Disclaimer: I own nothing… well nothing that you recognize. I do own Bridget Griffins and any and all original plot and interpretations of the characters and situations presented in the Harry Potter series.

Author's Notes: Look, I'm on time. Luckily, summer is about to begin and, aside from the little thing I have called a summer job, and, you know, a life, I should be able to write almost full time. Except for a week in June, but we shan't count that. Anyways, here's the chapter. Enjoy.

Chapter Three: The Headmaster

'She had an unequalled gift… of squeezing big mistakes into small opportunities.' –Henry James

Bridget started, jerking away when James knelt down beside her.

"What do you mean?" he asked. Of course he'd want to know; it's not every day someone has a breakdown in front of you, muttering about how she ruined the fate of the world because you ditched your girlfriend, especially a girlfriend no one thought you could even get, let alone keep. Too bad she couldn't say a thing about it.

"I—I don't," Bridget smiled apologetically. It would be nice if she could actually answer the poor guy's question; he was trying to be comforting, after all… or he was just incurably curious, which was much more likely now that she thought about it. "I don't think I can tell you, any of you. Not yet, at least. I'm sorry."

"Why can't you?" Yes, the curious aspect seemed to be winning out.

She stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her shirt with trembling hands, and ignored the question. "I need to see Dumbledore. Now."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you," Bridget repeated. A desperate tone had crept into her voice as much as she had willed it not to. This was entirely too much pressure. She ran a hand through her hair before tying it back into a messy bun. "I really need to see Dumbledore."

"I don't think that'd be a good idea."

"Why not, Remus?" Bridget threw her hands up, resorting to gestures to emphasize her point once again. "Dumbledore told me to tell him if I changed anything what-so-ever, and I managed to change one of the very few definite things I know about this particular piece of history!"

"I understand," Remus replied. He sounded like he was talking to a deranged person. Actually, he had a nicely toned calm voice, maybe he had practice. "But, perhaps you should change first."

Bridget looked down. She was barefoot and wearing her pajamas. "Right. That'd be a good idea. Where are my clothes?"

"Here," James offered. He held up a bundle of clothes that vaguely resembled a school uniform. They would be horribly wrinkled.

"Toss it over, please." He did so, and she, in turn, tossed the pile on the bed. "Thanks." She grabbed the socks off the top of the pile and began pulling them on. It involved quite a bit of comical hopping and almost crashing into the bed.

"Um, I really am sorry I can't tell you anything right now. Maybe I'll be able to after I talk to Dumbledore." It took her a bit longer to put the shirt on, but she managed without any hopping what-so-ever. "Or not, Dumbledore does tend to be rather secretive, doesn't he?" She looped the plain black tie around her neck and knotted it. "Just one question first." Next, she dropped the skirt over her head 

and buttoned it up, straightening the waistline automatically. There wasn't any reason to bother with tucking her shirt in when she was going to wear a sweater anyways. When she bent down to pull the pants off (thank God for elastic waistbands) she spoke again, "There's really no chance that you and Lily, will, uh, yeah?"

"No." James was giving her a weird look. "Did you just change in front of us?"

"Uh, yeah." She gave him an awkward half-grin and pulled her shoes on. "Special talent of mine. It's kinda a long story. Can we go now?"

"Professor!" Bridget jogged up to the Headmaster, who had been whistling a minuet as the gargoyle shut behind him.

He turned around, completely unsurprised, and gave her that infuriating all-knowing look over his glasses. The wizened look his beard gave him just added fuel to the fire of frustration. "Yes, Miss Griffins?"

Nevertheless, he was one of the greatest wizards of all time, and deserved more than her lashing out at him because she had had an exceptionally bad day. "Um, we have a small problem." She grimaced. "Actually, I'm pretty sure it's a rather big problem."

Dumbledore's gaze sharpened, and Bridget winced. "What sort of problem?"

"You see," she began slowly, "I've been having a few issues with my knowledge of history. There seem to be some events that just don't match up."

"Very well. Let's return to my office." He didn't even have to say the password, the gargoyle was already moving out of the way, scowling at her darkly.

Before they could move further, Sirius spoke, reminding her that the three boys were still there. It also reminded her that there should be a fourth boy, one who was also supposed to be inseparable from his fellow Gryffindors, but who she hadn't seen in the two whole days she had been there. Maybe that was a good thing, though. It gave her time to come to terms with the fact that a two-faced, slimy, traitorous rat would be hanging around and she'd at least have to be decent to him to keep up pretenses.

Bridget wondered absently how long that would last. She was known for being able to keep her temper in check for long periods of time, but she also had a bit of a sore spot for Judases, and that temper, when unleashed, was scary. It would not be a good day for Peter Pettigrew when she finally lost it.

"So you just want us to go to dinner and not tell anyone?" Sirius was saying. "About anything? What about Peter?"

"It would be best if we waited to inform anyone else. Correct, Miss Griffins?"

Dumbledore turned to her, expectant, and she instinctively shrank back. He couldn't seriously expect her to decide how involved they were going to get! This was his world, their world, not hers, and he was the Headmaster, leader of the Light. She was just a poor, lost, inno—oh, sod it.

Bridget straightened her shoulders and gave Dumbledore a level look. "Yeah, I'd rather be safe than sorry. But, it does involve them. Sorta. I'm just not really sure how much anymore." Or if you want them to know any of it, remained unspoken, but she had a pretty good feeling the Headmaster got the general idea of the message.

He gave her a piercing look. Bridget understood that she both looked and sounded more than a little frazzled, but she really didn't want to admit that she had probably ruined James's life to the boy's 

face… or the fact that she might just have saved all of their lives. Either way the result was not going to be pretty.

"Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin, I would like you to continue to the Great Hall now." ("Left out again." "Shut up, Sirius.") "Mr. Potter may remain here. This shouldn't take very long."

It was probably taking longer than he had expected, but she did have to go through 20-something years of history for several different people. She was saying it as fast as she could without making it completely perplexing. It was hard enough that she had to keep backtracking when she forgot a key point or event, much less keep the libraries full of information stuck in her head coherent for anyone other than her.

"So, you see, by breaking up James and Lily (completely accidentally, I might add, my timing seems to be abhorrent), and allowing Lily to give Snape a second chance I've managed to rob you of your greatest spy, prevented the birth of the Dude-Who-Didn't-Die, and ruined James's future with the love of his life. And I managed to do it in under an hour." She gulped in a deep breath and stared at the Headmaster from under her fringe. "Did you get all that or should I repeat it slower, maybe clearer? I tend to ramble."

Dumbledore leaned forward, sucking thoughtfully on the pink sweet he had chosen halfway through her explanation. He didn't say anything for a while and she lowered her hands back down to her lap. She had an uncontrollable tendency to gesture wildly when excited—or upset.

"You, my dear, must fix your mistake," he finally said.

Bridget opened her mouth. And closed it. This whole situation was ridiculously complicated and now she was gaping like a fish. "You…" she finally said after a few more fish impressions, her voice strangled somewhere in the bottom of her throat, "you want me to fix it?"

"Yes. I believe that would be most prudent."

"But," she floundered, continuing the fish theme, "how? I'm not even entirely sure how I messed it all up in the first place."

"Then you've already identified your first step," Dumbledore replied in a voice that would be reassuring if she still wasn't completely stunned and confused. "I'm sure you'll figure out the rest in due time. Godric tells me you're quite the clever girl."

Okay, Bridget hadn't really expected a proper response—this was the wise (and frustratingly vague) Albus Dumbledore, after all—but the crazy man was bringing up his very dead predecessor again. Seriously, this had to be a bad sign.

"Now," said Dumbledore, "we should hurry along before Mr. Potter gets bored and decides to explode another suit of armor. Or, perhaps, turn them into cacti."

Bridget trudged after the spritely Headmaster, trying not to do the cliché thing and sigh despondently at her plight. She was already pushing her self-imposed limits by dragging her feet like a disgruntled toddler. As they got farther down the spiral staircase, and closer to the exit, she could hear raised voices, one of which belonged to James. Her day just wasn't getting any better.

"I really don't care what stupid, heroic thing you thought you were doing, Potter. There's never a good reason to attack another student, especially four against one."

"Maybe you should tell your precious Snivellus about that, then. After all, he was the one—"

"Headmaster!"

The two arguing teenagers spun around to face Dumbledore. Lily was redder than her hair (a feat Bridget wouldn't have imagined was possible) and staring at the Headmaster, probably embarrassed at being caught fighting with her ex by a faculty member, the highest level of faculty, at that. James, however, was staring at his shoes, either trying to control his temper or completely embarrassed.

She'd bet on anger, or she would if she wasn't preoccupied with staunchly ignoring the scene in front of her and concentrating on the wall. If she didn't, she would have to acknowledge that her task seemed to be steadily becoming more and more difficult. As it was, Bridget was contemplating exactly how hard she would have to hit her head against the rock to knock herself out. If she managed to reach the proper level of unconsciousness (or just unconsciousness, really, how many levels could there be?) she might stop hallucinating and return home, or she just wouldn't have to deal with any of it. Either worked.

"Miss Griffins?"

She turned away from the wall. "Huh? I mean, sorry, excuse me?"

"This is our Head Girl," Dumbledore repeated lightly, as if he didn't know that Bridget knew exactly who the girl standing in front of her was, thank you very much, "Lily Evans. If you ever require assistance and your assigned guides are unavailable, I suggest you seek her help."

Bridget nodded.

"It's nice to meet you," Lily said distantly with a slight hint of impatience that Bridget would've never expected from the girl everyone claimed was kind-hearted and warm. Lily looked up at the Headmaster, cutting Bridget off before she could even think of a proper response. "Thank you for granting my request, Professor. I should get to dinner now."

Bridget gaped at her unattractively. She was used to people either disliking or liking her right off the bat, and it wasn't very common for the dislike to last very long. The indifference radiating off the other girl (weren't redhead's supposed to passionate or something of the sort?) was awkward for her to handle and very disconcerting. She wondered, somewhere in the back of her mind, if she should be more worried that she thought this was the weirdest thing to happen to her.

"And it was oh-so-pleasant to meet you as well," Bridget muttered, having recovered from the shock and reverting to her 'I guess they don't like me' reaction of dry sarcasm a few moments too late. Lily was already gone. "I'm sorry if I'm acting a bit odd, but I seem to have developed this peculiar talent of interrupting arguments between people I thought weren't real. So very sorry about that."

She rolled her eyes and noticed both James and Dumbledore giving her odd looks (like Dumbledore had anything to say—he was crazier than she was… she hoped). "Oh, did I say that out loud?" she drawled, the fake concern dripping off her tongue. "Bummers."

The Headmaster gave her a warning look over his spectacles, obviously intending to remind her of the very important job she still had to do.

Bridget really didn't care.

"Dinner has already begun," he said. "We should hurry along."

She and James followed Dumbledore down the hall, staying a few feet behind the man. She started fidgeting with her shirt, wishing that she had pockets or at least something for her hands to play with. In fact, what she really wanted was to go for a run to get rid of all the nervous energy flowing through her body, but she was wearing a skirt, in a completely unfamiliar place, and had a prior (if forced) engagement. The run would have to wait, or not happen at all.

"So," James asked with all the tact of a herd of stampeding rhinoceroses, "what's going on?"

Bridget glanced at Dumbledore—he was quite far ahead of them—and wondered if James had done that on purpose.

"I have to fix what I messed up," she said. She had intended to say "nothing much," but her mouth apparently thought that honesty was the best policy with the messy-haired boy next to her. It was probably right.

"You're going to try to get Lily and me back together, then," he stated, confident. It wasn't even close to being a question (as it very well should have been). The jerk knew.

"I wasn't very good at hiding that, was I?"

"No," he smiled at her, "not really." James faced forward again, frowning with his hands stuck in his pockets. "It's not going to happen, you know."

"Yes, I think I might," she replied with all the air of someone discussing a slightly warmer than usual spring. "You both are supposed to be remarkably stubborn. But," Bridget paused, not sure if she really should be telling him this, "you don't know how important it is." She looked down, avoiding his gaze, when he suddenly turned his curious eyes back to her. "I have to try. Besides," she grinned, "Dumbledore told me to, and I'm too exhausted to argue with the loon anymore right now."

They had reached the Headmaster and two great hulking doors before James could respond, although he was obviously itching to. His eyes kept darting to her and he was rocking back and forth slightly on his heels. She was really just waiting for him to start whistling before pulling her off into some alcove to demand the truth.

"And now," Dumbledore said as if he was announcing something to the entire school rather than the two disenchanted teenagers standing in front of him, "it is time for your Sorting."

"How wonderful." Bridget looked up at the huge, carved doors and felt something cold and unpleasant drop in her stomach. "But, Professor—"

Dumbledore didn't seem to hear her. "Wait here with Mr. Potter while I introduce you."

And, with that, he walked away, leaving Bridget staring after him. She sighed, rubbing her temples; this whole situation was giving her a terrible headache.

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

"That was a spectacular way to make it sound somewhat dangerous and intriguing without actually lying. I know the Sorting is done by a telepathic, talking, singing hat." She sighed when he looked disappointed, a little upset with herself for being such a smart-mouth. He really was only trying to help her.

"It's not the Sorting I'm worried about, James," she said, her voice weary, drained. "I can't remember ever 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. He probably couldn't, not really. He had grown up in this world, and Muggles were likely to be as foreign a concept to him as someone not hearing about the Harry Potter books was to her.

"That could be a problem."

"No kidding."

Author's Notes (again): So… there was the chapter. Obviously, the Sorting will be in the next chapter, and something exciting and possibly violent will happen the chapter after that. I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed/put the story on alert in the first chapter once again and shamelessly beg for reviews for this chapter. Until next time…

Next chapter of You've Got to Be Kidding Me:

Bridget stared at him, mouth open. "He said what?"

"Evans decided she wanted to return to the Gryffindor dormitory, so you're getting her room." James shrugged. "It's supposed to make it easier for us to help you catch up." She continued to stand next to the portrait silently, shoulders drooping. "I told you it wasn't going to be easy. I won't date her again."

He held the newly formed door open for her, leaning on it with all the casual elegance of someone born into money and power, which, she supposed, he was. He was also charming, intelligent, and handsome, especially when he was grinning like he was right now, hazel eyes positively sparkling with amusement under the fringe of his messy black hair.

Now why didn't Lily Evans want to date him, again?

"Are you coming in or going to stare in wonder at my blinding good-looks all night?"

Bridget sighed, completely unsurprised, and pushed pass him. That was why.

First Posted: 5/06/08

Last Edited: 7/11/08