“We’ll have a nice funeral for you,” Sirius says.

“Invite only your closest friends,” James continues.

“Maybe a thousand or so,” I add.

“We can serve lots of sweets!” James cries.

“And we can get a band to perform,” Sirius says.

“And party forever!” I finish.

Currently, Sirius and I are washing every single dish in Hogwarts (meaning the house elves are all off cleaning up somewhere else), all because we played a harmless little prank on some random fourth year, and now he is in the hospital wing with an enlarged, furry, well, I’ll let you imagine.