinked at its eloquent manner, and then joined in the already-loud applause, as per usual. It died down as the Headmaster called for silence with a quick 'stop-sign' signal. The first-years were lined up, and marshalled up to the stool-- Professor Sariqualnigo called out a name.

"Abenddis, Clara."

Clara was thusly sorted into Ravenclaw, and more clapping of hands was heard, mostly from his own table. Looking flushed, she joined them, to the right of Rigel.

The rest of the Sorting passed just as quickly, and with a shout of "Zulian, Cyrus," being sorted into Gryffindor, it ended. Rigel waited patiently, as did all except for the Gryffindor table, which persisted cheering until the sort of glare that stung passed from the Potions teacher, Professor Slughorn, also incidentally the Slytherin Head of House. The Headmaster started to speak.

"Now, as you all know, there is to normally be a speech before the Great Hall's normal feasts. However, in this case we have nothing to say. Please keep curfew, which is at twelve P.M. Thank you!"

The boy stared blankly for a few moments, expecting it to be some colossal joke. He slowly panned his vision, and found that he was not the only one surprised; at the Slytherin table he saw Aldebaran still apparently waiting, and Solarian just looking shocked. Choking back a soft laugh at the latter's agape mug, Rigel turned around to find food upon the plates and liquids within the drinks. Clara was still next to him, and another male had joined him to his left, whom he vaguely remembered was addressed as 'Anderson, Isaac.' He helped himself to some pumpkin juice and a small piece of steak heartily.