The Road Ahead
The truck hummed steadily along the empty road, the sound of tires on terrain below the only company in the otherwise silent vehicle. James was beginning to feel a little too aware of the quiet—a heavy, almost suffocating silence that seemed to press in from all sides. The air in the truck was thick, and the faint smell of something faintly metallic lingered just beneath the usual scent of old leather and dust.
Regulus was leaning back in the seat, arms crossed, staring out the window. Sirius was watching them all, his eyes unreadable, though James caught the occasional glance he shot at Lockhart in the front seat, his brow furrowed in silent confusion.
And then, just as the silence started to settle too deeply, Lockhart clapped his hands together, beaming. “Oh, where did my manners go? I forgot to greet you!”
James barely had time to frown before Lockhart whirled toward him, eyes shining with an almost unsettling amount of enthusiasm.
“Prongs the Protector!” he announced grandly, pointing a finger at James as if he had just uncovered some grand secret. “Brave, noble, and—most importantly—undeniably dashing! Just what every great hero needs!”
James blinked. “Uh—thanks?”
Lockhart was already moving on, shifting his attention to Sirius, who raised a sceptical eyebrow but said nothing.
“Padfoot the Prankster!” Lockhart declared, giving an exaggerated wink. “Oh, I can already tell you’ll be a handful! Quick-witted, mischievous—yes, yes, every story needs one of your kind. The comedic relief, the wildcard, the charmer!”
Sirius leaned back, smirking. “Well, I can’t argue with that.”
Peter let out a nervous chuckle, but it cut off when Lockhart turned his gaze on him.
“And you! Wormtail the Warrior!” Lockhart announced, as if bestowing a great honour. Peter’s eyes widened. “Small but mighty! The underdog! The one no one expects—oh, I do love a surprise twist!”
Peter’s mouth opened and closed, but he didn’t seem to know what to say, his face hovering between pride and panic.
Lockhart pivoted swiftly to Regulus, who was already frowning, arms crossed.
“Katherine the Killer,” Lockhart proclaimed, voice dropping into something almost dramatic. “Cold. Calculating. A force to be reckoned with—lethal, even!” He waggled his eyebrows. “But with a heart of gold, perhaps? Oh, I do love a bit of mystery!”
Regulus exhaled slowly, unimpressed.
And then—just as suddenly—Lockhart turned, arms outstretched, as if ready to welcome one more into the fold.
“Ah, and last but certainly not least—Moony the Mastermind!” He grinned, eyes sparkling as he gestured to the empty space beside him. “Brilliant strategist, quick thinker—why, every great adventure needs a mind like yours!”
Silence.
James stiffened. Sirius’ smirk wavered. Peter shifted uncomfortably. Regulus barely moved, but his eyes narrowed.
Lockhart, however, carried on, entirely unbothered by the lack of response. “Oh, don’t be shy! No need for modesty, my dear boy, we all know you’re the one with the brains around here! You’ll be guiding this lot through thick and thin, making all the tough calls, spotting the dangers before they even arise.”
His expectant smile never faltered as he turned toward thin air, nodding as if acknowledging some unseen presence. “Ah, there’s that quiet confidence! I like that. A thinker, not a talker. But don’t you worry, Moony, I’ve got a good feeling about you.”
His enthusiasm remained unwavering, his gaze fixed on nothing at all. And yet, he carried on as if he were having a conversation, as if Moony were sitting right there beside them, listening intently.
James felt his stomach twist. His eyes darted to Sirius, who was now openly staring at Lockhart, then to Peter, who looked downright spooked.
Silence settled over the car, broken only by the steady hum of the engine and the distant rustling of the jungle beyond.
Finally, Lockhart broke the silence with a question that felt like it came from nowhere.
“Well?” Lockhart asked, his voice suddenly too loud in the otherwise quiet truck. James jumped and whipped around to meet Lockhart’s expectant gaze. Except, Lockhart wasn’t staring directly at him. His eyes were fixed somewhere to the left, a little beyond his shoulder, as though James wasn’t even there.
James frowned, unsettled. "Do you have the diary?" Lockhart pressed, his voice sharp, as if the question was the most obvious thing in the world.
James had half a mind to tell Lockhart to focus on the road, but the strange, almost careless confidence Lockhart exuded made him hesitate. Instead, he furrowed his brows, confusion creeping into his tone. “What diary?”
Lockhart’s grin only widened. His hands expertly guided the car without a single glance at the road. “Tom Riddle’s, of course!” he said, as though it was completely normal to be talking about a random man’s diary while speeding down a road in the middle of nowhere.
Tom Riddle? The name felt foreign, like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. Why did this man keep mentioning strangers as though they should know them? And why did he want this Tom Riddle’s diary?
An image flashed in James' mind—Lockhart, sprawled awkwardly on a too-small bed with a sparkly pink diary in hand, twirling a lock of golden hair around his finger and giggling. He barely stopped himself from laughing aloud.
Regulus, quietly observing the scene from the back seat, raised an eyebrow at Lockhart’s bizarre behaviour but said nothing. His silence only deepened the tension in the car, and James' visible frustration seemed to amplify it.
“Ah,” James said delicately, though he was still lost in what Lockhart was babbling about. “I’m sorry, I don’t have a diary.”
“Sure you do,” Lockhart pressed, still infuriatingly patient. “It’s right there, in your pocket.” He pointed at the slight bulge in James’ right pocket, his grin never wavering.
Frustration bubbling up, James reached into his pocket—and when he pulled his hand out, a diary was right there, resting in his palm.. His breath caught for a split second. He held it out, staring at it like it was a teething puppy ready to bite at any second.
“What the hell?” he muttered under his breath, his fingers tightening around the edges of the leather cover.
Sirius shifted in his seat, his eyes narrowed. "I don't trust this," he muttered, but didn’t elaborate. His gaze flickered between Lockhart and James, a million questions in his new eyes.
Lockhart beamed, completely oblivious to Sirius’ distrust. “Ah, there it is!”
James didn’t respond right away. He flipped the diary over in his hands, the weight of it making his frustration spike. How had it gotten there? He was sure it wasn’t in his pocket earlier. He’d been sure of that.
Just then, a sharp jolt ran through his hand, like the sudden zap you get when your fingers brush against someone else's and an unexpected static shock shoots through you. James’ heart skipped a beat and his hand jerked instinctively, nearly causing him to drop the diary. He blinked at the diary in his palm, his brow furrowing in confusion.
He shook his head slightly, trying to brush off his fears. Maybe it was just his imagination—or some weird side effect of the game they were stuck in. Either way, he couldn’t afford to focus on it right now.
“Lockhart,” James said slowly. “You’re telling me this belongs to a stranger? What was his name again—?” He shook it in front of the man, eyes narrowing. “Tom Riddle?”
Lockhart’s smile never wavered, still annoyingly pleased with himself. “Exactly! You’ve got it now!”
Lockhart extended his hand with an expectant smile, and after only a moment’s hesitation, James handed the diary over. He didn’t particularly want to be holding onto the strange diary of some random man anyway.
Lockhart took the diary from James with a flourish, his smile widening even further. His fingers brushed the cover as though it was the most delicate and precious of objects. James watched with growing suspicion, but Lockhart was too busy admiring the diary to notice.
Without any warning, he reached under his seat and with a dramatic flourish, he pulled out a gleaming sword—its hilt adorned with intricate designs, shining with an almost magical gleam. The sight of it nearly knocked the breath out of James.
“The Sword of Gryffindor,” Lockhart declared, his voice suddenly far too loud and smug for the eerie calm in the truck.
With a swift, almost careless motion, he stabbed the tip of the sword directly into the leather cover of the diary, plunging it in with a resounding thud. The sharp sound of steel against paper echoed through the truck, causing the remaining people to freeze in shock. The room felt charged with a strange, suffocating energy as the blade remained lodged in the diary, Lockhart’s grin never wavering as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.
With a nod of satisfaction, Lockhart slipped the diary and the sword into the glove compartment. “Perfect,” he muttered, mostly to himself, then he turned to face James again. “Now, about the letter—”
Before James could respond, Lockhart’s hand was already diving into his jacket pocket, his movements smooth and practiced. He pulled out a small, slightly crumpled envelope, holding it up as if he were getting his photo taken. The handwriting on the front was messy, almost rushed, but James could make out the words: For Mr Prongs .
James froze, his eyes locking onto the envelope. A strange feeling settled in his stomach—a mix of curiosity and dread.
Lockhart’s grin stretched further, as if he’d been waiting for this moment. “This, my dear boy, is for you,” he said, voice laced with an odd sense of satisfaction.
Without another word, he extended the envelope toward James, his hand trembling slightly as he passed it over. James hesitated for a moment, staring at it like it might bite.
Then, without a word, he took it.
Carefully, James slid his finger along the edge of the envelope, the paper crinkling slightly under his touch. As he lifted the flap, it felt as though the world around him had paused, holding its breath in anticipation. The usual rustle of leaves and distant hum of insects seemed to fade, and even the birds had stopped chirping, leaving an eerie silence in the air.
He pulled out the letter, its weight heavier than he expected, and unfolded it with a sense of reverence. The words on the parchment seemed to pulse with an energy of their own as James began reading aloud, his voice steady but tinged with uncertainty.
"Mr. Prongs," James read aloud, the words on the letter heavy with a strange weight. "If you're reading this, it means your mission has begun. There’s no easy way to explain this, but time is not on your side. You have been chosen to hunt down and destroy the Horcruxes of one of the most dangerous men in history—Tom Riddle. The task is daunting, and the road ahead is perilous, but you must press on."
James paused, feeling the gravity of the situation sinking in. His heart seemed to beat louder, every word on the page a reminder of the immense responsibility they now carried. He glanced up, catching the tense expressions of Regulus, Peter, and Sirius, who were all watching him with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
He continued reading, "There are six known Horcruxes that must be destroyed before their dark magic can fully take hold. Each one is a piece of Riddle's soul, hidden within objects of great significance. Destroying them will weaken him, but they are heavily protected. You will face challenges unlike anything you've encountered before."
Just as he finished reading the last line, a strange, almost unnatural cold swept through the truck. The air seemed to shift, the temperature dropping suddenly, and a distant rumble echoed through the trees.
The silence was shattered by a loud crack, like thunder splitting the sky. James froze, his heart skipping a beat as the world around him seemed to shudder, warping like a ripple in water. He couldn’t understand what was happening, only that everything was suddenly... different. He wasn’t in the truck anymore. He wasn’t in his body. He was just watching.
Before his mind could even catch up to what was going on, a voice—calm, unsettling—spoke from nowhere, surrounding them with its chilling presence. "The Diary of Tom Riddle..."
James watched, breath held, as the scene before him shifted. An ancient, dusty room materialized, dimly lit by flickering candlelight. On a weathered desk sat an old black leather diary, its pages yellowed with age. And beside it, a figure appeared. His eyes gleamed with malevolence as he raised a hand, the diary pulsing with dark magic in response.
"What the hell—?" Peter’s voice echoed unnervingly, disembodied and unsettling.
Sirius hissed, irritated. "It’s a cutscene. You’d understand that if you actually played games with us!"
Peter made an affronted noise, but before he could retort, James shushed them, his eyes still locked on the unfolding scene.
The room warped again, and suddenly a massive serpent emerged from the shadows. The Basilisk—its yellow eyes gleaming, its enormous body coiling around the diary, guarding it fiercely. James' pulse quickened.
"You have already found this one," the voice continued. "Hidden within its pages lies a piece of Riddle’s soul. It’s connected to a deadly creature—a basilisk. This Horcrux is the first to destroy, but it still comes with its dangers."
The Basilisk hissed loudly, its venomous eyes never leaving the diary. It was a fierce guardian, a deadly obstacle in their path.
The scene shifted again, and now they were in a dark chamber. A stone pedestal rose before them, and atop it rested a ring—an ancient heirloom. Standing beside it, a short woman in a pink robe with a ridiculous, oversized hat.
"This ancient heirloom, the Gaunt Ring, is guarded by Delores Umbridge. But it is also protected by the very magic of Slytherin himself, and breaking its hold will take more than physical force. Prepare for the unexpected."
Umbridge’s eyes gleamed as she stroked the ring, a cruel smile twisting her face. The air around her crackled with dark energy.
The scene shifted again. They were now standing in a forest at night, the full moon casting an eerie glow. A yellow locket rested on a moss-covered stone. A hulking figure emerged from the shadows, his wild hair and glowing yellow eyes making him a terrifying sight.
"Once belonging to the legendary Salazar Slytherin, this locket was lost for centuries. It’s in the possession of someone far from what they appear, Fenrir Greyback. Finding it will be tricky, but it's the next key piece in your journey."
Greyback growled, his sharp teeth glistening in the moonlight as he guarded the locket with a predatory hunger.
Next, the world shifted again, this time to a dimly lit tavern. At the centre of the room, a cup gleamed softly under the low lights. A tall man with cold, calculating eyes sat hunched over it.
“This priceless relic once owned by Helga Hufflepuff is now in the hands of Antonin Dolohov. He doesn’t intend to be rid of what he possesses, and stealing it will be painful.”
Dolohov’s sharp gaze never wavered from the cup, his fingers brushing its surface, a dark incantation murmured under his breath.
The scene blurred once again, and now they stood in an opulent, yet dimly lit mansion. A diadem, glinting with dark magic, rested on a velvet cushion. A woman stood before it. Her eyes glinted with greed and calculation as she traced her fingers over the diadem, murmuring a forgotten language.
“This artifact, Ravenclaw’s Diadem, is protected by someone more powerful than possibly even Tom Riddle himself—Mrs. Zabini,” the voice echoed. “We don't even know her given name—a testament to the power she wields. Trust your instincts, for she is a master of mind games and will twist and meld your reality until you can’t even recognize it yourself.”
The air around the diadem hummed with magic as Zabini’s fingers hovered above it, her gaze never leaving the artifact.
Finally, the scene shifted once more, and they were in a dark chamber. At the centre stood a twisted figure—Tom Riddle, hunched over a pedestal, his fingers grazing the scales of the final Horcrux—a snake.
“Nagini, the Final Horcrux, was once human but was turned into a snake in Riddle’s quest for power. A creature of great power, Nagini is more than what she seems. She is the last of Riddle’s remaining soul fragments. Killing her will not be simple—her allegiance lies with the Dark Lord, and she will protect him at all costs.”
Riddle’s voice, cold and malicious, whispered to the serpent. Nagini’s eyes narrowed, her body tensing as if preparing to strike.
“The game you're in, the world you’ve stepped into, is not what it seems,” the voice continued. “Every move counts.”
The weight of the mission settled heavily over James. Each Horcrux guarded by a fierce protector—each one more dangerous than the last. The task ahead was daunting, but the stakes couldn’t be clearer. They were fighting for more than just their lives.
The voice spoke once more, calm but heavy with meaning.
“I don’t know what you’ll face in this harrowing mission but remember: Destroying these Horcruxes will save more lives than you can imagine. Do not fail. I won’t be there to guide you, but you must finish this. For the world, and for those who cannot protect themselves.
Yours in trust,
Gilderoy Lockhart”
The world around James began to fade, the darkness consuming the vision, and before he knew it, they were back in the truck. The weight of the knowledge they had just witnessed hung heavily in the air, and James could barely process what they had just seen.
“Well,” Lockhart said, giving a stunned James a hearty clap on the back, “Off you go! Your mission awaits, but don’t forget this:
Once the Horcruxes crumble and fade,
Call out ‘Jumanji,’ and you’ll be saved.
But a piece is missing, still to find,
The final key to free your mind.”
The group stepped out of the truck, their movements slow and quiet, as if the weight of their mission had already begun to settle in. Once they were all out, Lockhart waved cheerfully at them, then revved the engine and drove off, disappearing into the distance, leaving them standing alone in a vast, empty field.
The field stretched out before them, the grass swaying gently in the breeze, but there was a stillness to the air that made everything feel heavy. The sky above was an endless expanse of blue, almost unnervingly perfect, as though it were mocking the tension hanging between them. James glanced around, squinting as if trying to see something just beyond his reach. There was nothing—just the horizon, and the faintest outline of trees far off in the distance.
“Well,” he said, breaking the silence with a nervous chuckle, “this is... definitely not how I imagined today would go.”
Sirius snorted, his arms crossed over his chest. “No kidding. It’s like being dropped in the middle of a bad dream.”
Peter shifted nervously on his feet. “So, uh... what now?”
Regulus said nothing, his gaze fixed ahead, scanning the empty field with a calculating look. He had always been good at keeping his thoughts to himself, but now, in this strange place, he seemed even more distant.
James took a deep breath, his mind racing with the information they had just received. The Horcruxes, the protectors, and the promise that everything would be over if they could just destroy them all and call out “Jumanji.” It seemed too hard, too dangerous for a bunch of teenagers to face.
“Alright,” James said, squaring his shoulders, “we’ve got a lot of work to do. We need to stick together and stay focused.”
The group nodded in agreement, each of them lost in their own thoughts, the gravity of the mission settling deeper with each passing moment. The field stretched endlessly before them, offering no immediate answers or directions.
James could feel the weight of uncertainty pressing on him, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the task ahead. His mind raced with the puzzle they'd been given—the Horcruxes, the protectors, and the cryptic message from Lockhart. There was something missing. A piece. But what?
“So…” Sirius began, pacing in a slow circle. “What now?”
Peter sighed, shaking his head before flopping onto the grass, staring up at the sky as if it might hold the answers. Regulus remained silent, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
James straightened, pushing past the uncertainty settling in his chest. He was supposed to be the leader, after all. “We need to look for something—a map, a note, another letter. Anything that might tell us what to do next.”
Sirius huffed but didn’t argue, while Peter, still lying in the grass, groaned. “Search where? There’s nothing here.”
James, meanwhile, felt an itch beneath his skin, a nagging sensation that they were missing something obvious. His fingers drummed absently against his chest as he turned in a slow circle, scanning the horizon for anything—any clue, any sign that would tell them where to start.
Then, without really thinking, he tapped his chest on the left side, just above his heart.
A flicker of light caught his eye.
James stilled, his breath hitching as glowing words materialized in the air before him, hovering just within reach. The others noticed the change instantly, straightening as they followed his gaze.
The words pulsed faintly, as if waiting for him to take them in.
Strengths and Weaknesses, it read.