Due to the number of positive replies I received, the story shall continue. I am sorry to those who think I am doing a bad job, submit suggestions, and if I either ignore them, or respond negatively, you are invited to stop reading.

Zane Cobalt, the Muggle-Born Slytherin

Frustration

Zane stood there arguing with the portrait in front of his common room for ten minutes. "Listen," he said, "Do you think I wear this patch," he pointed to the Slytherin patch on his robes, "for my health. I am a Slytherin, just let me in.'

"Sorry," said the portrait of the young man, "I can't just trust every mudblood I see. I have to be discreet."

"I can't believe I am arguing with a painting," Zane said. Then his face lit up, "Put it to you this way," he took out is wand, rolled his eyes back a moment as he racked his brain for the right spell, then muttered, "Inflamare" with the tip of his wand blazing like a torch, he moved it close to the painting and said, "Open up or burn up."

"Prefect!" the painting called.

It suddenly swung open and there was sixth-year girl with a prefects badge looking down her nose at Zane. Her smile was the kind a cobra has just before it strikes. "I believe that is a detention for attempting to destroy school property." And with just that, she turned and let the portrait close, before Zane could get in.

"Wait," he called, "what is the password?" but she kept walking until she was out of sight. Zane checked his watch. Class was starting right now. He would have to forgo his things for now. He began to run to the Potions classroom. As he burst into the room, he tripped over his own feet and landed in a heap at the teacher's feet. He recognized the teacher as Prof. Snape, assistant-Headmaster and head of Slytherin house.

Snape looked down at him with contempt. Zane began to stand as Snape began to rant, "You are late, unprepared, and disruptive. Do tell me a reason that I should not give you detentions from now until you are SUPPOSED to graduate."

As Zane stood, he straightened his clothes and said, "well one, I already have a detention tonight, a female Slytherin prefect should inform you today, two; I was locked out of the dormitory so I was unable to retrieve my things, hence I am unprepared. Three; well I am just really, really sorry?"

Snape looked down at him, he turned away and said, "In this class there is no room for smooth tongues or talented wands. Tell me Mr. Cobalt, if I were to add boomslang to a boiling sleeping draught, what would occur?"

Zane's eyes rolled up again as he began to rack his brain for his potions book. "Boiling you said?" he asked.

"Yes," Snape asked as he turned away. He was about to tell the class that evidently talent in charms wasn't everything when Zane said, "I believe that would cause an explosion with red flames, purple smoke and a resulting liquid that is . . . bright green."

Snape turned to him and stared. Everyone just gaped as he answered the question almost perfectly. "Sorry, professor," Zane eeked out, "I don't remember what the green liquid would do if drunk."

Snape had not even expected him to say explosions, much less the resulting colors, which were all correct. "take a seat," Snape said.

"Um, Where?" asked Zane.

"Anywhere."

Zane looked around. All the Slytherins shifted so that there was no place for him to sit. Then he saw two Gryffindors slide apart and wave him over. It was Rachel and Lo-Ith. He sat down and Rachel said, "Amazing, how did you know that?"

"I read the book," Zane said, as if that was what everyone had done. In the end Double Potions lasted all morning. He wound up with a two foot essay on the uses of boomslang in first-year level potions as punishment. Snape told him that he could write it during his detention tonight.

Snape gave him the new password, Blood traitor, and let him leave five minute early to retrieve his things. By the time he reached charms, he was just in time. Prof. Flitwick cast a side long look at him. Charms was a nightmare. Every one decided to test their charm on him at least once. The rest of Slytherin had detentions before the class was over. Of course, they all blamed Zane.

Then he had lunch. Again he grabbed a plate of food and walked out to the window he had gone to before. It wasn't long before Shelly found him again, but this time she wasn't alone. Rachel and Lo-Ith had come with him.

"Hey big guy," Rachel called as she approached with her plate of food, "How ya holdin up?"

"Lousy," he said.

"What's wrong Zane?" asked Lo-Ith sweetly.

"Every single Slytherin hates me. All because I'm Muggle-born."

"Well," Shelly said, putting an arm around his shoulder, "if it makes you feel any better, there is a Ravenclaw and two Gryffindors who are on your side." He couldn't help but smile. It was good to know he would have friends. Things were going so well up to the point where the Malfoy twins and a small horde of Slytherins came up.

"Grindwald, Longbottom," said Bellatrix in an acid voice, "If you are going to whore yourself out, do it to someone who is at least a real wizard. Not a Mudblood. And don't hang around with the Gryffindor Dykes," she said gesturing to Rachel and Lo-Ith. It happened so fast, no one knew what was happening. Zane threw a right hook that connected solidly with Bellatrix's jaw. Betelgeuse didn't let that sit, in a moment he and Zane were exchanging blows, and rolling in a fight of pure hatred.

In moments one of the Slytherin lackeys called, "Teacher!" and they all bolted, "This isn't over Mudblood," Betelgeuse said, and with that her ran. Zane had a cut lip, a bruised cheek and a system full of adrenaline. He turned to see if the girls were alright. Rachel and Lo-Ith congratulated him on taking them on, but Shelly was storming off yelling over her shoulder, "Arse-hole!"

Zane ran to catch up with her and said, "Was it what Bellatrix said about you? She was just being an . . ."

"No," she snapped angrily, "It isn't about the Malfoys, its about you. I hate fights. You were acting just like my father."

"Prof. Longbottom?"

"No, not my daddy, my father." And without further explanation she left. This was not going well. Nevermore fluttered back to his shoulder, she had left during charms to get some food. She cawed and he agreed, "you said it."

He left for the court yard. Now he had broom practice. In fact the teacher that had been reported by the Slytherin was the flying instructor, and the quidditch referee. Zane had heard other Slytherins call him a looser and a wash-out, but as Zane watched him limp down the corridor, he had a feeling that they were all wrong.

As Zane stepped out into the sunlight, he couldn't help but feel better. Sunlight poured down and he was about to learn how to fly. He walked to the place where his schedule dictated he needed to be. There were two lines of brooms. All of them looked old and very worn. He knelt, with a wince, and looked one over. "It's a comet 380," said a voice.

Zane turned around and found the voice belonging to the instructor. He looked at the man. He was fairly tall, but he leaned on one side towards a cane. His legs were in metal braces. "That is a very old broom," continued Mr. Wood. "That broom was brand new when I . . . well when I first had to take my position here, about seventeen years ago."

"How did it happen?" asked Zane.

"Oh, my legs? Well it was my first game in the starting line up, I was a professional quidditch player. I got hit by a bludger two minutes before the game ended. It bashed up my legs pretty bad. Unfortunately I didn't get to a decent Medi-witch fast enough. I said I would stay and play. By the time I got to one, she said that my legs would never heal properly. She said I was grounded. That I could never play . . . I could never play quidditch again."

Zane looked at his legs, and then back to the broom and said, "I'll bet you were good."

Mr. Wood smiled and said, "now when you buy your own broom you'll want one of the Thunderline series. Best you can get without paying professional price. If you can afford professional price, or happen to have a family member who can, you'll want a Viper series. Those are some top of the line brooms."

Quickly other students began to show up. Not just Slytherins, but Gryffindors too. They were instructed to each stand behind a broom. As Zane slipped in with Rachel and Lo-Ith, he asked, "What was with Shelly?"

Both of them just shook their heads. They were instructed to step up to the sides of their brooms, and place their hands out, palm down. Then they were told to give the command "Up" a few Slytherins eventually got their brooms to rise, but few others, no Gryffindors, were successful. Then Zane decided he would try. He said once in a loud clear voice, "Up!" Every broom that was still on the ground jumped into the waiting hand above it. He and the girls were both almost knocked from their feet with the force theirs had jumped with. Everyone looked at Zane who held his broom sheepishly in front of his body.

Now they were to mount the brooms, and rise. He, unlike Madam Hooch, told the children to float around a bit and get used to the feeling. The air was filled with drifting pre-teens. Suddenly a rather large Slytherin didn't just bump Zane, he rammed him. Zane glared at the boy who just laughed as Betelgeuse hit him from behind. Zane was starting to get the gist of this game, and he didn't like it.

Next time, Betelgeuse and the large boy came at the same time. Zane dropped twenty feet down, and Betelgeuse and the large boy crashed into each other. Every Slytherin glared at Zane. They lit off after him. He leaned forward on the broom, and it was like stepping on the gas. He was off like a shot. The Slytherins of course were tight on his tail. He heard the teacher calling him back but the Slytherins wouldn't let him alone. So he pushed harder and faster on his broom. Soon he found he was heading straight for a window. Luckily the window was open, and he squeezed through. His pursuers however were just as gallant. So he kept on flying. He was zipping around students and dodging ghosts (he still hadn't gotten used to the idea that they were intangible). He finally found himself on the first floor, and zipped out the front entrance. He looked back and two of his pursuers were gone, but fie still remained.

He pushed out over the lake and was flying so low his toes were skimming the surface of the lake, just like he wanted. He saw the shadow moving beneath the surface and jerked the broom straight up. He could feel parts of himself smash against the broom, and he told himself he would have to find another way to do that. he gained altitude and heard another adversary fall at the hands . . . er . . . tentacles of the giant squid. He kept flying higher and higher. Then as the Slytherins were closing in, he pulled his own broom out from under himself and fell right past them. As he did so, he grabbed the tails of their brooms so that they over compensated and crashed into one another.

Now he found himself in a freefall back to earth. He situated the broom with a normal hold with his hands, but instead of resting his body against it, he put his foot on the base, where the shaft met the bristles. He pulled up very sharp and suddenly and finally came to a stop a half an inch above the lake. With a smile and a laugh he took off, back to the courtyard where the others were waiting. He landed quite ungracefully and rolled to a stop. He let out a "who-me?" smile at the instructor who said, "I have never seen a Muggle-born fly like that. where did you learn that?"

"Uh, just something I thought up.:

Mr. Wood shook his head, "with a little practice I think you could make your quidditch team next year."

Zane's eyes lit up. Rachel and Lo-ith smiled softly and shot him thumbs up signs. He heard Bellatrix say though, "Not bloody, likely. He wanted to hit her again so badly. But he also didn't want it getting back to Shelly that even after she had told him off he hit Bellatrix again. He would just have to live with the frustrations.