The green slime drips down your robes, thick and humiliating, as the Great Hall erupts into laughter.

You don’t wait to see which Marauder is grinning the widest. You don’t care who was holding the wand or who whispered the spell. You just turn on your heel, fists clenched, heart hammering, and storm out.

You don’t stop until you’re halfway down the Charms corridor, away from the snickers and whispers. Not when Sirius howls behind you, not when Peter tries to stammer an apology, not even when Remus mutters your name like it might fix anything. You keep moving, fists clenched, heart pounding. Your cheeks burn, not from embarrassment, but from the betrayal. Of course it was them. Of course you were just collateral damage.

“Wait—wait, love—please—”

James.

You whirl around before he can catch your arm. “Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

You hear his voice before he rounds the corner, breathless, hair messier than usual from chasing after you. He skids to a stop, eyes wide the moment he sees your soaked robes.

“I didn’t mean for you—” His voice is hoarse. “You know I’d never.”

You glare at him. “Funny. Doesn’t feel that way.”

“It was supposed to hit Mulciber! He hexed Peter last week—I was aiming for him.” James runs a hand through his hair, looking like he might pull it out. “You walked right into it, I swear.”