AN I don't own HP or any of the characters except OCs! Written for the IWSC Round 7!

Story Title/Link: Welcome Home

School and Theme: Beauxbatons: Underdog Rising: Write about a weak character defeating the odds.

Special Rule: Beauxbatons: A Squib

Mandatory Prompt: [Character] Original character

Additional Prompt(s):

[Occupation] Potioneer

[Setting] A new house (just moved in)

Year: One

Word count: 2926

Thea James was not supposed to be here. The universe seemed compelled at every turn to remind her how little she belonged in her current environment. For one, she had an American accent—after all, where else would the rejects and exiles of elite families be sent? Countries like Spain or France were far too close for comfort. Her hair was the wrong shade of blond: too sun-bleached to ever have originated in Britain. Traditional wizarding robes refused to fit her frame, and had she not had her brewing uniform to fall back on, the result would have resembled a toddler demanding to wear a dress-up costume.

Portraits glared down at her from all sides, asking with their sneers just what exactly she thought she was doing in their sacred halls. It wasn't hard to imagine that their disgusting faces could see right down into her veins. They hated her for the title they'd given her: Squib.

As if it was any of their concern.

The box in her hands was heavier than a death sentence. She'd spent at least twenty minutes chastising herself for being so anxious—the job was already hers! She was standing there quaking in her boots as if she hadn't been working under Pomfrey for the last month in preparation for the start of term as if she wasn't a world-class potioneer, and as if new chambers that were actually on the grounds rather than in Hogsmeade would suddenly change everything. Her commute would be easier, at least.

A little voice in the back of her mind hinted that it would change a lot of things, though. Thea had wanted to live at Hogwarts since before she could remember. For eleven years, she'd heard thousands of stories from her parents' time at Hogwarts, and she'd begun to hear of her cousin Theo's adventures as well.

Back when they'd been Theo and Thea Nott—two cousins with oh-so-adorably similar names and a few years of age between them—things had been so much simpler. They'd dreamed of becoming dragon tamers together and of all the mischief they'd get up to in the Slytherin common room. Then her letter hadn't come.

Dumbledore had been contacted as, surely, it was some sort of mistake. When it had been revealed that there was no mistake and that Thea had no magic of her own, those dreams had evaporated faster than a chemical haze.

Her parents had sent her to live with a distant relative in America. A relative with whom, Thea quickly realized, she shared no actual relation and who was more interested in the payoff from her parents than in anything Thea said or did. She'd become Thea James only because Thea Smith and Thea Johnson had already been taken.

But, she reminded herself harshly, that didn't matter now. Jefferson Junior High had nothing on the grand castle walls of Hogwarts, and years of hard work were not going to be wasted on memories that were better left forgotten. Thea straightened her shoulders, glared at a few paintings, and forced something close to confidence into her stride.

With a huff, she maneuvered the last box into place on the pile she'd made just inside her chamber door. Surveying the scene in front of her, she was struck by an obvious thought.

She'd just moved to Hogwarts.

Granted, she was not eleven, and she'd not arrived on the train with her cart of trunks and luggage piled high. She'd come by horseback, refusing the Ministry offer of tandem apparition out of pure pride. She'd come as an adult. The wand she was supposed to have had been replaced by a Doctorate in Biochemistry and a lifetime of research in forbidden, forgotten books—but she'd come.

She was finally at Hogwarts.

Needing something to do with her hands, Thea began unpacking the closest box. More emotions than she liked to admit were currently coursing through her body, and she needed something grounding to focus on before the Welcoming Feast.

Her hands found the first stack of Potions books in the box and unconsciously began to sort them. The first one she'd ever gotten—Book of Potions by Zygmunt Budge—she'd found by accident. It had been tucked beneath a stack of books on crystal magic on the shelf labeled 'alternative' in a secondhand bookstore and had been sold under the title: fictional - misc.

But it was not fictional. Thea had spent nearly all her free time since that day wading through mounds of legends, myths, and utter garbage to find the few scraps that were real; the ones with words her parents had used. Things like: wormwood root, flobberworm mucus, and knarl quills which only sounded right in Theo's young voice asking if the knarl had got her tongue.

She'd assembled her prized collection that now rivaled the Potions' section in Hogwarts' own library, and she'd devoured the knowledge with the desperate hunger of someone grasping at straws of their own history.

The thing about Potions that Thea had always been drawn to was the science behind it. You didn't need magic to combine the right ingredients, and in many cases, the ingredients carried the necessary magic themselves. There were things she'd had to find her own way around, of course, and it'd taken her nearly three months to create a machine that could do the same thing as a self-stirring cauldron—but she'd done it. With enough time and determination, she'd clawed her way up the ladder to where she was now: accepting a job at Hogwarts of all places.

At the welcome feast, McGonagall would introduce her as the new Hogwarts Potioneer. She would not be teaching classes, and she would not be the new Potions Professor, but she would work to supply the school with the necessary potions—both for Pomfrey and others—so that the actual, new Potions Professor could focus on teaching.

Her hands shook as she unwrapped more items. Most of her belongings had been unpacked and magically placed by a house-elf sent by McGonagall, but she'd been in the process of lugging these boxes up at the time, so they'd been left for her.

She removed her pillow and threw it onto the already-made bed. It was ratty and a bit ragged inside the pillowcase, but no one would've been able to tell. Ratty, but still good. She'd stolen it from the unrelated-relative on her sixteenth birthday: the day she'd moved out. Since then, it had followed her from crappy apartment to crappy apartment as she struggled to make any of them feel like home.

Looking around her chambers, though, a tiny part of her dared to hope that this place might be the one.

"Potioneer James?"

Internally, Thea winced at the address. She was not a James, and she never would be. Turning, she saw the anxious sixth-year who had been sent as an errand boy for McGonagall, and she took a deep breath. This student—this kid—didn't deserve her anger.

"Potioneer Thea is fine, thank you. How can I help you?"

The student seemed thrown off by the request to use her first name. Evidently, combining it with her title made it acceptable, though, because he merely adjusted and continued.

"Sorry, Potioneer Thea. Headmistress McGonagall sent me to fetch you for the Welcoming Feast. The First-Years will be sorted soon."

Thea tried desperately not to show how much anxiety that sentence gave her, or how relieved she was that the student had accepted her title. Maybe he would accept her too? It was strange to look at a sixteen-year-old and feel that he belonged here in her chambers more than she did, but it was true. This was her first Sorting Ceremony, after all, and her first feast in the Great Hall.

"Yes, I'll be down shortly. Thank you…?"

She paused, giving the boy space to fill in his name.

"Albus," he answered calmly. "Albus Potter."

Oh…

Oh.

"Great. Thank you, Albus, you may return to the Great Hall."

The boy nodded, but Thea was too focused on the somersaults her internal organs were currently doing. Potter? As in the Harry Potter's son? Had the son of the Savior of the Wizarding World just called her Potioneer Thea and nodded to her like she had as much right to be in that hallway as he did? Hopefully, her voice hadn't given anything away.

The last thing anyone in this school needed was people treating them differently because of their family or blood status.

"Actually, Potioneer Thea, may I ask you a question?"

Thea turned, surprised to see the boy still standing in the doorway. His hand was on the frame, poised as if he was debating whether or not to just leave. She shook off the immediate defensiveness of the surprise and nodded.

"Of course, what is it?"

"Do you think some people are inherently better than others?"

It was an honest, genuine question from what she could tell, but it hit something sore deep in her chest. Was he implying that he was better than her because she didn't have her own magic? Looking into that earnest face, though, she decided that he wasn't. He didn't seem to know that she was a Squib, or if he did, he was very good at hiding it. Instead, the question seemed to be based on something more tangible.

Was this about Voldemort?

"I don't think there are good people or bad people, Albus. I think we're all just… people. Our actions determine how the world sees us, of course, and so do other things outside of our control. Just because that's what the world sees, though, it doesn't mean that's what we are."

Albus chewed his lower lip, then nodded as if accepting her answer. She'd made it up on the spot, but that didn't make it any less true. Albus released the door frame and gave her a gentle smile.

"Thank you, Potioneer Thea. I hope you enjoy the feast."

With that, he dismissed himself and disappeared down the hall. She was reeling and trying to understand what had just happened. Had Harry Potter's son just asked her if she was a blood supremacist? He couldn't have known she was a Squib, but maybe he recognized her pureblood lineage somehow? She'd always been told she looked a lot like her cousin…

These kids wouldn't recognize her as a Nott, would they? Theo—as well as her aunt and uncle—had done things during the war that Thea would not allow herself to condemn. She hadn't been there, and she hadn't been asked to make the same choice. Her cousin had managed to escape with minimal punishment, though, and had been living in France since the war, according to the papers.

She hadn't tried to contact him or told him she was coming to Hogwarts.

Shaking her head, Thea tried to gather her wits as best she could and slid the ring McGonagall had given her that morning onto her finger. It was small and simple with the Hogwarts crest pressed into muted gold, but it was charmed with a powerful protection and deflection charm that the headmistress herself had placed.

It's simply not fair, she'd explained, to turn you loose into a hall of First Years who can't aim a wand to save their lives and Fourth Years who just learned how to change a person's hair color on command without some kind of defense. No one will target you, of course, but it's much easier to deflect a stray spell than it is to regrow non-purple hair. Trust me.

Thea had trusted her—did trust her. She wore the ring because of her new boss's advice, but also because the voice in her head said they'd all turn on her when they learned she was a Squib. Hogwarts had no place for Squibs, according to her family, and what if they'd been right all along?

She approached the Great Hall with dread in her limbs. It was ridiculous, she told herself, to be scared now when she'd been eating in the same hall with the rest of the staff for the last month—but students changed everything. The students were the ones who would ultimately accept or reject her despite any politeness from the staff.

Somewhere between the hallway and the head table, the Sorting Ceremony occurred. Thea was vaguely aware of clapping and nodding appropriately at each sorting selection, but her brain was somewhere else. Everything was blurry and distorted with nerves.

When McGonagall stood and began to address the Great Hall, Thea's brain zeroed in with shocking intensity. She was incredibly aware of every word the headmistress spoke and of how the room reacted to it. They rolled their eyes about rule reminders, cheered to welcome the First-Years, and the Seventh-Years, in particular, groaned at the mention of NEWTs.

"And, last but not least," McGonagall continued. "I would like to extend a warm welcome to our new school Potioneer. Potioneer Thea joins us with an extraordinary background and knowledge in the subject. She will be taking over potion-making so that Professor LeGalle can spend more time teaching and Madame Pomfrey can spend more time healing patients. I expect you all to help Potioneer Thea feel as at home here as you do. Please, enjoy the feast."

A round of cheers and exclamations went up, but it was difficult to tell what was in welcome to her and what was in reaction to the food appearing on their tables. The First-Years gasped and gawked over their plates. While the Second, Third, and Fourth-Years dove face-first into the food, the older students at each of the four tables seemed more inclined to study her.

She was acutely aware of their hushed conversations and the darting glances she received. Her eyes unconsciously scanned each of them for some sort of indication as to what they were thinking or if they'd reached a verdict on her presence yet, but she could find nothing. Until, almost by accident, she found a familiar face.

Albus Potter was sitting confidently beside a younger student at the Gryffindor table who had to be his sister Lily, but he had green and silver on his robes. There was a lot of mixing at the tables now that the Sorting had finished, Thea realized. Albus caught her eye, though, and then gestured at her to the others near him.

They all turned and looked. Instinctively, she averted her eyes to the food and pretended to be unaware of their eyes, but she felt them like lasers on her skin. She held her breath, waiting to hear jeers and laughter or, Merlin forbid, curses being yelled, but nothing came.

When she looked up again, the group seemed to have moved on and forgotten about her. With no idea what else to do, Thea picked at her food and tried unsuccessfully to engage Flitwick in a conversation about the upcoming term. Flitwick was much more interested in the treacle tart.

It wasn't until after students had begun filing out of the Great Hall and the First Years had been escorted to their dormitories that a head of fiery red hair approached her, followed by a small pack of what looked like Third-Years, or maybe Second? The girl smiled at her.

"Hi! My name is Lily, and this is Eli, Mika, and Rouge. We know it's only the first day, but our Potions grades haven't been great over the last few years, and we were hoping you might need some help with the simpler recipes? We could really use the practice, and Al said you were cool."

If Thea's head and heart could have exploded at the same time, they would have. She smiled as kindly as she could manage without making it unprofessional and nodded to the group.

"Of course, I'm sure I'll have plenty of odd jobs or simple potions to make. Feel free to stop by the lab and check in anytime."

Lily smiled, said something resembling a 'thank you', and then the entire group was off at a lazy pace towards the entrance to the Great Hall. As they disappeared around the corner, Thea felt a hand on her shoulder.

"That was Lily Potter. She's the younger sister of the boy I sent for you earlier—"

"Albus."

McGonagall smiled, despite being interrupted, and nodded.

"Yes, Albus. They're good kids, and Albus wouldn't have sent his sister to you if he didn't like you. He's quiet, but he's a very good judge of character. The other students respect that, and they've no doubt noticed that he's taken a liking to you."

Thea didn't say it, but those words filled her with relief. She'd unknowingly won over one of the most influential students at Hogwarts without even trying.

"You belong here, Thea. Hogwarts itself has chosen to accept you, and the students have followed suit. Don't mind the paintings—they dislike everyone... If you're not careful, you'll soon have the whole school meeting up in your lab, I suspect."

She laughed only because McGonagall laughed first. The idea of having any students come visit her still seemed impossible and too fantastic to be real. Thea noticed with a small start that the Great Hall was nearly empty now aside from her, the headmistress, and the house-elves that were now tidying up. McGonagall squeezed her shoulder again, looking up at the starry-sky ceiling.

"It may be a bit late for me to say, and I do hope you won't take offense, but you seem to have always belonged here. Welcome home, Thea."

Thanks so much for reading!