It had been a week since I left Alfred standing alone in the hallway.

Life carried on relatively normal. My classmates still hated me. The teachers still aggravated me to no end. The portraits on the walls still giggled whenever they saw me. The only thing that really changed was the young farmer. He still greeted me every day, still offered me an apple, but something seemed...off. His smile was hesitant and almost forced, and he now wore a white shirt under his jean overalls. I thought about asking him what was wrong- a few times actually- but I decided against it. If he wanted me to know, he would tell me.

Alfred didn't try to speak to me again.

During DADA, I sometimes felt his gaze burning holes into my back. After our little "talk," I did a bit of research and found that he was, in fact, in my Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Maybe that's where I had seen him before? In any case, I never turned around to meet his eyes. What would I say, especially in the middle of class? 'Hey, I'm sorry about telling you off a week ago and making fun of your housemates. No hard feelings?' No way. That would just bring more unwanted attention and ridicule.

It was after my last class of the day, while I was walking through the crowded hallway, that it happened.

The only warning I had was a presence just behind me when all of a sudden I was being pulled into a dark classroom. My back slammed against a wall and I gasped, the force of the push knocking the breath out of me. An arm was pressing against my chest.

"So, you think you can tell off one of our housemates and get away with it?" a deep voiced hissed in my ear. It took me a moment, my brain still reeling from the sudden change in surrounding, but suddenly I knew what this was about.

They were talking about my little talk with Alfred. I guess that boy wasn't as nice as previously thought.

I scoffed. "It was his own bloody fault for trying to apologize for others actions," I retorted. My assaulter growled and pulled me off the wall only to slam me against the it again, this time even harder. A pained gasp escaped me and I heard not one, but three different voices laugh at the sound.

It seems my assaulter wasn't alone. My stomach dropped.

"Shut up, you filthy Slytherin!"

Oh, so this went beyond simply sticking up for poor dear Alfred, then.

Fuck.

"I am sick and tired of you Slytherins strutting around like you own the place! Most of all you, you bastard child! Your mother's a dirty whore, you know that? I heard Mr. Kirkland only slept with her because she begged him to. He was so ashamed with himself when he learned the little harlot was pregnant. Rightly so, too, seeing how you turned out."

'Breath, Arthur. Don't let his words get to you. BREATH.'

"You know what my dad told me?" a different voice taunting, "He said that when the Kirklands found out your slut of a mother was pregnant, they tried to have someone...take her out, so to say."

I almost threw up.

"But Mr. Kirkland, he said, and I quote, 'The bitch probably won't keep the baby. Family has a history of miscarriages, you see. We shouldn't worry about.' Next thing you know, she pops you outta her pussy and soils the Kirkland name."

Horror was the only feeling I held in that moment. There was no way that my father could be such a horrible person. My mother couldn't have loved someone like that. Could she?

A cold chuckle pierced the air. "Enough talk. Let's show this son of a whore a lesson, eh?"

Oh, God. I was about to be beaten to a pulp. Think, Arthur, how can you get out of this? Spells, spells, think of spells, what can you use, fuck fuck fuck-!

A door burst open, and suddenly the arm pressing into my chest was gone, allowing me be breath. I slid down the wall, clutching my chest and breathing heavily. I could hear a scuffle happening just in front of me, but I didn't dare intervene. That wouldn't end well.

The banging and groaning stopped, and three sets of footsteps left the room. The remaining set resounded through the otherwise empty room and stopped in front of me.

"Hey, Arthur, it's me. Are you okay?"

It was Alfred.

For the first time since I was forced into the room, I opened my eyes.

The Gryffindor boy was kneeling before me, his hand hovering between us like he wanted to lay it on my shoulder, but didn't. His hair was unkempt, probably from the fight he was just in, and his blue eyes sparkled with concern, his glasses nowhere to be seen. His school robes were crumpled in some places, probably from the three guys he just beat single-handedly.

I wanted so badly to thank him. I wanted to burst into tears and pull him closer, because I knew if he hadn't shown up I would be close to dead right now. More than anything, I wanted him to know that I was so, so happy he saved me from those other Gryffindors, and that I was indebted to him for this.

However, that wasn't me.

I pushed him away.

"G-go away," I stammered out, "I had everything under control. I didn't need your help."

His face, previously showing a deep worry for my well-being, morphed into a look of confusion.

"Dude, I know that you can probably take care of yourself- you look pretty fit, what's your workout routine?- but those guys looked about ready to murder you."

I was about to respond ("What the hell did he mean 'you look pretty fit' is he mocking me?") but he kept talking.

"I don't know what that whole thing was about, but I know damn well that you did not have it under control."

There were so many things I wanted to say to that. "The fuck do you know," was one. "Listen here, you little shit," was another.

However, when I tried to say either of these, the only thing that came out of my mouth was, "H-how did you even know I was here, anyway?"

It was obvious that was not what he had been expecting. He stared at me for a moment, just long enough for it to be slightly uncomfortable, before a blush spread over his cheeks and he jerked his head towards the wall. I peeked a glance in that general direction.

Hanging on the wall was a small painting, no bigger than a textbook cover. A girl, no older than fifteen, peered at the two of us through the oil pastel, a look of concern and curiosity covering her face.

"Oh," I muttered, transfixed on the teenage graphic. Alfred mumbled something under his breath, but it was too low for me to catch it.

"Yeah...anyway," he said, drawing my attention, "you never answered my question."

I was about to ask him what question did he mean, before it came to me : "Are you okay?"

I huffed and crossed my arms. "Of- of course I'm fine, you git," I stuttered. I tried to stand up, but of course I stumbled, leading to Alfred having to grab onto me in order to keep me standing. I yanked myself out of his grip and tried to give him my best glare. "Do you think me so weak as to- to be frightened by something as trivial as that?"

The blue eyed boy's eyes widened and he shook his head back and forth, looking startled. "What? How the hell did you get to that conclusion? I just wanted to make sure you weren't shaken up, that's all!" he tried to reason, his large hands held in front of him as a sign of surrender. I continued to glare at him, though I felt my resolve waning. Why couldn't I just thank him and have this be over with?

"Whatever," I snapped. With shaking hands, I did my best to smooth out my robes, which were wrinkled and rumpled from the past events. Alfred's watchful gaze was ever-present. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to my dorm."

I swallowed thickly, my body refusing to move even though my mind was screaming for it to do so. Alfred hadn't moved from his position in front of me.

"Hey."

"...What?"

"Why do you have such a hard time believing someone is trying to help you?"

I gasped. Stumbling backward, I felt my back collide against the wall for the third time that day. "I-I beg your pardon?"

This wasn't happening.

This wasn't bloody happening.

"You heard me," he said, his voice calm and smooth despite the situation. "Back when I tried to apologize for my housemates' actions, you insulted me. Now, when I protect you from getting your ass beat to a bloody pulp, you accuse me of believing you to be inferior."

'What the fuck, what the fuck, shit I need to get out of here, shit, I need to run, run, run, ESCAPE-!'

"Arthur."

Hands latched themselves onto my shoulders, gentle but firm. I was to frozen to shake them off. His blue eyes pierced into my green ones.

"I just want to help you."