Disclaimer: I totally own Harry Potter.

Did you do a double take there? Read it again and note the sarcasm.

&R&

Retta's eyes slowly unscrewed shut, one eyelid even darting quickly upwards in wonder of how they were not dead. Easing up from a crouch, she hugged her book to her chest. "Well. It appears that this must not be that big of a deal."

It certainly appeared as such. The other students and teachers were staring, eyes wide, but they hadn't moved a muscle to help the Slytherins. In fact, after a moment, the Gryffindors were laughing and joking again, and the Ravenclaws were studying their books with vigor. Hufflepuffs seemed to be attempting to find all the cups of pumpkin juice Retta had stolen. Good luck finding those, she giggled manically to herself.

"Huh. Either that, or they really hate the Slytherins," Pidge said thoughtfully. The group huddled together, inching towards the nearest wall and tripping over unconscious Slytherins.

"So-uh-what do we-oops, sorry-do next?" Rae asked, accidently stepping on Crabbe's face.

Her question was answered, by Dumbledore himself. The great wizard stood up at the head table of teachers, towering majestically over the whole room.

"What an…interesting start to the school year. Madame Pomfrey, would you…?"

"On it," the witch muttered sourly, tossing a glare at the girls that could curdle milk. She started levitating Slytherins towards the entrance to the Great Hall.

"You must be the new witches we've been expecting," Dumbledore said smoothly. "How was your trip? I hope it was comfortable?"

"Um, we're not the wi— " Retta started, holding up a contradictory finger. Pidge silenced her with a well-placed hand.

"What Retta means to say," Pidge covered weakly, "is that our trip was delightful, and that we're honored to be here."

"Are they from Beauxbatons?" A voice piped up from the Gryffindor table.

"Why yes," Pidge replied sweetly, ignoring Retta's fruitless attempts to bite her hand. "Yes we-ow!-are."

Retta spat away the taste of flesh. "Yuck. Um, Professor, sir, who exactly were you expecting?"

Dumbledore walked calmly over to his podium, serene as ever. "The Beauxbatons Academy of Magic said they were sending transfer students our way. I believe she said that the leader of your group was a Miss Fleur Delacour?"

"Um, yeah," Pidge, thinking fast, pushed Briana forward. "Here she is."

Briana stood frozen to the spot, eyes darting back at Pidge. Pidge gave her a thumbs-up.

"Yep, that's us," Briana said with a smile that looked more like a grimace. "I'm Fleur, and these are my friends, uh, Dandelion, Iris, Bluebell, Daisy, and, um, Weed."

She pointed to Mary, Retta, Rae, Katie, and Pidge consecutively.

"Well," Dumbledore smiled kindly, "A sorting seems to be in order, then. Professor McGonagall, if you may?"

Said teacher stood up and produced the Sorting Hat from beneath the table. She stiffly walked over in front of the teachers' table, and with a wave of her wand, made a stool materialize, which she set the Hat upon.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "If you girls would please step forward?"

They obliged, somewhat unwillingly. Dumbledore spoke again, his voice echoing throughout the chamber. "Shall we start in alphabetical order?"

"All right," Pidge said uncertainly. This was huge! A miracle! She was having a hard time getting her mind around it. They were about to be sorted. They, a ragtag team of high school choir fangirl geeks. Well, except for Mary. But she was coming next year, for sure. So she counted.

"Bluebell, please step forward."

Rae trembled with anxiety, but she pushed herself to walk to the stool, and with shaking fingers, dropped the hat on her head. The others waited and watched with baited breath.

&R&

You guys totally weren't expecting that, admit it.