It had started with an errant book thrown in his direction. Arthur had cried out in surprise as the Potions textbook hit the wall to his right and turned around, eying the corridor frantically for his attacker. He had heard from Ludwig how a group of fifth years enjoyed tormenting any first year who crossed their path and while he had been doing his best to avoid the trio, his luck must have run out.

When no tall fifth years appeared in his line of vision, however, Arthur's panic quelled to confusion. Now that his heart had stopped beating against his ribcage, the Ravenclaw could put his mind to use in order to solve the mystery of the flying book. It couldn't have materialized out of thin air- not according to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, that is. It must have come from somewhere and most importantly, it had to have been thrown by someone.

With no one in sight, though, Arthur had a hard time puzzling it out. He hadn't heard any footsteps before the whistling of the wind as the book was thrown, nor had he heard any running after the book had hit the wall. Could people disappear just like that on Hogwarts grounds? He was sure he had read something about it during the summer-

"You're thinking too hard, dude. You might get some kind of brain damage."

Startled, Arthur turned towards the source of the voice. Propped on top of a bust was a young boy, maybe sixteen years old. He would have been in his sixth year had he been, well, solid. He wasn't wearing a Hogwarts uniform and his lack of coloring frustrated Arthur.

Was he a ghost? He didn't look noble or frightening like the house ghosts who hovered down the hallways and glided through the walls. In fact, he had never seen this boy before. Where ghosts even able to hold solid objects?

Oh, Arthur hated feeling ignorant. Had he been born into a proper wizarding family, he was sure he would have known all about this strange creature throwing things at his head. It was the lure of knowledge which encouraged him to remain rooted to the spot instead of running off with a huff. In fact, he even forgot to be insulted.

"What are you?" he questioned the being bluntly, holding tightly onto the strap of his bag as he waited for an answer. Should the thing throw something else at him, he was prepared to flee. He needn't have been concerned, though. The not-ghost mirrored his surprise and looked, well, taken aback.

It floated down from the bust to hover in front of Arthur. "What do you mean, 'what are you'?" the being cocked his head. "What do I look like to you, a duck?"

Arthur could feel his face warm up. If there was one thing he had promised himself when he had received his letter from Hogwarts announcing his magical heritage, it was that he would acclimate himself as quickly as possible to the wizarding world. Knowledge was power, no matter if you had a wand or a gun. He didn't want people mocking him for his lack of it and he was honestly doing his best to catch up. Having some magical creature talk down to him wasn't doing his self esteem any good.

"N-no, of course not," Arthur stammered, taking a step back. "It's just... you aren't a ghost, are you? I've never seen anything like you before, is all."

The being seemed to light up at this. "Well of course you haven't! I'm one of a kind!" a brilliant transparent smile replaced the previous frown. "I'm Alfred F. Jones, poltergeist, at your service! Nothing like those stuffy old ghosts you see around here."

No, indeed, Alfred the poltergeist was nothing like Arthur had ever seen before. Arthur's curiosity and Alfred's enthusiasm were well matched, it seemed, and the book incident was long forgotten.

Alfred didn't mind taking a break from his havoc wreaking to talk to Arthur and explain all sort of magical concepts to him. In fact, Arthur had the impression that the poltergeist enjoyed the attention. Arthur on his part revelled in a source of knowledge which always appeared disposed to help him. He wasn't a teacher who would sneer at him, nor was he a student who would look down at him.

He was Alfred. And somehow, Arthur didn't mind when the poltergeist laughed at him or played tricks. He would never tell him, but they were somewhat amusing. If anything, Alfred was creative.

In the third year, Arthur suffered a bad case of bullying. Students had a tendency to mimic his hand raising in the classroom and whispered behind his back about how he didn't seem to have any friends. Arthur would find himself spending more and more time with Alfred in a spare classroom, engaging him with more than just school work. Alfred would pause from his endless fidgeting and really listen to him, which was very uncharacteristic of him. For a creature which thrived on noise and action, silent concentration truly was a novelty.

The bullying had reached a level of physical abuse during the second term. When Alfred had seen the black eye Arthur had sported to their weekly meeting, he had refused to continue the conversation.

"Arthur, they're hurting you. You've got to report them!"

"No, it's nothing. It will only get worse if a faculty member intervenes, you know that. I'm fine with just waiting until they grow tired of me and move on to some other victim."

Alfred had left the room at that, grabbing on to a floating candle and throwing it against the floor in his wake. If Arthur hadn't known any better, he would have said that the poltergeist was angry. He had never seen Alfred anything but happy or endearingly confused, though, so Arthur left the room with an uneasy heaviness weighing him down.

Had he broken Alfred? Was he going to be expelled for messing with the school's magical balance? Would he ever be able to speak to the poltergeist again?

He was his only friend, after all. At least, that was what Arthur referred to the other as in his mind.

The following morning he was witness to the most bizarre mess ever created in Hogwarts history: dozens of sets of underwear littered the halls and classrooms. The students who had hurt him the previous day were stumbling around white faced, gathering their garments as discreetly as possible.

When Arthur saw him next, Alfred looked very pleased with himself. "The school may not allow me to actually hurt them," he had whispered conspiratorially, "but I can do much worse."

Oh, Arthur was touched that someone would try to protect him from his tormentors. He really was. His problem with Alfred was that he hadn't asked for the poltergeist's help. He had wanted to solve his difficulties on his own. Alfred's intervention would only antagonize the bullies rather than scare them off.

When Arthur failed to appear at the appointed time they always met, Alfred went looking for him. He found the boy sitting on a stone bench in one of the school's courtyards. Alfred clung to a nearby column and called out to the Ravenclaw to join him in the shadows, but the boy wouldn't even turn to look at him. Confused and hurt, the poltergeist found a quill on the floor and lugged it at Arthur's back in a desperate attempt to catch his attention.

The feathery end of the quill brushed against Arthur's back, drawing a surprised gasp from the student. He half turned in his seat to shoot the poltergeist a glare. "I thought you promised you would never throw anything at me again," he called out to him accusingly. The book on his lap snapped shut.

"Well, I thought you promised to meet me," Alfred countered, squinting against the flare of light. "Ignoring me isn't a very nice thing to do, y'know, especially after I tried to help you-"

Arthur jumped up from the bench, sending his book falling to the ground in an undignified heap. "Help? I never asked for your help! In fact, I seem to recall saying that I didn't want anyone intervening! Why on earth did you have to play that stupid trick?"

It was almost as if they had been transported back to their first meeting. Alfred was once more taken aback before shaking his head and giggling. "Oh Arthur, you do have a sense of humor after all! Who in his right mind asks a poltergeist why he plays tricks?"

Unlike their first meeting, Arthur didn't back off. "I'm asking you a serious question," the Ravenclaw insisted, stepping closer to the poltergeist. "Why did you do that?"

Alfred frowned. "I thought it was funny."

Arthur clicked his tongue. "That's not why you did it and you know it. Come on Alfred, tell me."

A moment of silence passed between them. Alfred looked distinctly uncomfortable, but he didn't disappear like he was prone to when he felt cornered. Arthur wondered if they would stand there the rest of the day in a staring contest before the poltergeist spoke up.

"I did it for you," Alfred said quietly, lowering his gaze. "I was angry with them for hurting you and I wanted to scare them from doing it again."

Arthur, who had been holding his breath, exhaled. "But why would you risk expulsion on my behalf? This had been your home for longer than I have been alive."

"Because you're my friend," Alfred said simply, meeting Arthur's gaze.

Arthur could feel his face burning up. "I-well...thank you? I...consider you my friend, too," he said quickly, suddenly all too eager to take his leave. With the way Alfred's face lit up, though, Arthur supposed he could stay just a little longer.

"Just don't do it again, savvy? I mean, it was kind of amusing, but I must insist that-"

A pair of cold lips pressed against his cheek. Arthur jumped in surprise, but the poltergeist pulled back with a smile.

"So you think I'm 'amusing'?" he drawled, leaning back against the column. "If you follow me, I'll show you just how amusing I can really be."

And Arthur followed.

This is a gift for my wonderful friend Miri 3