Snape walked to the table, the room dining hall suddenly became so silent that each clicking step he took could be heard. An errie smile that on most other people would be called a grimace, twisted his lips. He waited until not a single student dared to utter a word.

"I will be replacing Albus Dumbledore as Headmaster," He said, then let it settle over the crowd. Cold eyes assessed the students, so much as a whisper, and he would implement his first new rule. No more disrespect in his school.

"There are also several additions to the staff. But you'll have to learn of them tomorrow, in your classes," He said, his grim attempt at a smile faded.

"This is a new year. A word to the wise, disrespect will be punished SEVERLY. I will not tolerate unruliness, and neither will your new teachers," Snape said. He paused again.

"Let the sorting of the Houses begin," He gestured widely towards the old hat. The jittery stream of first years entered the room. They huddled together, eyes wide and glassy as they took in the grand room. The ceiling was a clear deep blue, sprinkled with stars that dusted the heavens. Enchanted candles in lines of twos hovered over each table, casting all of the students in deep shadows, making them appear otherworldly, and vaguely menacing.

"You know what's funny?" Ginny whispered across the table as the sorting commenced.

"He still isn't the Defense Against the Dark arts teacher," She continued. Everyone snorted, not looking Snape in the eyes.

"Do you think that the new teachers will be nice?" Lavender asked. The entire table gaped at her. She applied sticky enchanted lip gloss that made her lips plump within two seconds. More bee stung allergic reaction then sexy.

"I don't mean nice, like kind," She said rolling her eyes.

"I mean nice, like attractive," She explained.

"I think that they're Death Eaters, so whether they're attractive or not, they're trouble," Ginny replied. It took self control she didn't know she possessed to be cordial to Lavender. She used the energy she would've liked to slap her, to bend the spoon.

This really is going to be a long year, if I'm going to have to survive stupid tarts, and Death Eaters, she thought.

"Obviously I'm the only one at this table with standards," Lavender exclaimed, and then proceeded to ignore them.

"The only shallow twit, more like it," Seamus muttered. The Gryffindor table watched the sorting in silence.

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"Not a bad turn out all things considering," said Ginny. She surveyed the first years from the comfort of an old lounge chair by the fire place in the common room. Sitting there, the last Weasley to pass through the Fat Lady's door, she suddenly felt incredibly old. The next generation of Gryffindors clutched their bags, some of them still hadn't quite figured out how to correctly grasp their wands. They did a funny sort of cradling thing with them, so it looked as if they were cuddling twigs.

"When did I grow up," she said, to no one in particular.

"It happened quite suddenly. One day, you were that little fourth year, the Weasley girl, and then the next thing I know I turn around and you got tits. And an arse," Seamus said, distantly, recollecting fond memories, of the discovery of the attractive Weasley. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth as he stared into the fire.

Neville watched horrified, as Seamus Finnigan proceeded to flirt with Ginny. He didn't think people where allowed to do it. Ron had said he'd hex any one who even considered ogling his sister.

"I-I always thought you were pretty Ginny," He blurted out, trying to make up for lost flirtation. Ginny blinked. Opened her mouth. Blinked. Opened her mouth.

"Thank you, Neville, you've grown quite tall over the summer," She finally said, to the amazement of the common room.

"I think I'll go to bed now," She stated, and stood. The fire gleamed on her auburn locks, strands of gold, and copper shining. Her legs were a bit wobbly, she wasn't sure how she made it to her bed, but she found herself laying underneath the covers, giddy laughter threatening to rupture.

Somehow, this year she was a sex-pot. A certified, desirable girl. She didn't even know where to begin with this new found power. Should she wear shorter skirts, or cover up a bit. Mascara, eyeliner, dare she say it…eye shadow.

But then again the boys seemed to like her just the way she was, in ratty old sweaters, and a bit of muggle lip gloss that Hermione had given her the year before. God, she was going to kill Ron for driving them away all these years. That is, she thought, if some Death Eater doesn't first. She drifted off to a lonely fitful sleep.