"Oh yeah, it's weird," Norvel agreed, watching Alex carefully for her reaction, "Apparently mud— uh, muggle borns are less magical 'cause they stole their magic from the purebloods and probably support muggles. And then they're not as good at magic, and they'd be dirtying the bloodlines if they marry a pureblood, so... Something like that, I think." He grew awkwardly silent for a moment before adding, "...They're all the same to me, though, I promise," (The boy inwardly cursed himself for letting his friends' vocabulary rub off on him. She wasn't going to notice, was she...?)

"Uh yeah, brooms!" he said quickly, eager to change the subject. "I flew a broom before, too... Just once, though. Flew myself straight into the wall and broke just about every bone in my arm." Norvel paused for a moment, grinning dreamily as if lost in a fond memory. (Of course, he was leaving out certain parts of the story, but she didn't need to know that.) "Mum and dad were so angry..."

He leaned in closer to Alex as he lowered his voice to a whisper, the grin slowly flickering to more of a mischievous smile. "I wanna get on a broomstick again," he said lowly, "Just need to make sure my parents don't find out and I don't crash into any walls or fall to my death and then everything's good... Say, you don't know anyone who'd be able to help me with that, do you?" Norvel shot her a rather meaningful look.

But then a few moments later, he was back to grinning like an idiot and returned her over enthusiasm with even more over enthusiasm, if that made any sense. (In fact, his grin started getting so wide it looked... mildly concerning.) "Team Only Child," he mused, "I like that!"