Disclaimer: I don't own anything. If I did, the Marauders would not have died; they would have lived long, fruitful lives causing mayhem and chaos, like it was meant to. That never happened, therefore I own nothing.

Story Summary: Bridget Griffins had never really been considered normal, but this was weird even for her. Magic just can't be real and even she knows that time travel is too dangerous, especially if you've already changed it beyond repair.

Author's Notes: This is the result of a "what if" discussion I had with one of my friends about time travel. So, I took a few of the scenarios we came up with and one of my original characters and wrote this. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it.

Chapter One

A Long Standing Rivalry

"Everything you can imagine is real." –Pablo Picasso

Bridget had never really been considered normal, even by herself. It hadn't ever bothered her, either; she was happy enough, content with her life. It was just… she'd always been a little odd and her almost ten year obsession with a fictional book series only managed to prove the point.

It had been a long week full of mind-numbingly boring schoolwork, concerned family and friends, and an oddly high number of disgruntled customers. Bridget was tired and she had just been locking up, ready to find something similar to dinner at a fast-food joint, when she tripped over a book lying directly outside the front door.

It was a copy of the fifth Harry Potter book, one that, by its tattered state, had either been well-loved or utterly despised. And it had tried to kill her. She sighed. Wonderful, even her beloved books had turned against her.

Still, Bridget had never been able to leave a book in distress, much less one in the Harry Potter series. With a tired sigh, she picked it up and turned to go back into The Bookshop-- the aptly named second-hand and new bookstore that she had frequented since childhood and worked at for almost two years.

She didn't make it back inside. Not for a long time.

"Oh, heavens," Bridget moaned. She clutched her head, not even noticing that the book that had started it all was nowhere in sight, much less in her possession. Nor did she notice that the door she had been opening had disappeared, along with the building it led to. The only thing she was currently aware of was—"My head."

"What are you doing here?"

Bridget nearly groaned at the voice. Stupid, foreign tourists think they can—

"I asked, 'What are you doing here?'" the accented voice—British?—repeated sharply. It sounded like the sort of voice that didn't know what 'soft' or 'warm' was.

"I heard what you asked," she responded, shorter with him than she normally would be, but her head was pounding and he was just the latest thing to go wrong in too little time. "I just chose not to respond. However, since you asked so very kindly," Bridget opened her eyes and-- feeling much like she had when, caught up in her thoughts, she'd walked right into a pole-- abruptly realized she wasn't at The Bookshop. In fact, she had never seen this place before, but she wasn't about to let the sneering boy in front of her know that. "I'm standing here with a pounding headache. Sadly, I fear your dulcet tones are too much, and it's becoming a migraine."

The boy didn't take the comment well and Bridget wondered if she should have, perhaps, taken the politer route that she normally preferred. Oh well, either way it was too late now.

He stepped closer, as if to trap her between his body and the wall she was leaning against, an ugly sneer twisting his already unattractive face. She glared right back. Even if the guy was tall, he was skinny too, more bone than muscle, and she was used to much scarier antagonists. He was no threat, even if she was confused.

"Now," the boy drawled, words dripping off his tongue sickly-sweet like warm molasses, "what would an American be doing at Hogwarts?"

Bridget's eyes darted down to the green and silver tie hanging around his neck, the snake emblazoned patch on his pocket, and the wooden stick he was fingering before shooting back up to his gleeful black eyes. A Slytherin? Wonderful, she'd lost her mind.

Huh, well… it was bound to happen sooner or later.

"What I'm doing is none of your business," she said in a level voice. "Now, as touching as your concern is, if you could back up a bit we could both go on our merry—separate—ways. I would be most appreciative."

Instead of backing up, the boy took another step forward, attempting to look menacing as he came perilously close to her. It wasn't entirely unexpected, but it still annoyed Bridget to no end.

"That's the wrong way, love," she said before she could stop herself. "I said back up, not come a bit closer."

"But I'm quite comfortable here."

Her eyes narrowed. Okay, that was it. She had completely had it! Her brain was still throbbing in its bony encasement and she was apparently completely insane. What she did not need at the present moment was for this boy to keep bugging her. For the love of—he was a figment of her imaginationand he still wasn't leaving her alone.

The universe had it out for her.

"Seriously dude, what is your problem? Did you just get rejected or something?" His expression darkened and Bridget wondered if she had hit a nerve. However, by this point she was too annoyed, and kept plowing on. "Are you trying to assert your masculinity on the poor, defenseless newbie? Well, guess what, grease-bucket? I am not going to stand here and take it! Leave. Me. Alone!"

He grabbed her wrist with his free hand and twisted her arm above her head, leaving Bridget feeling more vulnerable than she had in a while. Almost instinctively her left hand tightened into a fist, and she was glad that she'd gotten into those few scrapes when she'd been younger. God, she hated fist-fighting; it was so… so boring.

"Oi, Snape!"

Bridget's head snapped to the side, something she realized wasn't very clever when her head throbbed again. Her brain felt like it was trying to escape by digging its way through her skull with an exceptionally dull spoon. Reflexively, she her eyes shut, as if that would somehow make the pain go away, and her hand uncurled, once again finding itself at her temple.

"Potter. Black. Lupin," the boy—Snape—snarled. He let go of her and took a step back, thankfully away from her. Her wrist was stinging, partially from the sharp needle-like sensation of blood rushing back, but Bridget refused to look down to see if a purple bruise was starting to spread. "This is none of your business."

Now didn't that sound familiar? It seemed like he could distinguish between his own business and others well en—Wait.

Bridget slowly raised her head to take a good look at the jerk who had been bothering her. Tall and thin. Long, greasy black hair. Sallow skin. Black eyes. Sneer.

Oh, God, Snape?

"I'm Head Boy, Snape. If you're harassing a student it is my business."

Bridget turned to the other voice, afraid that what she saw would confirm her fears.

It did.

A tall, thin boy with messy black hair stood front and center, wand (well, she assumed it was a wand, otherwise he was just holding a stick in a strangely confident and threatening manner) gripped firmly in his right hand. His hazel eyes were narrowed, full of pure loathing as he scowled at Snape.

To his right was an equally tall but broader built boy. He was very handsome in all the classical ways, with silky black hair and clever gray eyes, but the sharp grin playing at his lips had a frightening edge to it. He seemed to be anticipating the fight with more excitement than was normal.

The last boy seemed to be the most approachable, at least at the moment. He was taller than the other two but thinner, with an almost sickly look about him that was only emphasized by the gray streaking his light brown hair and his pale skin. His blue eyes were kind and the only ones focused on her instead of Snape.

She felt the blood drain from her face.

The Marauders.

"She's not a student, Potter."

Snape's voice brought her back down to Earth, and she glared at him. "That doesn't mean you can harass me you jerk. Jeez."

Bridget realized her hands on her hips, like they normally were when she was scolding someone, only when Snape took another step forward and she had to resist pushing him away. His scowl deepened and he was gripping his wand so tightly his knuckles were white. He took yet another step closer to her, wound as tight as a cobra ready to strike.

Power seemed to bleed into the air around him, and she was glad that she was against a wall. That way she couldn't take the step away from him that almost every nerve in her body was screaming for her to. Instead, Bridget glared right back at him, refusing to back away that last inch or flinch at his hard gaze.

She'd often been told how stubborn she was.

"Leave her alone, Snape," James said firmly.

He had stepped closer to her and Snape, and the presence of his arch-nemesis was drawing Snape's attention more than the stubborn American stranger. He backed away from her, turning to James as if he was expecting a fight—and welcoming it.

"It doesn't matter is she's a student or not," James continued. "You shouldn't be bothering anyone."

He strolled closer to her and Snape, distracting the other boy completely, and Bridget let herself sag against the wall. With a sudden clarity that startled her, the situation had finally sunk in and she was starting to feel rather overwhelmed. And nauseous.

"Who says I was bothering her? Not everyone falls over themselves for you, Potter."

James regarded him with scornful amusement. "Of course they do. Where have you been for the last six years?"

Neither boy said anything meaningful, only exchanging barbs that seemed to be more habitual than anything else, but the confrontation had something that seemed to go beyond a childhood rivalry, something stronger, deeper, and more dividing than mere boyhood hatred. She already knew that they completely despised each other, especially since James's heroic—frightened— actions, but Bridget still felt like she was missing something important.

She had been so focused on watching James and Snape's exchange that the hand on her elbow surprised her so badly she jumped and almost pulled away. She relaxed a little when she realized that it was only Remus, although she was still staring at him with wide, startled eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said in a soft voice as James and Snape's argument continued. "I didn't mean to scare you. Are you all right?"

"That's okay. I'm fine. Perfectly fine," she said in a rush. It might have been convincing if her voice hadn't hitched halfway through 'perfectly.'

He smiled, looking genuinely pleased that she was unharmed, and tactfully ignoring the obvious fib. "Good. Why don't we get out of their way?"

That was probably a very good idea. The boys couldn't be much further than a couple of feet away from each other. Snape stood firmly, cold and taut, black eyes sharp, calculating as they followed James's languid motions. James, however, seemed relaxed and unhurried, speaking to Snape casually as if he were explaining an easy homework assignment. It was somehow much more intimidating.

"Um, sure." She glanced back as Remus guided her behind James and Sirius. "Is everything okay?"

"With them?" Remus followed her gaze to the other two boys. "They're fine; I wouldn't worry about it. Did Snape do anything to you?"

"Hm?" She tore her eyes away from the distracting duel. "Um, no, not really. He was just… annoying me. Thanks, though, I didn't really fancy bruising my knuckles over him."

"Believe me," Remus responded, chuckling, "it wasn't a problem. Those two have a long standing rivalry."

"Oh." Snape's eyes darted to them and away again. What the—"Watch out!"

Bridget shoved Remus back, into the wall and pressed herself flush against him. There was a whooshing sound as a bright light shot pass her and into the wall at the end of the hall, causing a web of cracks to spread. She pulled back, not noticing either Remus or Sirius's shocked looks, before spinning around to face Snape.

"You've got to be kidding me!" she shouted at him, eyes flashing angrily. "Are you trying to kill me you complete idiot?"

Snape stared at her, mouth slightly open, and she stopped mid-rant. He looked… shocked. He either hadn't expected her reaction or he hadn't known what his spell would do. Bridget frowned, unsure about what to do now that she didn't know whether he'd actually meant to hurt them or not.

Then Snape was hanging upside down in the air, wand in James's hand and Bridget had never been so grateful that boys didn't wear skirts. She chanced a glance at James; he was pissed.

"That was low even for you, Snivellus," he sneered. Once, Bridget had been told that some people were most frightening when they had surpassed the red-hot pissed off stage and became cold and cutting. This was the first time she believed it. "One does not attack a defenseless girl. Still afraid you can't beat me in a fair duel?"

Snape, however, had completely lost grip on his own control. Then again, the situation was jarringly similar to his 'worst memory,' and she doubted he ever wanted to relive that incident. He was practically shaking with rage and every syllable he spoke rang with hate.

"You wouldn't know fair if it bit you in your over-sized—"

"POTTER!"

A pretty girl with long, dark red hair strode in from Snape's end of the hallway, and Bridget wondered for the first time why no one had heard the rather loud confrontation. It was possible (likely, even) that no one had wanted to interfere, but this girl looked absolutely furious, her bright green eyes flashing dangerously. She just happened to be glaring at the wrong person.

James nodded at her. "Lily," he said, the overlay of polite formality somehow tainting the familiar greeting. "I just caught Snape here—"

"It doesn't matter what he was doing."

Snape dropped to the floor with a dull thump. James looked surprised, his hand suspended where he had been gesturing at Snape, but Lily didn't pay him any attention. Instead, she rushed pass him and straight to Snape, where she fussed over the Slytherin.

She glared at James. "You have no right to…"

Bridget closed her eyes. All this excitement and yelling was making her headache return with a mighty—she stumbled forward into Remus, grasping her head as it filled with a blinding pain even worse than before.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Oh. Nothing," she gasped out, talking with lungs that felt like they were being squeezed. "I just feel like my head's about to explo—ah!"

She was gripping Remus's arms so tightly that he was sure to be bruised the next day, but that was the only thing keeping her from making friends with the doubtlessly solid floor. He seemed to realize this as he held her by her elbows, supporting most of her weight, which made her feel a little better.

"Potter, are you even listening to me?"

It would be nice if they stopped arguing, though. The shouting was harming more than helping.

"Not now, Lily."

Thank you, James. Her head felt fuzzy.

"James!"

She winced; that decibel wasn't particularly pleasant. It drove the sharp spike of pain into the base of her skull.

"Not now!"

Bridget blinked her vision back into focus when she felt herself being shifted over into a different pair of arms. Concerned, hazel eyes stared back at her before her chest suddenly contracted, leaving her gasping like she'd had the wind knocked out of her.

She lurched forward as if someone had really hit her and was clutching his—James's—shoulders in a combined effort to keep herself upright and stem the pain. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realized she could feel his arms circling her waist and was grateful for it. She wasn't sure how long she could stay conscious, let alone standing.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"Head." Bridget gulped in another desperate lungful of air. "Chest. Can't breathe."

"Don't worry. We'll get you to Pomfrey and she'll…"

It was nice that he was concerned. Bridget relaxed her death grip on his poor shirt without really noticing as the edges of her mind blurred. The warmth of his body and the feeling of his arms were become more apparent, as was the soft, comforting tone of his voice, even if she couldn't make out what he was saying. It was good, though. He probably wouldn't let her fall.

And he didn't.

Author's Notes: So there's the first chapter. The next chapter is already written, and I'm halfway through chapter three with quite a few ideas for the next few chapters. Therefore, the updates should be regular for a while yet. I'm not sure if I'll be updating every week or every other week, though, it all depends on how much time I have.

Please review if you read it. Reviews make me feel happy, and I am more than ecstatic to get questions and theories.

Next time in You've Got to Be Kidding Me:

Her hand covered her mouth in a way she had promised herself she would never do, before fisting itself in her hair once again. "Oh, God, I'm screwed."

"Is something wrong?"

"Not much," she managed to say around the lump in her throat. How did she manage this? Really, how in the world had she managed this level of catastrophe? It was astonishing. Wait… maybe… maybe this was all a misunderstanding… maybe this was supposed to happen. "If I may, um, ask," she started, her voice strained; this was such an awkward question, "why did you do so?"