Alfie was fast. He had long legs, and he liked to run, and even panting and shaking he was down stairwells and out of the main doors of the castle (past a prefect who'd yelled at him slow down) and halfway to the Quidditch Pitch before his chest was burning too much for him to go on - and the air was cold around him, suddenly, and he didn't know where he'd been headed anyway, and it was dark but it wasn't dangerous since the Death Eaters and every monster he could think of were after his parents, and not him, and suddenly it didn't matter where he'd been going, because he couldn't see to go anywhere past the tears that finally started to fall.
He crumpled down just where he was, behind an old pillar on the grounds, and pulled his legs to his chest, crying into his knees.