Mudblood

The Youngest Player In A Century

The school broom cupboard may as well have not been locked, a quick Alohomora and Lyssa was grabbing a broom and walking onto the pitch. She had changed into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt after her last class so when she kicked off and started flying around she could feel that she was already going faster than before.

After around an hour of flying around and gaining confidence doing turns and dives Lyssa saw somebody walk onto the pitch. She cursed internally as she landed back on the ground and walked up to Professor Snape.

"Hello Miss Wiley," he said, "Would you mind explaining what you think you're doing?"

"Oh, w-well Professor," Lyssa stuttered, "I just wanted to get better at flying, I can't practice when I'm home like most people and I just had so much fun this afternoon," she spoke quickly somehow hoping that if she said it too fast for him to keep up she would escape punishment. "I just couldn't help myself," she continued, "And honestly if you guys didn't want people doing this then the cupboard shouldn't have been so easy to unlock-" Lyssa would've kept going but Snape interrupted her.

"I'm going to stop you there Miss Wiley before I have to summon you a shovel for that hole you're digging," Snape remarked, "I will not punish you this time." Lyssa breathed an audible sigh of relief. "However, in the future, I will ask that you keep your Airbourne escapades to quidditch practices. It would be would a terrible shame if you were to fall and hurt yourself with no one around," he stated plainly. He turned to walk away but Lyssa was hot on his tail.

"What are you talking about?" She questioned, "I'm sure you've noticed but the Slytherins hate me," she thought for a second, "actually, everybody seems to hate me but that's not the point," she continued, "I can guarantee you that the quidditch team does not want me invading their practices, if I were to fall off my broom they might just leave me there out of spite." Snape had paused his return to the castle barely long enough for Lyssa to return her broom and once she had she continued with him up the hill.

"I am sure they will make an exception for their newest chaser," Snape said with the same amount of certainty that one would use to proclaim the sky as blue. Lyssa was too stunned to speak and instead just followed him to his office where she was asked to sit and wait. Snape returned not even five minutes later with a large upper-year boy in tow.

"Mr. Flint," Snape said to the boy, "This is your new chaser." There was no room for argument in Snape's words but Flint tried anyways.

"Absolutely not," Flint growled, "The annoying little mudblood will not be playing for Slytherin, how do I even know she can fly? I heard the first years only started today."

"I assure you she can fly Mr. Flint." Snape glared at him, "I believe she might even be better than some of your existing players. Also, you would do well to mind your language in my presence."

"But first years can't even have brooms and I'll be damned if any of my players are caught flying on school brooms!" Flint crossed his arms unaware that this was not a fight he could win.

"Exceptions can be made in exceptional circumstances, and I assure you this is one of those times. If you refuse to have her on the team then that is fine, I'm sure Mr. Pucey would love a promotion." It was clear that the conversation was over and so with a sigh Flint turned to Lyssa, a scowl painting his features.

"Meet me on the pitch tomorrow at three-thirty," he said, "I have to see how much work I need to do to turn you into a real quidditch player." With that, the Slytherin captain turned on his heel and exited Snape's office.

"Thank you," Lyssa said to the professor.

"I will accept no gratitude, Miss Wiley." Snape began, "I only did this because I am more than sure that the politics of your blood status are the only thing most people see. I believe you are a natural flyer and I won't stand for wasted talent in my house." He didn't even look up from his desk as he said this. Lyssa was grateful for that; she didn't want him to see the tears in her eyes. Lyssa turned to leave but before she made it to the door she turned back to her professor.

"Can I ask you something Professor?" she asked.

"You just did, but I will allow you a second question this time," he replied.

"What is a mudblood? People have been calling me one since I got here but I can't find the definition anywhere," Lyssa explained, "Not that I care mind you," she added not wanting to look soft, "I just want to know the calibre of insult I should respond with."

"It is a very rude term with which to refer to someone who is muggle-born," Snape replied, "It is favoured primarily by purebloods who have been raised to think that they are the epitome of what a wizard should be."

"Oh." Lyssa nodded, "Thanks." She opened the office door to leave when Snape spoke again.

"If it were me of course, I would just insult their families," Snape mused, "It is rare that one will meet a pureblood boy that does not have a soft spot for their mother," he added, "But that is just me and I cannot condone any sort of retaliation for these things, officially."

Lyssa left the office with a spring in her step. For the first time ever she found herself looking forward to the next time she ran into Malfoy.

𝀈𝀈𝀈

"If Snape insists on having you on the team, a decision that I wholeheartedly disagree with mind you, I will not have you ruining Slytherin's chances at winning the cup this year. Do you understand?" Flint was standing in front of Lyssa on the quidditch pitch, his arms folded across his emerald green practice jersey.

"I do," Lyssa replied.

"Good, so get on that broom and show me what I'm working with," Flint instructed.

So Lyssa mounted her broom and began doing laps around the pitch, occasionally weaving in and out of the goalposts at either end. After a few minutes of this, Flint waved her back down to where he was standing.

"You're not terrible." Flint clenched his teeth, it looked like it genuinely pained him to say this to her. So Lyssa decided to throw him a line.

"How do I get better?" She asked him, "What do I need to do to for Slytherin to win?" Flint's face visibly relaxed, ready to go back to insulting her she imagined.

"You're a fair flyer but I doubt you've ever even seen a quaffle," he said, "And not to mention you're so small I don't even know how you would hold it let alone pass or shoot with it."

"Well, we won't know till I try, will we?" Lyssa said. The sixth-year boy pulled a large red ball from a bag he had brought to the pitch and tossed it to her. He was right, it was rather big, but she caught it either way.

They spent the rest of the afternoon practicing basic passes. And while she dropped the quaffle a lot at first, she quickly picked up on the best way to handle the ball. Flint was mildly impressed by her determination, though he would never say as much out loud. He was still plotting all the ways he could have her replaced. But, for now, she would do.