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.

Author's Notes: Okay… this is important. If you've read the first chapter of Kidding Me when I first posted it, don't bother reading this one. I just cut that chapter in half (like I had originally done, actually) and there is absolutely nothing new. Except, perhaps, a few minor grammatically changes or the like. Nothing else. If you're waiting for the next chapter, it'll come by tomorrow (maybe the day after, but no later than that). However, if this is the first time you've come across this fic, then enjoy.

Chapter Two

Changing History

"History never looks like history when you are living through it." –John W. Gardner

Bridget had been awake for five minutes, but she kept her eyes firmly shut against the light of day (or the artificial light of night, she couldn't be sure which it was). She just didn't want to open them and she wasn't entirely sure why, but it probably had to do with what would greet her when she finally did open them. Before she could talk herself out of it, Bridget came to a quick decision, took a deep breath and opened her eyes.

White. A white ceiling.

Well, that didn't help much. Not at all, really, even her own bedroom had a white ceiling. It was a rather common color.

Bridget realized that she would have to investigate further and sat up, white sheets and a thick white blanket falling back to reveal pajamas she knew she didn't own, although they were quite… striped. With hesitant, cautious moments she pushed the blankets off and looked around.

The room wasn't anything spectacular. It was obviously a hospital room with both the ceiling and the walls painted a clean white color and a medicine cabinet over a sink and counter in the far corner. Oddly, there didn't seem to be the sterilized smell that most hospitals had, at least all of the ones she'd been to. Next to the bed there was a nightstand with an, um, candle on it, the only source of light other than the open window across from her.

It didn't look like the Hogwarts she imagined, but it wasn't her room either, nor was it at school, the Bookshop, or any of her friends' houses. And who still used candles?

Still, it didn't really matter where she was, there weren't many good reasons to be in a hospital bed, especially if you didn't remember getting in to it, and Bridget knew from experience that just jumping out of bed wasn't necessarily a good idea, so when she began to slide her legs off her actions were deliberate and cautious. She certainly didn't want to faint as soon as she got up.

Well, she didn't faint, at least. She did jump back as if she had been shocked, and fall over the other side of the bed, the blankets she had grasped in a desperate attempt to keep herself on the bed cushioning the landing. Bridget shot back up, ignoring the pain from the bruise blooming on her hip, and peered over to see if he had woken up.

He was the teenage boy currently fast asleep in the chair next to her bed, who hadn't moved at all during her noisy journey to the floor. He also happened to be James Potter. Well, he was someone who looked like, acted like, and seemed to be James Potter. He was even wearing a Gryffindor uniform.

She stared at him.

This could not be happening to her; it just couldn't be. The Harry Potter books, as much as she may have wished otherwise, were fiction, as were all of its characters. Neither magic nor James Potter existed outside the realm of imagination.

Nevertheless, his fictional existence didn't stop him from sleeping nor did it prevent Albus Dumbledore from walking through the door that also shouldn't exist. He spotted James asleep in the chair and waved a hand over the boy. A calming, light blue haze enveloped James before fading away.

"Hello, Miss. Griffins."

She stood up and, grabbing the sheets, sat on the bed. "Hi." The lump of bedding sat between her and Dumbledore in a knotted mass as an awkward silence descended and Bridget wished the sheets weren't so tangled; it was a little cold… and weird. "I'd, um, ask you to sit, but," she glanced at the still sleeping teenager the lone chair and smiled sheepishly up at the headmaster, "it seems to be in use."

"That's perfectly alright Miss. Griffins," he waved his wand over the empty space next to him and a plush purple armchair appeared.

Out of thin air.

She had tried not to squeak, honest to God, but it had appeared out of thin air. Poof! Could she really be blamed?

"It would be best if we didn't wake Mr. Potter," Dumbledore continued as if she wasn't staring at the chair with open awe and wonder. She shut her mouth. "He had a rather difficult evening."

"So," Bridget chewed on her lip as she tried not to stare openly at James again. She seemed to be doing a lot of staring recently, "that really is James Potter?"

"Who else might he be?" Dumbledore beamed and, God help her, his eyes really did twinkle. How was this possible? "Mr. Potter and his friends—the Marauders, I believe they call themselves—have been informed of your situation, except for Mr. Pettigrew who is temporarily away, and will help you adjust to this time."

"Help me. . . ? Wait, I don't known my situation and how the heck do you know who I am?"

"I was expecting you."

He smiled back benignly while she stared, still trying to process the information. "You were—? I am confused. Very confused."

"Your arrival was expected."

Bridget blinked. That didn't really answer any questions. In fact, he had just rearranged the words. Great. "Right," she said slowly, drawing out the word as if to emphasis the absurdity of the situation. Perhaps she needed to clarify a bit. "How exactly was I, um, expected? I mean, how'd you know I was coming?"

"Godric informed me of the situation."

"Godric?" she repeated in a bland voice. That still wasn't telling her anything. Good heavens, this man was infuria— hold up. "Godric Gryffindor?"

"Yes, of course," Dumbledore replied. "He told me to expect a new student. This student was to be sent from another time with knowledge of but no experience in the magical world. You are quite important."

"Right." Albus Dumbledore, genius or not, was a loon. Completely bonkers. "Did, um, Godric Gryffindor tell you about the Potter book series?"

"No." The man continued to smile at her. He must've lost it. "But, I don't think I need to tell you how important it is to keep your knowledge to yourself. Time is an unpredictable and dangerous thing, Miss Griffins, not something to be trifled with lightly."

She bristled at the unspoken implication. She wasn't an idiot. "I think I would be the only person who knows exactly how important that was." Did it really matter if she had learned that fact from fanfiction? It was still valid. "Even if I wanted nothing more than to change everything and save them." Her mouth snapped shut. Crud, she hadn't meant to say that.

He ignored her words. "Wonderful, Miss. Griffins. I'm glad you agree. I trust you'll come to me if a situation should arise."

"Sure. Why not?"

"Godric has provided you with supplies and an account at Gringotts to sustain you while here," Dumbledore said, his voice empty of the warning it had been so heavy with earlier. "The simplest explanation would be for you to have been orphaned. There have been many such incidents recently and we've lost several students when they transferred out."

Bridget gave him an unconvinced look, "Transferring out makes some sense, Professor-- Voldemort hates you-- but, even if they realize that it's safer here, why would an American transfer in? Is America even involved?"

"Your grandfather was a friend of mine and I was your mother's godfather. They declared me your guardian if something should happen, which it, regrettably, did." Bridget nodded slowly, committing the cover story to memory. "To protect you, they kept your magical origins from you, only revealing it this past year. America is not yet involved, but Americans are and it is only a matter of time until the War crosses the ocean. As she was my goddaughter, it would be believable if they put you into my custody for your protection."

"Okay. I have one question."

"Yes?"

"Do you have these situations prepared beforehand for when stuff like this happens or did you just come up with that off the top of your head?"

Dumbledore smiled. Again. That man smiled way too much; it was unnatural. "I admit I had some warning, Miss. Griffins, but these events do not happen often."

"I would imagine not." She bit her lip, hesitating.

"Do you have another question?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes." Bridget took a deep breath and looked straight into the elderly Headmaster's eyes. She knew he wasn't always entirely truthful, and she wanted an honest answer. "Will I be able to go home?"

She saw the sympathetic look, and, before he spoke, knew she wasn't going to like the answer. "I'm sorry, Miss. Griffins, I don't know."

She couldn't bring herself to respond and, after a moment, Dumbledore stood, the chair he had been sitting on disappearing with a small pop. "I've left a uniform for you and instructed Mr. Potter to give you a tour of Hogwarts after bringing you to dinner, where you'll be Sorted and we'll discuss where you will stay. You will begin classes on Wednesday, but tomorrow Mr. Potter and Mr. Black will bring you to Diagon Alley to get your school supplies and other necessities. I shall see you at dinner."

Bridget didn't notice him leave, nor did she notice James wake up a moment later. She was too busy trying not to freak out.

It was a lot to take in, which is why it's understandable that she didn't hear James ask if she was okay. In fact, she had completely forgotten he was even there until he put a hand on her shoulder, trying to shake her out of whatever state she had wound herself into.

Bridget jerked away from him and overbalanced, tumbling over the side of the bed for the second time that day. This time, however, she didn't have sheets to soften her landing and ended up on her back on the cold, very hard floor.

"Are you okay?" Bridget looked up at him and sat up, rubbing the back of her head.

"I'm fine." She accepted his help up and they stood in a somewhat long, very awkward silence.

"I'm James Potter," he introduced with a half grin that would've looked awkward on anyone less confident. It was a grin that was difficult to resist, and she smiled back.

"I know," Bridget replied immediately. She realized how that must've sounded right after the words left her mouth and wished she didn't blush so easily. "I mean, well," she frowned, "actually that's exactly what I meant. Professor Dumbledore told me earlier and I kinda guessed it. I'm Bridget, Bridget Griffins."

"I know." He grinned again when she gave him a sharp look. She really wasn't up to any mocking right now. "Dumbledore told us last night." She let her frown soften to a smile once she decided he was only teasing and his grin got even bigger. He stuck a hand out. "It's nice to meet you."

"A pleasure," Bridget replied, taking the offer. The door swung open and two boys entered, arguing. Bridget and James stared at them.

"I don't see why Prongs got to miss class. We all found her," Sirius pointed out. He dropped into the chair James had spent the night in, lounging in it more gracefully than James had.

Remus sighed. He dumped the books on Sirius's stomach, who grunted and glared at him. "Yes, but he—," he caught sight of the two teenagers standing in the middle of the room. "Oh, you're both awake." His eyes darted down to their still-clasped hands and Bridget pulled back.

"We are now," James said, glaring at Sirius.

"You shouldn't fib, Jamie," Sirius replied, wagging a finger at the other boy. "We know you were awake; you're standing in the middle of the room."

"Whatever," James muttered. He put a hand at the small of her back, guiding her forward. "Guys this is Bridget Griffins. He is Remus Lupin," Remus smiled and waved as James pointed him out. James waved a hand in Sirius's direction. "And that idiot is Sirius Black."

"Hey." Sirius looked them up and down, raising a single eyebrow in question. "You sure moved on fast, Prongsie."

Bridget took a large step away from James. The last thing she needed was to stop Harry's bir—oh no.

"I don't want to talk about it, Padfoot," he replied sharply.

"Wait," she held up a hand to stop Sirius's response and turned to James. "Moved on from what, exactly?"

"He dumped his nutty girlfriend," Sirius answered for his friend. James scowled at him as Sirius shuddered dramatically. He leaned back in the chair, stretching. "Lily Evans. She never was good for you, mate."

Her mouth dropped open and she didn't even bother closing it. This couldn't be happening to her. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed heavily. This was not good. This was so not good. "You, uh," Bridget gestured at James weakly. "Lily." She covered her mouth with her hand in a way she had promised herself she would never do, before fisting it 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 was strained; this was such an awkward question, "why did you do so?"

"She chose Snivellus over him," Sirius replied. He waved a hand as if dismissing a servant. Remus rolled his eyes. "Good riddance, I say."

"Will you stop talking for me?" James burst out. He turned to speak to her. "What happened was—" he stopped speaking, both his hairline and ears flushing red, "she took Snape's word over mine."

"You broke up," Bridget repeated. This fact needed to be clarified, and if she needed to be blunt about it (and a little nosy), then so be it. This was the fate of the world she was messing up here; there was no room for mistakes or misunderstandings.

James gave her a strange look, "Yes. Lily Evans and I are no longer together romantically and we never will be again. It just didn't work out; there's no trust."

Cracker jacks, there really wasn't any way to misunderstand that.

"She was eating breakfast with him," Sirius added. Bridget flinched; he didn't know it, but his words were just adding salt to the raw and bleeding wound. "The traitor."

Bridget backed up against the wall, needing the support of the solid rocks. At least they didn't change. . . oh, wait. This was Hogwarts, even the walls changed. And, apparently, people who irreparably damaged their friendships got second chances. "And they're friends." She couldn't believe this was happening. It just— "Oh God." She sank to the ground, ignoring the chill seeping through the thin pajamas as she buried her face in her arms. "Five minutes and I change the course of history. Five minutes."

Author's Notes: Okay… there was the second chapter. I do hope you enjoyed it. The next chapter will be up either tomorrow or the day after (depending on how I feel after taking my final). Please review… it makes me happy inside.

Thanks to Queen of Monkey Magic for being my first reviewer, and voided for putting this on story alert.

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

"And now it is time for your Sorting."

"But, Professor—"

"Wait here with Mr. Potter for a moment while I introduce you."

Dumbledore walked away, leaving Bridget staring after him. She sighed, rubbing her temples; this whole situation was giving her a headache.

"There's nothing to worry about," James reassured. He grinned at her when she gave him a tired look. "The Sorting is harmless; everyone goes through it and no one's died yet."

"It's not the Sorting I'm really worried about, James," she replied, her voice weary, almost exhausted. "I can't remember doing anything odd or unusual; I don't think I've ever done magic."

James gazed down at her, momentarily lost, as if he couldn't understand how someone could not do magic. "That could be a problem."

"No kidding."