In the dark dank corner of the dungeons, in an alcove adjacent to Snape's office, a dark brown head sneezed four times in a row.
"Someone's talking about me." James sniffed, trying to regain control of his snot layered person, smearing his sleeve unattractively. He pulled a face. His nose twitched. He licked his finger and held it testingly in the air. "Mm, yes. My Prongslet-sense is tingling. Harry needs me."
With a dramatic flourish, he lobbed the collection of dung bombs down the Slytherin hall, dodging corridors to freedom. About the time he realized the shortcut was the next door, James heard a tell tale 'click'.
He spun and jiggled the handle to the store closet. Locked. "Double bollucks."
He reached for his wand.
He reached.
A little bit more.
By this point he was more groping himself frantically than reaching, when finally it dawned on him. He didn't HAVE his wand.