— You hadn’t planned to be near the Black Lake that afternoon. The courtyard had been too warm, your book too heavy in your bag, and so you wandered—seeking shade, quiet, and something softer than stone benches. The rustling leaves and gentle lapping of the lake were meant to soothe you.

Until you heard laughter.

Not the warm kind. Not the kind shared between friends. No, this was sharp, mean. It cut through the air like broken glass, and something in your gut twisted.

You turned your head and there it was.

A crowd had gathered, eyes fixed on the scene near the water. James stood at the center of it, wand raised, grin wide with misplaced pride. And dangling midair, upside down by one ankle, was Severus. His robes had slid toward his chest, and his trousers had fallen low enough to reveal faded, worn underwear. His pale skin burned red with embarrassment, hair hanging downward like a curtain to hide his face.

The laughter only grew louder.

Sirius howled, practically bent in two. Peter cackled beside him, pointing like a child. Even Remus, the quietest of them, stood to the side and did nothing. But James? He drank in the attention, twirling his wand with theatrical flair, like he thought himself the hero of the moment.

Your heart pounded. You knew exactly why he was doing this.

Because Severus had spent time with you yesterday. Because he, quiet and brilliant and misunderstood, had earned an hour of your attention. And James—entitled, infuriating James—couldn’t stand it. You’d rejected him time and time again, and now he lashed out in the only way he knew how: cruelty.

You felt the heat rise to your face. Your fists clenched at your sides.

You couldn’t watch another second so you immediately stepped forward to intervene and stop this gut wrenching behavior of the so-called Marauders.