The Opposite of Friendly Finished

James had been walking down the corridors, that much was obvious. He had walked these corridors a considerable amount of times before, but never had something like this happened to him. At least not here at Hogwarts.
“What the h*** are you doing!?”
James instantly flinched. He had never cursed in his life, and he didn’t like it too much when others did it around him.
James turned around to see what angry voice was addressing him so harshly.
"This a public corridor for people who are actually trying to get somewhere. If you can't be bothered to walk at an appropriate pace, you can at least get out of the bloody way."
Another boy, first-year and Gryffindor from the looks of him, was in front of James now, seeming really ticked off at something, but James could guess that it was himself that this boy was ticked off at.
James gazed at the boy in confusion for more than a moment. What was his problem? And had James really been going that slow?
James always felt conflicted when approached by a bully - James mentally kicked himself at the thought of that word - because James always tried to be nice to everyone, but he didn’t know at what point to get angry or defensive towards them.
“Sorry…” James got out. “I am trying to get somewhere. But, I don’t think I was going that slow. Sorry if it seemed like it.”

The boy's apology only made Max feel angrier. What was wrong with the people around here? No one he knew back home would apologize like this. It was a simpering, ingratiating attitude that made Max's teeth grind together. He didn't want someone to be nice to him right now; he was looking for a fight and this idiot honestly seemed to think an apology would mollify him. He shut his eyes for a brief moment, and when he opened them his lips had drawn back into a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"You didn't think you were going that slow?" he asked softly, affecting a light - almost friendly - tone as he came closer to the Hufflepuff. "Okay, I understand. You're apologizing because, to me, it seemed like you were going slow. Which means... there's something wrong with my perception of speed. Is that it?"

He stepped closer, keeping that semi-friendly expression on his face as he grew angrier inside. "You, what, you look at me and think 'there must be something wrong with him if he thinks I'm slow.' Because that's basically what you've just said, you know? That I'm knocked in the head." He shook his head slowly, disapprovingly, as his smile grew colder and his eyes narrowed.

"If you said that to my mother, she'd string you up by your thumbs until you were crying because your arms hurt so much. Then she'd leave you there for another day. My father... ten lashes might do, if he was feeling generous." He was now close enough to grab a fistful of the boy's robes and he did so, knuckles white with how hard his grip was. "The only issue is, I simply can't decide who I'm more similar to. Should I be more like Father or more like Mother? What do you think, Flinchy?"

Flinchy?
This boy just called him "Flinchy"!
Max... Eve whispered in James' head.
This Max had James by his cloak, a fistful of James' shirt caught in his hand. James at first thought that Max might have just been in a bad mood, but now he knew that he did not like this boy at all! James always looked for the good in everyone, but right now, he was determined that he was not going to be walked all over.
Either very stupidly, or very bravely, James locked eyes with Max and replied boldly.
"Well, I'm sorry to hear about you and your parents, Max. I'm thinking you should be more like yourself, whoever that is, but that's up to you. For now, I'll let you deal with that on your own."
With that, James reached up with his right arm and grabbed Max's wrist. He made to pull or push it away from himself, so as to release him from Max's grasp.
Something told James that Max would take this as an invitation for violence, but if they were to fight, or if they were going to walk away from each other, James' first step either way would be to get loose from him.

Max's eyes widened marginally at the boy's response, a brief flare of satisfaction going through him at the spirited response. This was the excuse he'd been looking for. He let out a low laugh under his breath, his grip tightening on the Hufflepuff's shirt. "You're right," he said with a half shrug, his casual outward appearance at odds with how he felt inside. "I should just be myself. I don't want to be like them; that would mean there's someone out there stronger than me. I want to be worse. Much worse."

His eyes dipped down when the boy grabbed his wrist in attempt to escape, and when he looked back up again his eyes were full of fury.

"Don't you ever touch me, you filthy Mudblood," he snarled, releasing the robes and jerking his hand back like he'd been burned. In the next breath, he swung his fist towards the boy's face, not really registering what he was doing until it was too late to take it back. He dimly thought that this wasn't the ideal situation; if he got caught punching someone in the halls, he'd likely get in huge trouble and he'd be known as the type of person who lost his temper. Nonetheless, he needed to let his anger out and, in his mind, Flinchy deserved it.

As James touched Max's fist in attempt to get it off of him, there was a moment of sudden tenseness. 
James looked up at Max and saw him look down at their locked hands. And then, in another instant, Max looked back at James, eyes locked, and filled with fury.
He touched you first. Flare commented in James' head.
"Don't you ever touch me, you filthy Mudblood!" Max snarled, pulling his hand away. 
MUDBLOOD!? James thought. I'm not even Muggle Born! Sure, I'm Half-Blood, but... why does that word still hurt?
Deep down, James knew, but it was really because one of James' main struggles at Hogwarts so far was feeling like he fit in, having been brought up completely Muggle and without any knowledge of magic, but yet, still believing, praying, hoping that there was something else out there for him. So, in a sense, James did feel like a Muggle-Born... or a Mudblood.
When Max released James from his grip, James thought he was free to go, but that was not the case. Before James could turn away, a large fleshy mass entered into the side of his vision. And, as anyone could have guessed, James could not do anything before it made contact.
Max punched James in the face, sending him into the wall next to them, and causing him to slide down onto the ground.
Head spinning, James looked back up at Max, wiping the side of his head, which a nasty bruise was forming on the outside of one eye.
Okay. Kick that jerk out of town! Flare urged again.
James knew he was on the smaller side. He was skinny, and Max was definitely bigger, but this only reminded him of a fight between two characters he had once written a story about. Their names had actually been Max and James, and James won the fight by means of elemental magic, but James knew that in real life, right now, he could not use any spells against Max. First, because it wasn't allowed, and second, because he didn't really know anything good enough.
James put his hand on the wall next to him and stood up with it's help. He dropped his bag off of his shoulder, letting it thump to the floor, and glared at Max. He got ready to attack back, but froze. He had no idea what to do, he realized. He had never been in any actual combat before, and now, James was completely open for Max to take another shot.

It was an odd feeling, his fist connecting with someone else's face. As often as he'd snarled at people, he'd never actually hit one of them. It hurt his fist a lot more than he'd expected, and for a second he paused to frown at his hand, flexing his fingers. Another hit like that and his knuckles might even be bruised tomorrow, ginger to the touch and clear for anyone to see that he'd hit someone. He should probably stop, but it had felt... well, better than he'd imagined. It had managed to dim his anger a little, like some sort of release.

Turning his attention from his hand to the boy in front of him, he was almost surprised to see the boy standing up again and squaring off like he thought he had a fair chance in this fight. Max shook his head slightly at how stupid that was; the kid was skinny whereas Max's shoulders had started to fill out slightly, so he had the obvious size advantage.

"You really have no idea what you're doing," Max said coldly as the boy froze up. At this point, he could do whatever he wanted; he knew exactly where to hit to inflict the most pain, even if he'd never done it before. He wasn't so angry that he'd lose enough control to kill - probably, anyway - but he needed to teach this lesson now, before kids like this thought they should stand up to him. "Your place isn't standing equal with me. It's on the the ground. Stay down."

Really, by doing this, he was doing this boy a favour; people needed to learn their place early on in life or they'd suffer later. If he made this boy suffer now, he was actually saving him in the long term. At least, that's what he told himself as he easily stepped in and delivered a swift backhand blow across one of the boy's cheeks, hard enough to knock him back to the ground. That done, he placed a well-aimed kick into the boy's lower ribs, a place that was sure to hurt and make it painful to breathe for the next few days. "Don't get back up."

"You really have no idea what you're doing." Max told him as James stood back up, not quite ready to fight back.
Faster than the punch, a back hand slap came raining down on James’ face, once again throwing him to the ground. When Max had punched James in the face, it had left a dark, increasingly blue-ish mark that made James’ head throb. This time, when Max slapped James in the face, it left a bright, increasingly red mark that made James’ face sting like crazy.
James gasped with pain, but hadn’t been slapped silly, necessarily, so he was ready to get up again, until Max stuck him again, this time, not with his hand, and not on James’ face.
A strong kick dug into James’ middle, instantly knocking the wind out of him, and causing him to gasp for breath that wasn’t there. The slap had hurt, but the kick had hurt a thousand times more.
"Your place isn't standing equal with me. It's on the the ground. Stay down. Don’t get back up.”
The pain in James’ ribs was spilling up into his throat, causing him to choke on his pain as he looked up at Max, who was towering above him, looking triumphant.
James’ face was already red from the slap, but he immediately turned an even brighter shade of red in his anger towards this jerk, Max.
While James wasn’t very strong and was very skinny, there was one exceptionally strong thing about him, and that was his legs. James had always been a fast runner. He excelled in not just speed, but endurance. So, when James surprised Max by using the stone ground for leverage to spin around, striking Max’s legs with his own to sweep him off his feet, James only thought about wanting to get Max down on the ground too.

He'd thought that would be it - that the idiot would stay down and he could walk away - but apparently he'd underestimated this Mudblood's stupidity. One second he was standing there waiting for an admission of defeat, and the next his legs were swept out from under him and he was falling. He was so shocked he barely had time to process it, and he hit the ground hard, a coppery taste filling his mouth as he accidentally bit down on his tongue. He lifted one hand, eyes wide, to his mouth. Two fingers came away wet with blood.

"You - " He stared at his own blood for a second, vision wavering. That hadn't been good form at all. A choked laugh escaped his lips as he lowered his hand, looking at the Hufflepuff incredulously; it wasn't a good sound at all. If he'd been angry before, now he just felt a curious absence of anything at all. He grabbed the boy's leg and dragged him closer, then swung a leg over him so he was now hovering over top, regardless of the fact that it left him open for more hits.

"I told you - " He grasped the front of the boy's shirt, lifting him slightly off the ground before punching him in the face. " - that you don't - " Another punch. " - know - " Another, and he released the boy's shirt to use his other hand. " - what you're - " Smack. " - doing - " Smack. " - you - " Smack. " - idiot." He probably would've struck again had one of the pieces of armour behind him not suddenly exploded apart, the clangs startling him.

He realized abruptly that he was exhausted from hitting this boy, and his knuckles were bleeding from the repeated strikes. And that if he'd kept going... He didn't want to think about it. He rapidly rolled off the boy and a short ways away, panting and trying not be sick. "Get out of here." His voice was a guttural growl like he'd never heard before, as he wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, smearing blood on his face. "Go."

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