"Never too early to start drinking for our newest member of staff, I see."

Rose ignored him, reaching out instead for her goblet of plum wine. She took a deep sip, allowing it to swirl around her mouth a few times before she swallowed, and a small smile tugged at her lips. She would not give Snape the satisfaction of a response, and she could tell that it aggravated him by the way his cheek twitched.

She wondered why he had chosen to sit next to her at all – there were plenty of free seats up and down the staff table, if only he would look a little further. Perhaps there was a seating plan that she was blindly ignoring. Or, perhaps, he just enjoyed torturing her, even to his own detriment. That seemed likely.

Well, she thought, two can play at that game. Still ignoring him, she turned instead to her left, where Professor Flitwick was readily helping himself to more mead. "Professor Flitwick, how nice to see you again! We didn't get a chance to speak very much at the staff meeting."

Mission accomplished – Snape looked like he had just swallowed a lemon. Professor Flitwick, on the other hand, seemed thrilled to have been addressed.

"Ah, Rose, how lovely to see you again!" he said excitedly, almost buzzing in his seat. "And please, call me Filius."

Rose glanced over her shoulder briefly, to gauge Snape's reaction, but was dismayed to see that he too had turned away, slowly murmuring to Professor Quirrell. However, she was pleased to note that Quirrell too was quite dismayed by the development.

"So," said Flitwick, drawing her attention back to the matter at hand. "How is your son?"

"Oh, he's well," she replied fondly, a warm smile covering her face suddenly. "He's very concerned about the sorting though."

Flitwick chuckled to himself. "He shouldn't be! Whatever house he's in, I have absolute faith he'll be a roaring success. In fact, I'm rather hoping he'll fall into Ravenclaw – such talented parents!"

Rose laughed politely, if slightly awkwardly. It was rare that people referenced her ex-husband, and even rarer that they said something complimentary. "Yes, well. Without wanting to sound biased, I personally hope it's Slytherin." She hesitated as her gaze drifted to the Potions Master. "Although, on second thoughts…"

Flitwick, ever so tactfully, chose not to comment. It was a good thing too, because before he could reply, the doors to the Great Hall opened and McGonagall walked in, followed by the first years. Even though she had seen it many times in her life, the sorting ceremony always gave Rose tingles down her spine. She spied out with her eager eyes the auburn curls of Robin, who was standing close to Harry, she noticed. The idea made her smile, and not for the first time she thought back to how they should have grown up together.

McGonagall brought the Sorting Hat out and placed it on its stool. Rose smiled slightly at the terrified faces of the first years as they watched the hat.

"They look so nervous, don't they?" she said to Flitwick.

"So did you," he whispered back, a cheeky glint in his eye.

A small rip near the brim of the hat opened, and Rose sat back to listen to the song:

"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat yourself if you can find

A smarter hat than me…"

It continued for a few minutes, and when it ended Rose clapped politely – from the students came much more raucous applause. The hat bowed to all four house tables before falling still, and Professor McGonagall stepped forward.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A small blonde girl with pigtails walked up to the stool and slipped the hat on. It fell over her eyes. A few seconds later –

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Rose clapped, but she heard loud cheering from Dumbledore's other side, which she assumed was coming from Pomona.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Damn, her aunt was such a bright girl!" said Flitwick. "I would have liked her in Ravenclaw."

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"There you go, Filius," said Rose, elbowing him slightly. "New blood!"

"Brocklehurst, Mandy!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Brown, Lavender!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindors cheered loudly at the first new addition to their own house. Fred and George were catcalling, but they stopped after catching Rose's stern glare from across the hall.

"Bulstrode, Millicent!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

Rose cheered loudly, for which she received a disdainful expression from Snape, who merely clapped with a little more enthusiasm than usual. As always, the applause from the students was slightly more muted – Rose wasn't surprised to find things hadn't changed all that much since her own school days.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Finnigan, Seamus!"

Seamus was sat on the stool for a full minute before the hat yelled "GRYFFINDOR!" Rose had almost leant over to Flitwick and asked if he thought it was a hatstall.

"Granger, Hermione!"

The girl with bushy hair that had been stood next to Robin walked forward.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Longbottom, Neville!"

Rose's breath caught in her throat. Alice and Frank's son. She didn't notice how long it took for Neville to be sorted, too busy was she taking in as much of his appearance as she could from the side view she had. Blond hair, fairly rotund… She felt a pang of guilt for him, his parents taken from him before he could even say their names.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat, and Rose cheered extra loudly this time. Neville, panicked, ran off with the hat still on his head. Rose couldn't help but grin as he handed the hat back, red-faced, to 'MacDougal, Morag'.

"Malfoy, Draco!"

Rose didn't even need to hear the Sorting Hat scream "SLYTHERIN!" before she knew where that boy was going. She tried to keep her expression neutral, however.

Several children were sorted: Moon, Nott, Parkinson, twin Patels, Perks, Sally-Anne… Rose found herself yawning slightly, but she perked up immediately when she heard the next name.

"Potter, Harry!"

Murmurs filled the hall as soon as the words had left McGonagall's lips. Even the high table wasn't immune, and Rose noticed the teachers were leaning in closer, as if that would give them a better idea of what the boy was like. Rose thought back to his bright green eyes, identical to Lily's.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat, and Rose felt a burst of pride in her chest – not that she had expected any less. She cheered the loudest she had yet, taking even Flitwick by surprise. Fred and George were chanting, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" from the Gryffindor table.

"Well done Gryffindor," Flitwick said, shooting McGonagall a sly smile. Severus scowled.

"Prewett, Christopher!"

Rose instinctively held her breath. She expected a sardonic comment from Snape, but oddly it did not come. He too seemed intrigued, his dark eyes fixed on her son.

I wonder if he might fall into Gryffindor, she thought to herself. Even though she was supposed to be impartial, Rose wasn't keen on the idea. She didn't want one of the fellow parents putting two and two together and working out who his father was – after all the years she had managed to keep it from him...

"GRYFFINDOR!"

She groaned inwardly, but forced herself to smile as her son looked to her, unsure. Robin, seeing it, immediately beamed in response. The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers, led by his cousins. It appeared that Robin was going to have an easier time of it at Hogwarts than Rose had – as he sauntered over, brimming with confidence, Rose couldn't help but be reminded of Sirius. She watched as he sat down next to Harry and opposite the bushy-haired girl, who Rose vaguely remembered as Granger.

"Turpin, Lisa!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Weasley, Ronald!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Shocker," muttered Rose to herself, though Flitwick overheard and tittered.

"Zabini, Blaise!"

"SLYTEHRIN!"

With that, the sorting was over, and McGonagall cleared the stool and hat away, returning to her seat in between Flitwick and Dumbledore. Dumbledore stood.

"Welcome!" he said happily, looking lovingly out at his students. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Ointment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

Robin blinked in confusion, and he wasn't the only one. Both Harry and Hermione seemed confused, though Ron was much more interested in the banquet fit for a king that had just materialised in front of them.

Harry was frowning deeply. He turned to Percy. "Is he – a bit mad?"

"Mad?" Percy shrugged. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world. But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, anyone?"

Robin, never one to question a good thing, handed out his plate to his cousin, who dutifully doled the potatoes on. Meanwhile, Hermione tugged at his sleeve, her face turned towards the staff table.

"So, which one is your mum?"

Robin opened his mouth to respond, but Ron beat him to it.

"Aunty Rosie?" he said, through a mouthful of chicken. "She's the one with the bright red hair."

Rose, who was chatting animatedly with the short professor next to her, shot them a small wave when she noticed them looking.

"Wait, Aunty Rosie?" Hermione's brow furrowed for a few moments before the epiphany hit her. "Oh, you're one of the cousins Robin was telling me about!"

Robin nodded as he helped himself to some roast beef. "Yup – if you see someone with red hair at Hogwarts then they're probably a relative of mine."

There was a sorrowful sigh from a few seats down the table. Robin looked up to see a rather morose-looking ghost watching Harry eat glumly. "That does look good."

Harry swallowed awkwardly, now worried that the sheer action of eating was insensitive. "Can't you –?"

The ghost shook his head sadly. "I haven't eaten for nearly five hundred years. I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it." He paused, looking around at Ron, Hermione and Robin. "I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"Nice to meet you," Robin replied politely, holding out his hand to shake it, and realising slightly to late that it was a flawed plan. As soon as Sir Nicholas' hand passed through his he felt as though he had been plunged into an ice bath.

"I know who you are!" Ron interrupted, throwing down his drumstick. "My brothers told me about you – you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

Sir Nicholas seemed quite ruffled. "I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy – "

Before he could finish, a sandy-haired boy a few seats away – Sean? Seamus. – butted in. "Nearly Headless? How can you be Nearly Headless?"

"Like this." The ghost gritted his teeth – or rather, he would have done had he been corporeal. With what seemed like a lot of effort, he reached up to his head, grabbed some of his silvery curls and pulled. His whole head swung off of his neck as though connected by a hinge. Robin, who had never had a strong stomach for those sorts of things, gagged instinctively as he looked into the gaping wound. He feared that Sir Nicholas might take offence, but instead he seemed oddly satisfied at the reaction he had elicited.

"So – new Gyffindors!" he continued as though there had been no interruption, his head swinging back into place. "I hope you're going to help us win the House Championship this year? Gryffindor have never gone so long without winning. Slytherin have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron is becoming almost unbearable – he's the Slytherin ghost."

Robin, along with everyone else, dutifully glanced over to the Slytherin table. The Bloody Baron looked ghastly, with a blank stare and shackles on his wrists. He was sat next to Malfoy, who Robin felt surprisingly sorry for. He wondered how his mother had ever been able to face such a horrid sight.

Seamus piped up again. "How did he get covered in blood?"

"Please," Robin quickly interjected, desperately trying not to think about it, "I'd like to keep my dinner in my stomach."

Sir Nicholas shot him a wry look. "I think we'd all prefer that. Besides, I can't say I've ever asked."

The conversation changed subject as the meal continued. Savoury dishes were soon magically cleared away and replaced by sweets upon sweets. Robin, always a moderate sort of child, happily tucked into some apple pie with custard and tuned back into what the others were saying. They were talking about their families, he quickly ascertained, with Seamus taking the lead,

"I'm half and half. Me dad's a Muggle. Mam didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."

They all giggled as Ron turned to the blond boy next to him. "What about you, Neville?"

Neville chewed thoughtfully. "Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch, but the family thought I was all Muggle for ages. My great-uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off guard and force some magic out of me – he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned – but nothing happened until I was eight. Great-uncle Algie came round for tea and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my great-auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced – all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased. Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here – they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great-uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."

Seamus turned to Robin, who had been nodding along encouragingly to the tale but who hadn't contributed anything as of yet. "And you? What's your story?"

They all looked at him expectantly (except for Hermione who was too busy discussing lessons with Percy). Robin slowly lowered his spoon and blinked rapidly, unused to the attention.

"Well, there isn't really one. I've always known I was a wizard. My mum used to teach potions at Beauxbatons so we lived in France for a while, but then she got a job at the Ministry and so we moved back here. And now she's the school nurse at Hogwarts."

He pointed up to the staff table. Seamus and Neville were suitably impressed.

"And what about your dad?" said Seamus. "What does he do?"

There was a moment of quiet where Robin tried to think of something to say, but his mouth felt peculiarly dry. Ron was watching him carefully, unsure whether to jump in or not. "I don't know," he said eventually, deciding that the truth was the best thing. "I've never met him."

An uncomfortable silence descended onto the table, but Harry – who perhaps hadn't been giving the conversation his full attention – quickly broke it.

"Ouch!"

Robin turned to him. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"N-nothing," he said, flushing red, his hand clamped on his scar. Robin frowned.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes…" he said uncertainly. "Who's that teacher talking to your mum?"

Robin looked up at the staff table once more to see that his mother had indeed turned to talk to the person on her left, a man with dark curtains of hair curling at his jaw and a large hooked nose. He appeared to be sneering – but it was hard to read expressions from such a distance, and Robin couldn't tell what his mother thought of the man.

"I don't know, mum hasn't mentioned him before… Percy?"

His cousin swivelled around in his chair at the mention of his name. "Mmhmm?"

"Who's that man talking to mum? Harry was wondering."

"Oh, no wonder she looks so tense, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to – everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

Robin snorted, raising his eyebrows at Harry who still seemed deeply perturbed. "That's ironic – mum wanted to be Potions Master more than anything. Maybe Quirrell could be the school nurse and then they could all have what they wanted!"

Harry didn't laugh, but Robin didn't take it personally – he seemed to be a very serious sort of boy.

Suddenly, the puddings vanished and Dumbledore rose from his seat, surveying the hall with a kind, fatherly sort of gaze.

"Ahem – just a few more words now we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First Years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

"As you may have noticed, after many years of caring for you all, Madame Pomfrey has decided to retire to enjoy her later years. Your new nurse will be Madame Prewett - please do give her a warm welcome!"

The students clapped politely as his mother stood briefly and smiled. When she was sat back down again, Dumbledore continued.

"I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors."

Dumbledore looked at the Weasley twins, and Robin grinned.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

There were a few titters, but Robin noted that his mother wasn't laughing. Dumbledore seemed unfazed.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song! Everybody pick their tune, and off we go!"

Rose shrank into herself, as did most of the staff. She absolutely hated this song, and always struggled to keep her dignity during it. She mumbled along with the rest:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff.

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

Just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot."

The Weasley twins were the last to finish, singing along to the funeral march. Rose was amused to see that Robin had buried his head in his hands out of embarrassment.

"Ah, music!" said Dumbledore, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all what we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The students swept out of the hall in one great mass of black robes. It took the staff slightly longer to evacuate, having to mingle slightly, it being the start of term and all, but eventually Rose was able to get away, back to her quarters. She had been planning on double-checking the Hospital Wing to make triple sure that everything was in order, but as soon as she saw her cosy green and silver bedsheets, she knew that that was no longer an option. In fact, she was quite tucked up in bed when the hand-mirror on her bedside table began to tremble and glow. It took a lot of energy for her to pick it up, as she was quite exhausted by this point, but she knew it must be important, because she had told him only to use it under such circumstances.

"Hello?" she whispered, picking it up and looking into the mirror. Grey eyes stared back at her. "What's wrong? Are you in the bathroom?"

Robin looked around him anxiously. "Yes… It was the only place I could call you where I knew the others wouldn't overhear."

Rubbing her eyes, Rose propped herself up in the bed. "What's wrong, darling? Has something happened?"

"Sort of – I mean, no – I mean –" He stopped and took a deep breath, as though gearing himself up to say something. "Mum, who is my father?"

Rose felt as if the bottom had dropped out of her stomach. She sat up straight, immediately awake. "What? Why on earth are you asking me that now? Did something happen? Did someone say something?"

Her son was clearly struggling to follow the line of interrogation, because he blinked rapidly, as he always did when he was confused, long dark lashes fluttering. "I'm – no, no one said anything – well, they asked me about him, and I – I didn't know what to tell them, and I just thought –"

He came to a halt, unsure of what to say and unwilling to upset her. Rose sighed deeply, trying to compose herself so she wouldn't fluster him. The last thing she wanted to do was make him even more suspicious. She had seen this coming, of course – she just hadn't anticipated that it would happen so soon.

"Tell them the truth," she said gently, "that he left us when you were just a baby and hasn't been in contact since."

"Yeah, but –" His voice was frustrated. "Mum, I want to know who he is. Everyone else knows who their father is. Why can't I?"

It was a fair question. What annoyed her the most was the fact that she had a valid reason for not telling him, but he wouldn't understand why unless he knew. It was an awful paradox. "You can, Robin. One day. When you're ready."

His eyebrows knotted together. "But I'm ready now!"

"I know you think you are," she said slowly, trying her best not to be patronising, "but I promise you it's more complicated than you could imagine." She bit her lip, trying to think of something that would calm him down – his eyes were burning with a righteous indignation. "I promise, when you're older, I'll tell you."

"How old?" he demanded. Sometimes he was just like his father.

"I didn't have an exact number in mind, but I suppose – sixteen."

Robin's mouth fell open in disbelief. "Sixteen? That's ages away!"

If it hadn't been such a tense moment, Rose might have laughed. "I know it feels like it now, but it will come around soon enough, and then I'll know you're ready."

He stopped to think about it. She could see the cogs whirring in his brain as he contemplated pushing it further.

"And you promise you'll tell me then?"

"I promise."

He wasn't satisfied, she could tell, but the fight seemed to have drained out of him. Still, he had one last request.

"Can you tell me at least one thing about him?" he asked, eyes wide, imploring. "Please?"

Rose wasn't happy, but it seemed churlish to deny him such a small request. "Alright. Let me think."

She looked around her room for inspiration, and her eyes rested on her sheets.

"He was a Gryffindor. Though, given what happened this evening, I'm sure you're not too surprised." She allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of her lips. "That's how we met – we had a mutual friend in his dorm who introduced us."

She let that sink in. It wasn't long before he tried pushing his luck. "And he was in your year?"

"Absolutely not telling you that, young man," she said sternly, though the hint of a smile hadn't disappeared. "Oh, and if you ever need to call me again, use muffliato on your bed. Very useful spell – an old friend taught me it. You just point your wand at the bed and say the word."

After all, she thought smugly as her son repeated the spell under his breath, committing it to memory, your father wasn't the only one who knew how to bend the rules a little.

Robin could not quite sleep. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable. In fact, he was very comfortable – the big four posters with their gold and scarlet sheets were a haven for snuggles. The thick curtains hung heavy around him, giving the illusion of privacy, although he could quite clearly hear the breathing and gentle snuffling of the other boys – Neville in particular appeared to have a deviated septum. Certain that he absolutely couldn't sleep with that noise in the background, Robin decided now was a good time to test out his mother's spell.

Reaching over as quietly as possible, Robin grasped blindly at his bedside table before he felt the polished wood of his wand underneath his fingers. He pulled it inside the curtains and pointed it at the bed post. He wondered if it would even work considering he had never so much as flirted with magic before, but decided now was not the time to lose faith, and instead whispered firmly under his breath, "Muffliato."

Neville's snuffling disappeared. Robin let out a small laugh of disbelief, mixed with awe. Did this mean no one outside his bed could hear him either? There was only one way to check.

He screamed loudly. No response from the others. He stuck his head out of the curtains to check, auburn curls sticking up in all directions. No one had moved a muscle. Neville snored peacefully.

He fell back onto the pillows, his mind racing. So, his father had been a Gryffindor! That made sense of what had happened earlier. But what was he like? What did he look like? Did he have auburn hair like Robin? Grey eyes? Was he tall or short? Was he a good student, or a terrible wizard? And, most importantly, why had he left?

Robin didn't have the answer to any of these questions, but he did have a plan to find them – all he needed was Hogwarts library and a willing accomplice.