Three Lives, Then What?

As they made their way down the crowded hallway, weaving between students and dodging half-open lockers, James let out a loud sigh. “When can’t we just do the prank now? We haven’t even started school yet, and I’m already bored.”

Sirius smirked, hands shoved into his pockets. “Well, think of it this way: the longer we wait, the more dramatic it’ll be when it finally happens.”

James shot him a look. “Dramatics is your thing.”

“Hey, I prefer to think of it as strategic flair,” Sirius said, grinning.

“Strategic flair? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Absolutely. You’re just jealous you didn’t come up with it first.”

“Oh, I’m jealous, alright,” James said dryly. “Sooo jealous of the disaster you call strategy.”

Peter shrugged, joining their conversation. “I dunno, guys, I kinda like the waiting part. Gives me time to, y’know, mentally prepare.”

James snorted. “Prepare mentally? Pete, just learn to not scream whenever we do something big.”

Peter scowled. “That was one time! And only because it was loud! You can’t just throw a bunch of fireworks in someone’s office and expect me not to scream.”

Sirius laughed. “You know, Pete, I’ve been meaning to ask—how are your nerves holding up for this one?”

“Well, I—”

“Don’t worry, Pete,” James interrupted, clapping a hand on his shoulder, causing Peter to stumble a bit. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to hide under the desk when the fireworks go off.”

Peter huffed. “I wasn’t hiding! I was strategically out of the way!”

Sirius grinned. “Look, Pete, don’t worry about it. This one is going to be perfect.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Right. And I suppose you accidentally setting off fireworks at one in the morning was just a masterstroke of timing?”

“Exactly! You can’t rush perfection, mate.”

“Well, if this prank turns out half as good as your last ‘perfect timing,’ I’ll be impressed.”

Peter sighed. “Luckily, there’s no fireworks this time. I don’t think the teachers’ ears could handle another explosion like last time.”

James smirked. “If this backfires, we’re not blaming me.”

“Make sure to aim the blame at Sirius for once. He needs the humbling,” another voice cut in, smooth like silk and as rich as velvet.

James knew that voice before he even turned around.

It sent something instinctive through him—anticipation, nerves, something ridiculous that made his pulse stutter for a half-second. And then, there he was.

The worst mistake James ever made was noticing how pretty Regulus Black was. The second worst was never being able to stop.

James knew it was wrong—fancying his best mate’s little brother. Sirius would have an aneurysm if he ever found out. But Regulus was only a year younger, and honestly, could you blame him? Regulus was fucking gorgeous.

Silky black curls tumbled effortlessly over his forehead, framing his face like an artist who had spent years perfecting every angle of their statue. Those piercing grey eyes weren’t just sharp—they were glacial, unwavering, as if they could see right through him and weren’t all that impressed with what they found. His lips, soft pink and maddeningly perfect, looked like they belonged in a goddamn painting. And his cheekbones? Sharp enough to cut glass, to carve stone, to ruin James entirely.

With skin so pale it bordered on ethereal, Regulus didn’t just look angelic—he looked untouchable, like he wasn’t meant for this world but had been forced to exist in it anyway. And James, utterly doomed, could do nothing but stare.

Sirius gasped in mock offense. “What, me? I’ve done nothing wrong!”

James was embarrassed to admit that, for a second, he completely forgot what Sirius had been responding to.

Regulus levelled him with a flat look that made something in James’ stomach curdle like off milk, even though it wasn’t directed at him. “I could fill a library with all the things you’ve done wrong.”

Before Sirius could come up with a retort, they reached the classroom door. James pushed it open, and with a dramatic flair that Sirius would approve of, he said, "Another mind-numbing lesson to endure."

With that, they stepped inside, the hum of student chatter greeting them as they found their seats.

***

“I’m just saying, Pete, you need a new strategy,” Sirius said as they strolled toward the courtyard. “Hiding under the desk isn’t a long-term solution.”

“For the last time, I wasn’t hiding,” Peter huffed. “I was strategically—”

“Oi, what’s going on over there?” James cut in, slowing his pace as they rounded the corner.

They all stopped as a sharp, familiar voice sliced through the usual school chatter.

“That’s funny,” Regulus drawled, his tone cold and razor-sharp. “Genuinely. I didn’t realize people still had the confidence to run their mouths without the intelligence to back it up.”

James turned his head instinctively, and—oh, fuck.
That was Regulus in the middle of the crowd, voice like a scalpel, cutting and precise.

The light-hearted buzz from their conversation vanished as quickly as it had come, replaced by something much sharper.
James barely noticed the kid Regulus was tearing apart. His brain was too busy short-circuiting over how unfairly good he looked while doing it. James was so, so screwed.

Because it wasn’t fair—Regulus shouldn’t look that good when he was mad. His already sharp features were even more pronounced, his lips pressed into a thin, unimpressed line, his expression a perfect mask of disdain. His skin almost translucent in the fluorescent light. His black curls framed his face in a way that felt almost intentional, as if even his hair knew how to make a dramatic statement.

James swallowed hard. This is a problem.

“Oh, piss off, Black,” the kid scoffed. “I was just joking. Didn’t think your little pet over there needed you to fight her battles.”

Regulus tilted his head to the side and lowered it slightly, looking through his brows at the kid. And damn it, even that was attractive. His movements were so precise, so calculated, like he was a cat playing with his food.

“Ohhh, you were joking,” he said, voice dripping with mock amusement. “Well, that explains it! I thought you were just being pathetic for no reason.”

James felt that insult in his soul, and it wasn’t even directed at him.

The kid bristled. “I wasn’t—look, if she can’t handle a bit of light teasing—”

“Light teasing?” Regulus interrupted, voice edged with quiet disdain. “Right. Because cornering someone in the hallway and making her feel like shit is just light teasing to you, yeah?”

Pandora shifted uncomfortably beside him. “Reg, it’s fine—”

But Regulus ignored her, stepping forward instead, and James had the distinct feeling that something dangerous was about to happen if the kid didn’t give up and accept defeat soon.

“Picking on someone like Pandora? Really? That’s like kicking a puppy and being proud of it. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised—successfully running your mouth requires at least two functioning brain cells, and unfortunately, you weren’t blessed with them.”

Barty let out a delighted laugh. “Oh, that was a good one.”

James wasn’t even paying attention to the other boy anymore. No, his brain was too preoccupied with the way Regulus’ shoulders squared, the way his jaw tensed, the way muscle in his cheek flicked, the way he looked so effortlessly intimidating.

He shouldn’t find this hot. He really shouldn’t.

The kid’s face darkened. “You think you’re so much better than everyone else, don’t you?”

Regulus smirked, slow and dangerous, and James’ heart did something weird in his chest.

“Oh, no,” Regulus said smoothly. “Not everyone. Just you.”

James sucked in a breath. Oh, hell.

The kid clenched his fists. “You’re such a smug little—”

“Careful,” Regulus murmured, stepping closer, voice dropping to something quiet and sharp enough to cut. “Unless you want to find out exactly how smug I can be when I’m really trying.”

James was absolutely, one hundred percent doomed.

The tension thickened, the air almost crackling with it, until the kid finally huffed and stormed off, muttering curses under his breath.

Barty grinned. “Brilliant.”

“Necessary,” Evan added, still entirely unbothered. “Good job.”

Pandora sighed. “Reg, you really didn’t have to—”

Regulus finally relaxed, the fire in his eyes cooling just slightly. “Of course I did.”

James barely heard the rest of the conversation over the blood rushing in his ears.

From their spot a few feet away, he exchanged a glance with Sirius and Peter.

Sirius grinned. “I taught him well.”

James shook his head, still feeling like he needed to sit down. “Yeah, but he’s definitely getting detention for that.”

Peter snorted. “Worth it, though.”

And right on cue, a sharp voice cut through the air.

“Black. My office. Now.”

Regulus exhaled through his nose, looking less irritated and more mildly inconvenienced.

James, meanwhile, was left standing there, wondering if it was possible to die from pining too hard.

***

James slumped in his chair, head lolled to the side, his face squished dramatically against his arm. "I’m dying," he whispered.

Sirius, sitting beside him, didn’t even look up from where he was doodling on his notebook instead of taking notes. “Mm. Tragic. I’ll plan your funeral. Any last requests?”

James sighed, long and suffering. “Tell my mum I love her. And tell Peter I hope he chokes on his next sandwich.”

Sirius snorted. “Harsh.”

“Boys.”

Mr Burbage, their substitute history teacher, didn’t even need to turn around from the board. His voice carried the kind of weary exasperation that said he had long since accepted James and Sirius as a lost cause.

James tried schooling his face into something halfway decent while Sirius, the absolute menace, didn’t even flinch.

Across the room, Marlene McKinnon shot them a smirk over her shoulder, shaking her head. Dorcas Meadowes, sitting beside her, was actually attempting to take notes, though she looked one more distraction away from joining in on their nonsense.

James sighed again, flopping back into his chair. “What even is the point of this class?” he murmured.

Sirius leaned over. “Historical context,” he said in a poor imitation of their teacher’s voice.

James snorted. “Oh, sure. Because I’m definitely going to need to know about some war from a hundred years ago when I’m old and rich and famous.”

“Famous for what, exactly?” Sirius asked, arching a brow.

“Dunno. I’ll figure it out later.”

Before Sirius could retort, Mary Macdonald, sitting in front of them, spun around. “Would you two shut up before she actually gives you detention this time?”

Sirius grinned. “Macdonald, don’t lie. You’d be devastated if we weren’t here to make this class interesting.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure. Fascinating, watching you two fail at whispering.”

A soft knock at the door made James straighten, desperate for any sort of distraction. He’d even take being pulled out of class to be told off, anything.

Miss McGonagall poked her head through the door, her lips pressed in a thin, disapproving line, as always. Or maybe that’s just how she looks when around James and his friends.

“Could I borrow James Potter and Sirius Black for a moment?”

James thanked his lucky stars for his innate talent for attracting trouble and practically sprinted toward the door. It wasn’t until he burst outside that it hit him—why he was likely being called out and, more importantly, what was supposed to be happening at that very moment.

Anxiety swirled in his stomach. Had Peter gotten caught with the bombs? Was he okay? Or was this all about something else?

He exchanged a glance with Sirius who, for once, seemed to be missing his confident and cocky demeaner.

McGonagall didn’t say a word on the walk to her office and the silence was slowly suffocating James. Each step that echoed off the hallway walls without any words to muffle them felt like a hand slowly squeezing his heart.

Once they reached the office, McGonagall pushed open the door, revealing the pristine white walls, a single desk, and three chairs—one reserved for her and the other two for visitors. One of those seats was already occupied by their friend, who sat stiffly, nerves practically radiating off him.

Peter instantly stood up when he saw them, as if to apologise, but slowly sank back down, his blue eyes darting in McGonagall’s direction, hesitant and wary.

McGonagall broke the silence, her voice cold. “Boys,” she said, holding up a smoke bomb like it was evidence in a murder case. “Explain yourselves.”

The silence that followed was heavier than the last, pressing down on them like a lead weight.

James let out a nervous laugh, shattering the silence like glass. He hoped the shards won’t cut him. “Uh—well—would you believe me if I said I’ve never seen that in my life?”

McGonagall’s gaze was flat. “No.”

Sirius dropped onto the last chair, draping himself over the back of it like he didn’t have a care in the world. “What if I said it?”

“I’d believe it even less.”

Peter shifted uncomfortably. “Look, it’s not as bad as it seems—”

“Not as bad as it seems?” McGonagall echoed, eyes narrowing. “Mr. Pettigrew, I found this in your bag. Would you care to explain why you were carrying a fully functional smoke bomb on school grounds?”

Peter swallowed hard. “...For educational purposes?”

James straightened, seizing the opportunity. “Yeah! Chemistry experiment! Science! Expanding our academic horizons!”

Sirius nodded solemnly. “Really, Professor, you should be proud of our intellectual curiosity.”

McGonagall arched a single, unimpressed eyebrow. “Proud? I should be proud that you smuggled an illegal incendiary device into school?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds bad,” James muttered.

“Because it is bad, Potter.”

“But not as bad as it could be,” Sirius pointed out, far too pleased with himself.

McGonagall sighed. “Oh, really? And what, exactly, could be worse than this?”

James hesitated. “...If it had gone off in the cafeteria?”

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose.

Sirius grinned. “See, Minnie? Perspective.”

"Detention. All of you."

***

James ended up stuck in detention with Filch—the janitor of his school and one of the worst people in existence, right up there next to Sirius’ parents. At least he wasn’t alone. His friends were there too, though, for some reason, so was Regulus.

The storage room was cramped, dimly lit, and smelled like dust, old cleaning supplies, and possibly something dead mixed in. James wrinkled his nose as he stepped inside, nudging Sirius. “If I pass out from the fumes, make sure my obituary is funny.”

“You’ll be lucky if you don’t pass out from Filch’s breath first,” Sirius muttered back.

Filch, already in a foul mood, shot them both a glare. “You think you’re comedians, do you?” He sneered, arms crossed over his chest. “Let’s see how funny you find spending your evening in here, scrubbing every inch of this room till it’s spotless.”

James groaned but still said, “You act like this is some impossible task.”

Regulus scoffed. “For you, it probably is.”

Filch ignored them, jerking his thumb toward the buckets, sponges, and rags piled against the wall. “Everything gets scrubbed, sorted, and put back in order. No shortcuts, and if I catch you lazing about, you’ll be back here every night for the rest of the month.” His gaze landed on James and Sirius in particular.

Peter sighed, already looking exhausted. “This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

Filch smirked. “That’s the point, Pettigrew.” Then, with one last suspicious glance at the group, he turned and stomped out, slamming the door shut behind him.

Silence settled over them.

Sirius picked up a sponge, eyeing it with deep disdain. "Who wants to bet how long it will take to find something dead?"

An hour later, the storage room was still a disaster, and James was seriously reconsidering all his life choices.

James groaned, tossing a rag onto the nearest shelf. "This is pointless. We could clean for a year, and it’d still look like a tornado came through here."

Sirius leaned dramatically against a broom. "That’s because Filch is a sadist who enjoys watching us suffer."

Regulus dusted off an old box, eyeing it with mild disgust. "Or because you’re both incompetent."

Peter blew the dust off his hands, only to start coughing violently. "I think I’m developing a lung disease."

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Less talking, more working. The sooner we finish, the sooner we leave."

Sirius huffed and tossed the broom aside with theatrical flair. "Or—and hear me out—we take a break. Maybe stretch our legs. Maybe never come back."

James snorted. "Nice try. We all know Filch is lurking outside like some deranged gargoyle, just waiting for an excuse to make this worse."

Sirius let out a long, suffering sigh. "Fine. But I refuse to die of boredom." Instead of cleaning, he started rifling through a pile of old junk.

Peter watched him with suspicion. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for something interesting," Sirius said, grinning as he dug deeper. "There’s got to be something in here that isn’t just dust and misery."

He dragged his fingers through the pile, sifting through forgotten relics. "Let’s see… trash, more trash, something that might be an actual fossil—oh, wait, nope, just a very sad sandwich." He grimaced and tossed it aside.

Peter wrinkled his nose. "How long has that been in here?"

Sirius picked up a rusted canteen, turning it over in his hands. "Judging by the smell? At least a decade. Possibly two." He gave it an experimental shake, heard something slosh inside, and immediately dropped it. "Yeah, not dealing with that."

James watched with mild horror. "I’m actually impressed by how much weird stuff is in here."

Rummaging deeper, Sirius pulled out a cracked snow globe. "Aw, look at this. A tiny, depressing winter wonderland. Perfectly encapsulates how I feel right now." He shook it, but the fake snow inside clumped together in a sad, frozen lump. "Well, that’s just tragic."

Peter, still focused on his own work, didn’t even look up. "So are you."

Sirius gasped, mock offended. "Wow, Peter, so eager to betray me! In my hour of suffering, no less." He tossed the snow globe aside, but as he reached into the pile again, his fingers brushed against something solid and wooden beneath a stack of crates.

His grin widened as he gripped the edge of the object. "...Ooh. What’s this?"

James folded his arms. "If it’s another mouldy book, I swear—"

Sirius smirked as he pulled out an old game console. "Nope. This is way more interesting."

The game console had definitely seen better days—its paint was faded, bits of tape held it together like it had survived a lifetime of abuse, and he was pretty sure that was mould growing in the back. Despite the game’s state, the word Jumanji, etched across the top in fading, uneven letters, remained remarkably legible, as if stubbornly clinging to its identity despite the passage of time. 

“Oh, brilliant!” James says, shooting up from his spot on the dirty ground like a rocket, or more accurately when James is involved, a firework.

Regulus is not impressed. “No. If you’re anything like Sirius, you’ll get sucked into that game, and I’ll be the one who has to drag you away.”

Sirius was already setting up the console, barely paying attention to Regulus' disapproving glare. “Oh, come off it, Reggie. Let us have a little fun.”

He pressed a button. Nothing happened.

Frowning, he tried again, jabbing it harder this time. The console remained stubbornly lifeless.

“Uh… James? A little help here?”

James sighed but knelt beside him anyway, prodding at the console with a mix of curiosity and frustration. He poked, tapped, and shook it, brows furrowing deeper with each failed attempt. Finally, with a resigned huff, he gave it an experimental smack against the floor—because at this point, why not?

That seemed to do the trick as, finally, with a faint spark and a flicker, the screen buzzed to life.

A flicker of triumph warmed his chest, and he grinned, exclaiming, “There! Fixed it.”

Sirius grinned, excitement glinting in his grey eyes as he fiddled with the provided controller. "Knew I kept you around for a reason."

Huffing fondly, James picked up a controller and watched as the old screen struggled to keep up with Sirius’ eager tapping. “Give it a break, mate. It’s only about a century old.”

Peter nudged the controller, tilting his head. “Maybe it just needs a second—oh! Look, it’s working!”

Regulus didn’t even look up, his tone as flat as ever. “Fantastic. Now we can all die in 8-bit horror.”

James struggled to keep a straight face—Regulus could be downright hilarious when he wasn’t even trying.

Meanwhile, Sirius had reached the character selection screen and was furiously mashing a button like his life depended on it.

James eyed him warily. “Mate, if you break it before we even start, I’m making you finish cleaning by yourself.”

Sirius let out an exasperated groan, jabbing the button even harder—if that was even possible. “It’s just—argh—this stupid thing won’t let me pick Moony!”

A blocky wolf icon flickered beside the name, its pixelated tail giving a single wag before it stilled, as if mocking his failure to select it.

James snorted, swiping the controller from his hands before he could break the ancient console. “Mate, it’s old. You really think it’s going to work perfectly?”

He scrolled through the options with a considering hum. “Just pick Padfoot, maybe?” Before Sirius could argue, James locked in the character.

A pixelated dog icon appeared beside the name, its tiny tail wagging as it panted cheerfully.

“Hey!” Sirius yelped, snapping out of his frustration long enough to snatch the controller back. “Don’t just pick my character for me!”

James smirked. “Relax, I’m sure it’ll let you change it.”

Sirius wasn’t convinced. He narrowed his eyes and started mashing the buttons again, determined to prove James wrong. Nothing happened.

James watched for a beat, then reached out cautiously. “Okay, okay! I get it!”

Sirius finally stopped, scowling at the screen like it had personally betrayed him. With a reluctant sigh, he turned to Peter instead. “You joining, Pete?”

Peter, who had been watching the entire exchange with amusement, shrugged. “Why not?”

James scrolled through the options, barely hesitating before selecting Prongs. The name felt right—familiar in a way he couldn’t quite explain. With a quick tap, he locked it in, the pixelated stag icon flashing on the screen. Beside him, Peter took a little longer, shifting in place as he flicked through the choices. Eventually, he landed on Wormtail, his expression unreadable as he pressed the button. The small, scurrying rat appeared next to their names, and just like that, they were in.

“Regulus?” He called over his shoulder. “You going to play?”

“No, I’ve got better thing to do.”

Sirius scoffed, barely holding back a grin. “Right, better things—like sitting there and being miserable?” He tapped at the controller. “Suit yourself. Just means you’ll have to watch while we have all the fun.”

Regulus’ eye twitched. “I am not miserable.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Sirius smirked, stretching out as he leaned back against the wall. “Then again, I suppose it makes sense. Wouldn’t want to risk embarrassing yourself when you inevitably lose.”

Regulus’ expression didn’t change, but James saw the way his fingers twitched, the smallest clench of his jaw.

“I wouldn’t lose.”

Sirius’ grin widened. “Oh? Then prove it.”

Regulus exhaled sharply through his nose. Then, with a glare that could kill, he snatched a controller. “Fine. Move over.”

Regulus locked in Katherine with a sharp, annoyed click of the button, huffing the entire time. Beside the name, a pixelated cat appeared—its colours slightly distorted, as if someone had spilled water on that part of the screen. The glitch made the poor thing look like it was flickering in and out of existence.

With that, they pressed play.

For a moment, nothing happened. The screen remained frozen, the pixelated characters motionless, as if the game itself was hesitating. Then—

A piercing screech ripped through the room. The screen spasmed, flashing between static and distorted pixels. Symbols twisted into unreadable gibberish, shifting too fast to follow. The air thickened, charged with something unnatural, humming with an energy that made James’ skin crawl.

Cursing under his breath, he lunged for the plug and yanked it from the wall. The console gave a sickly buzz, but nothing changed. The screen remained on, flickering and distorting like something alive.

Then Peter made a strangled noise. “Uh—guys?”

James turned. Sirius was staring at his hand, eyes wide as thin, glowing particles lifted off his skin, dissolving into the air.

“What the—” Sirius barely got the words out before the effect spread, creeping up his arms, unravelling him in shimmering wisps.

“Okay, nobody panic!” James said, though it was already pointless.

Sirius shot him a dry look, exasperated even as half his torso disintegrated. “Oh, sure. Great advice, James. Super helpful.”

James barely had time to register the sarcasm before the glow intensified, creeping up Sirius’ chest, his shoulders, his neck—

“Shit—Sirius!” James reached out, but his fingers passed through empty air as Sirius disintegrated, the last of him vanishing into the screen.

Peter staggered back, wild-eyed. “No, no, no—” His breath hitched as the same thing began happening to him. He barely had time to look at James—panicked, pleading—before his body scattered, the pieces of him dissolving like dust in the wind.

Regulus clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists even as they, too, began to break apart. The glow spread up his arms, shimmering, pulling pieces of him away. He exhaled sharply, trying to fight it, but there was nothing to fight.

James stumbled backward, his heartbeat slamming against his ribs. His breath came quick, uneven.

Then—

A sickening tingling sensation crawled over his skin. His hands flickered, pieces of them lifting into the air.

No.

No, no, no—

“Wait—” His voice cracked, barely more than a breath.

The glow crawled up his arms, his chest. His legs faltered, breaking apart beneath him.

He gasped, but the sound barely left his lips before the last of him vanished.

The room was finally quiet after that.