She moves towards him, still on the horse, and James shakes his head, water droplets flying out of the unruly mess. He'd spell himself dry if it weren't for the fact that a (likely) muggle just walked in on him, and maybe things in Darrow are all a bit skewed but James has had the Statute of Secrecy drilled into him since he was a kid. It's a hard thing to shake, so for the moment at least he stands, still wet and resisting the twitch of his hand towards his wand.

"Er, yes," he admits, giving her a sheepish smile as he looks up. Fell in the river from quite a height, if he's being honest, but that's not something he's about to tell her. It's embarrassing enough that she's found him like this, he doesn't need to go explaining that it's the result of a complete and utter failure to craft a broom.

Maybe not complete failure. He was, at the very least, airborne. It's a start, even if Sirius will likely mock him for it later.

"I'm fine," he assures her. "Nothing broken, besides my ego."