You never intended to end up soaked, half-covered in pondweed, and laughing so hard your stomach ached—but this was James Potter, after all. Nothing with him ever went quite as planned.

It had started innocently enough. A warm Saturday afternoon, the scent of pumpkin pastries still lingering in the Great Hall, and Sirius whispering, "C’mon, I’ve got an idea that doesn’t involve detention for once." That turned out to be a lie.

By the time you reached the Black Lake, James was already kicking off his boots, that devil-may-care grin plastered across his face.

“You’re going to love this,” he said, glancing sideways at you, hazel eyes glinting with mischief. “Don’t scream.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he shifted. One moment, it was James—the boy with messy hair and ink-smudged fingers. The next, there was a bloody stag, tall and proud and... trying to nudge you into the water.

“Oh my—James!” you shrieked, stumbling backwards. “You absolute menace!”

The stag snorted, clearly proud of himself, and cantered away along the edge of the lake. Sirius and Remus were howling with laughter. Peter had nearly dropped his Honeydukes bar.

Moments later, you were chasing a stag around the shoreline, yelling empty threats and laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe. James, the stag, darted just close enough to splash you with lake water—again and again.