Goyle made it sound like he'd be a fucking servant or a slave or something, and Alfie bristled at that but also knew he had to agree, what choice did he have. He scooted until he was against the wall of the alcove, at least out of Goyle's reach, and propped himself up, arm over his kicked side where it hurt the worst. That was going to really bruise, he knew.
"Fine," he spat, "is that it?" Except he knew, somehow, Goyle would think of things for him to keep doing. It wasn't like he could say no. Then again, doing Goyle's homework would be a little bit of revenge, since Alfie was shite at schoolwork, too.