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: I'm late. I'm so sorry. Well, there shall be no further wait… here's the long-overdue chapter.

Chapter Four: Between Us

"As any change must begin somewhere, it is the single individual who will experience it and carry it out." -Carl Jung

Bridget tried to look out at the Great Hall, but McGonagall had shoved the Sorting Hat on her head hard, forcing her bangs flat, and she couldn't see much more than the bottom of the dark auburn locks. It was very quiet, though, almost unnaturally so in the Hogwarts equivalent of a high school cafeteria, and she was getting impatient.

It was taking entirely too long for the Hat to recognize that she was all Muggle and tell Dumbledore off. In front of the entire school. She bit her lip; this was so going to suck.

Quite the opposite, actually, a voice said in her ear, startling her so badly she almost fell over. In the nick of time, she remembered that there wasn't anyone talking to her exactly, just a hat reading her mind. . . right. Because that was so much better.

"Wait," she whispered, unable to bring herself to think at an animate inanimate object. "Are you trying to tell me that I'm not a Muggle?"

Yes. Your ancestry is completely wizarding.

Bridget frowned. "I'm not even Muggleborn?"

Correct, the Hat murmured. Before she could question it further, a sharp pain shot through her head. She could feel more than see memories and thoughts flashing through her mind and it was making her dizzy. I apologize. It is more challenging to Sort older students, and the methods I use must be more. . . intrusive.

"Yeah, sure, fine. Can we get to the point, then?" She shifted on the stool. "This isn't the most comfortable of seats and my head hurts."

Very well. The Hat hummed, reminding Bridget of relatives who would look her up and down, sizing her up and appraising her worthiness. It wasn't a feeling she enjoyed.

You would do well in Slytherin.

"What? No, I wouldn't," Bridget said, rather shocked at the implication. "I'd get annoyed with the lot and try to hurt someone. Besides, if I got Sorted there I have a nagging suspicion James and Sirius would disapprove."

You are extremely loyal to those you care about, it continued, ignoring her comment.

"I just met them."

And intelligent.

"I dunno, I've done some pretty stupid things, just ask my mother."

But, I'm afraid there's only one place for you.

Bridget's eye's widened. She'd gotten distracted and now— "Don't you dare put me in Slytherin you—"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"I will tear you apart at the seams and no amount of thread or magic will ever be able to put— Gryffindor? Did you say Gryffindor?"

Yes, Miss Griffins, now take your seat.

"I hate people," Bridget said blandly.

Dinner had ended over an hour ago, but Sirius had insisted that she be given a tour of the castle despite her own proclamations that she wasn't going to remember a dang thing they showed her. In addition to trying to remember the layout of a constantly changing castle, new students seemed to, unfortunately, be an anomaly at Hogwarts, especially foreign new students. She hadn't been left alone since dinner had ended, and had been introduced to person after person after person after—

Sirius threw an arm around her shoulders. "But they seem to love you. Which is why I've decided that you are worthy of my friendship."

"Gee." Bridget rolled her eyes, but she could feel her lips twitching as she tried not to smile. "I feel so very honored."

"As you should." He nodded solemnly. "But, you don't need to worry any longer."

"It was tearing me up inside," she drawled.

He ignored her. "You have friends now."

"What a relief, because between the whole finding out fiction is actually reality thing, and getting assigned my new mission—don't ask, I won't tell—I've been oh-so-troubled about making friends." Bridget stopped walking, ducking when Sirius didn't and his arm went over her head. She straightened up again. "Speaking of friends, where's Peter?"

"You know about Peter?" Remus asked. The three boys were looking at her like she had declared Snape the supreme ruler of the world.

"Um, yes. I thought we had gone over the whole from the future thing. Did Dumbledore forget to mention that I know who all of you are?"

"Yes, he did."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out."

"That's all right," James said. He was the first to recover and he smiled at her. "Peter is at his great-aunt's funeral. He should be back by dinner tomorrow."

"Speaking of tomorrow, some of us need to attend class in the morning," Remus said. "Sirius and I should go."

"Why?" Sirius whined. "I don't have class."

"We know," James drawled, smirking at his best friend. Sirius glared at him, but was interrupted by Remus.

"You still have to accompany Bridget to Diagon Alley tomorrow."

"Oh all right," he grumbled, sending one last glare at the still-grinning James. The other boy looked entirely too pleased with his pun and Sirius crossed his arms over his chest, pouting. Remus ignored him.

"I'm sorry I won't be able to go as well," he said to her. "My mother's ill and I'll be leaving after lunch to visit her."

"Oh, that's okay, Remus," she responded. He looked rather ill himself; it must be worrying him a lo—wait.

Bridget peered around him, and out the open window into the night sky. High in the inky darkness hung the bright, round moon. If she hadn't know it was impossible, Bridget would've said it was full. She looked back at Remus, who was staring down at her, concerned about her odd behavior.

"Uh… Remus?" she said hesitantly.

"Yes?"

She looked around. Even though it was after curfew, that didn't mean that there weren't students around and she wanted to make sure that they were really alone. She turned back to Remus, voice at a whisper. "I know."

"You… know?" He frowned at her. "You know what?"

He looked very confused and Bridget flushed bright red. Right… that wasn't very clear, was it? "I—good heavens, this is difficult—I know about your, um, condition." Bridget smiled apologetically when he paled dramatically and stumbled away from her, looking horrified. "I'm sorry!" she blurted out, still a charming shade of crimson. "I'm really bad at this sort of thing and I thought it be easier if I just told you.

"Then again, I have this tendency to talk without really thinking it all through, especially when I'm stressed or tired or completely and utterly confused like I've been lately. I mean—please stop me whenever you want to or I'm going to just keep talking and talk—"

"How…" Some color had returned, but Remus's voice was quiet. He took a deep breath and continued speaking in a stronger voice. "How do you know?"

"Third book," she replied instantly. "It's kinda hard to misinterpret it when someone says 'He's a werewolf!' and the person responds, well, pretty much the same way you just did, actually." She smiled weakly. "Isn't that funny?"

She clears her throat, ignoring the way both Sirius and James tensed when she stepped closer to Remus. The boy jumped when she put a hand on his arm, eyes darting around as if he was looking for the best path of escape.

"Right, so maybe it's not that funny, but I'm cool with it. Really. Well," she frowned, brow furrowing, "as cool with it as I can be when someone I think well of goes through something that is not only incredibly painful and identity-crisis inducing, but socially unaccepted and misunderstood on a monthly basis. So, I'm pretty much saying right on and I won't tell anyone."

"You won't?" He looked unbelievably hopeful, like he couldn't possibly understand why she would do that. Bridget frowned, Remus shouldn't have to worry about something as silly as that. He was kind and intelligent and, probably, very powerful. He should be worrying about what he was going to do with his life because he had too many choices, not too few. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No. No, you didn't. It's just you shouldn't—you shouldn't have to deal with all this crap about lycanthropy. It's ridiculous."

Remus smiled at her, and when he spoke she got the distinct impression that he had had this conversation many times before. Probably with James and/or Sirius. "I'm a monster." There was acceptance in his voice, and, somehow, that made it so much worse.

"Once a freaking month," Bridget replied firmly. "That's it. You shouldn't be punished the rest of the bloody time, especially if you take precautions to keep yourself and others safe." She took a deep breath, calming herself before she continued speaking. "Never mind what I say, I've never been someone who can tolerate prejudice.

"You know, I'm not really supposed to say anything about what I know, but I'm going to anyways. I never was all too great at following rules." She shrugged and forced him to look her in the eye. "People where I'm from love you, and they know about your furry little problem. You're a great guy, Remus. Besides, half of the world wishes you had been one of their teachers. You're spectacular at it."

"I was a teacher?"

"Yup. A good one, too. Now, no more questions. You have class tomorrow and I have to go shopping." She wrinkled her nose, tactfully ignoring how Remus was practically glowing with the new information. "Ugh. I hate shopping."

When he didn't move, she sighed and pulled him towards Sirius. "Right, now you make sure he doesn't walk into a wall or something and I'll see you tomorrow. Okay, Sirius?"

"Sure."

Bridget watched the two boys leave, feeling a sense of satisfaction. She had done something good, even if she wasn't supposed to, and it wasn't going to change anything. At least not any more so than she had already managed to do.

"That was a nice thing to do."

"I only told the truth. I wish I had had a teacher like him. Then again, after the ones I've had, it can really only go up."

"My Defense professor tried to kill us in fifth year," James said, voice flat.

"Been there, done that. Except it was my Algebra II teacher."

There was a short pause. "What's Algebra?"

"A mathematics class, but that doesn't matter. So, now what?"

"Now I show you where you're supposed to sleep," he said, dropping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her in the opposite direction of Gryffindor Tower, which was a little odd as she was a Gryffindor.

"Oh. That's nice of you."

They walked in silence for a while. She looked around her in interest, taking in as much of Hogwarts as she could. As much as she had hated the tour, it was only because of the forced socializing; Bridget was completely in love with the castle. It was old, full of history, of the hopes and dreams and lives of so many people for such a long time.

She wasn't used to that. Hawai'i had it's own history and life, but it was in nature, not anything man-made, not really. They had nothing this spectacular. Besides, she'd dreamed of Hogwarts since she was nine. It was wonderful to actually be there. Well, here, she supposed.

"Um, so where am I staying?"

"Dumbledore told me you were going to stay in the Head dorms, Evans's old room."

James stopped in front of a landscape painting of a forest. It was large, about as big as a dresser, with large trees dusted with snow, branches swaying in the wind, surrounding a clear, blue lake. It was beautiful, but she had no idea why in the world he had spent the last minute staring at it.

"Oh come on," he said suddenly, sounding irate. "She'll be living here from now on, so you'd best get used to seeing her."

A figure flitted out from behind one of the trees, hovering in front of the disgruntled James. It was a fairy. That was, really, the only explanation. She was small with shimmery blue wings fluttering behind her, barely noticeable if it hadn't been for the disparity in the area. She was also very beautiful, in a feral sort of way, with pale, glowing (yes, actually glowing) skin, big, bright blue eyes, and long waves of coal black hair.

"Animus prius vita."

The landscape opened, revealing a hole in the wall about the same size that slowly widened to the size of a large door. On the opposite side of the painting was, well, another painting. The same one, actually, or a mirror copy of it. And the fairy was looking curiously at both James and her. Bridget felt like she was being judged. Harshly.

"She's the new resident," James told the fairy. "I'm sure Evans told you she was moving out. Dumbledore approved, rather vocally, too. He said it would be a good way to get to know each other."

The fairy nodded and flew closer to Bridget, examining her even more thoroughly than before. She nodded and said, in a soft melodious voice that reminded Bridget of softly flowing streams, "I'm Ashlynn."

"Uh, I'm Bridget. Nice to meet you." Then she processed everything that James had said and where she was going to be living. 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 painting 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.

Bridget peered over the back of the couch and saw James leaning over a slightly worn-out pf parchment, frowning as he attempted to write something.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He started, cursing when he saw that his hand had slipped, drawing a ragged line that spread onto the table. She plopped down next to him. Knowing that she would be unable to sleep with all the excitment, she had been browsing the shelves full of books at the far end of the common room, nearest her new room. A half-hour later she was bored. Which, really, was far from a new experience for her.

"Transfiguration essay."

She gave him a skeptical look as he folded the parchment up with practiced precision and tucked it into the pages of his book. His Arithmancy book. James really needed to work on his on-the-spot lying; Bridget suspected that he usually depended on Remus for that or relied on his charm to get him out of scrapes.

"Your Transfiguration essay looks awfully like a map and an Arithmancy textbook."

"Yes," he was, however, quite good at looking nonchalant, "well, it, uh, is?"

His lying still sucked. How in the world did he manage to keep anything to himself? Before he could do much of anything, she leaned over and pulled the parchment from his book. He hadn't even managed to put it in all the way. She fell back onto the couch, sitting sideways with her back against the armrest, and opened it up.

"Brilliant." Her tone bordered on pure reverent adoration and she would've hated the fact if it had been in front of anyone but him.

The parchment was a little bigger than the average open textbook, but had somehow managed to hold the entirety of Hogwarts on its surface without looking crowded. Bridget suspected it had something to do with the fact that whenever she looked at a spot it seemed to broaden to a comfortable size.

"I, uh, it's a project for Transfiguration," James attempted weakly. Well, she supposed, it really wasn't all that weak, but she already knew what she was holding and his excuse wasn't strong enough to cover up for it.

"Don't bother, love, I already know about the Marauders' Map."

"You… do?"

"Yup. I knew about Remus, how does this really surprise you?" Bridget looked up from the Map. "What were you doing to it?"

"I was fixing the spellwork, but that managed to erase some of the map."

"Oh." She squinted and looked at the part he was obviously repairing critically. "Your handwriting is a bit… illegible."

"How do you know that's my handwriting?"

Bridget lowered the Map just enough to peer skeptically over it at James. "Because the majority is legible."

"Right. Remus drew most of it and labeled it," he said. "I did the spellwork."

"And Peter and Sirius brought the snacks?"

"Yeah." He sounded amused. "But they also did most of the legwork."

This was when she, quite embarrassingly, forgot something important and more than a little obvious. She had been examining the area on the edge of the Forbidden Forest and in the middle of saying, "It really is quite amaz—" when she decided to get a little more comfortable… and almost fell right off the couch.

As if that wasn't horrifying enough, James saw that she had overbalanced and tried to help. His reflexes, as speculated by the majority of the Potter fandom, really were abnormally good. That is, Bridget suspected, how she ended up in her current predicament, with her legs wrapped around his waist, essentially sitting on his lap, and pressed against him in a way that was distinctly… blush-causing.

James had reached out, caught her by the wrist, and pulled her away from the danger of bashing her head against the floor. Unfortunately, the dance lessons her mother had forced her to take since childhood had kicked in. Instead of ending up in an embarrassing tangle of limbs when James overestimated his strength, her body followed through with the ending of a particularly raunchy number, and they ended up in a, well, embarrassing tangle of limbs that just happened to be more 'nudge-nudge-wink-wink' than 'ow… pain.'

Bridget sat there, feeling more and more awkward as the seconds ticked by (chronicled by the unnaturally loud clock above the fireplace) and tried to convince her face not to turn red when she realized something that, quite possibly, made everything worse.

"You were holding an inkwell, weren't you?" she asked in a voice that, she thought, sounded quite collected considering the circumstances.

"Yeah."

"You don't happen to know where that ended up, do you?"

James grinned apologetically. "I think it's between us."

"Right," she sighed. That was a logical explanation for the sudden, uncomfortable wetness on her stomach. "Um, I don't really, uh, know how to get up."

He didn't move, just kept sitting there with his arms fastened securely around her waist, making it even more unlikely that she'd be able to get off on her own. At least she'd managed to remove her own arms from his neck, even if they had only moved to his shoulders.

"James?"

"Yes?"

"I'd like to get up now."

"Why?"

She rolled her eyes. "James." Bridget saw the way he grinned and before he could respond with the ever-so-original 'Bridget,' said, "Help me up."

"Of course."

And, without so much as a warning, James stood up and she just managed to not yelp. Goodness gracious, he was a lot stronger than she thought.

"Now you have to let go of me."

He sounded terribly amused, which made Bridget want to smack him. Regrettably, that would mean that she'd have to remove her face from his shoulder and pry her arms from their death grip around his neck, which she wasn't too keen on right now. But she'd also have to do that to get down, which she was keen on. Really… she was.

She unlocked her legs from around his waist and straightened them out, feeling comforted when he put his hands on her waist (James was a good six inches or so taller than her) and slowly lowered her to the ground.

"Please don't do that again," she said in a voice that she was proud to say was calm and even a little annoyed.

"So I should just let you fall?" he, on the other hand, sounded entirely

"Yes, please—oh, my clothes." Bridget held out her skirt. "I'm all covered in ink."

She sighed and draped herself over the couch again. James sat next to her, his own white shirt ruined by the black ink, although his trousers had been spared from the carnage.

"Maybe we should get changed."

"I would," she replied with another sigh. "Except I don't have any other clothes."

"You don't?"

"Nope. I don't even know where the clothes I came in are. Where did they go? And I had a backpack, well, a messenger bag and a duffle bag full of bo—um, James?"

Bridget frowned, looking around the now empty common room. Where had that boy gone? And how the heck had he moved so fast? It was freakish. Oh well, she'd just wait here.

"Here you go."

She stared at him, then at the clothes he was holding out to her. "What?"

"You can borrow these tonight and I'll get you a uniform tomorrow. Evans should have something that could fit you."

Wow. That was really sweet. "Thank-you."

"You can change here if you want."

And he kills it.

Author's Notes: Okay, that was a really hard chapter to write and I have no idea why. Perhaps it's because so much happened in it. Anyways, thanks for reading it and please, please review.

Thanks to texaskid, D1024, and voided for putting this on Story Alert, and to Queen of Monkey Magic for reviewing.

Next Chapter:

The speaker was a tall, thin woman with long thick black hair and a face that was beautiful in a harsh, dark way that reminded Bridget of the Gothic castles in old Dracula and Frankenstein movies . It was odd, but she looked kinda familiar.

"I see you've rid yourself of the Mudblood."

James's grip on her waist tightened, but when he spoke his voice was calm and level.

"Good afternoon, Madam Lestrange." Bridget stiffened. No wonder she looked familiar that evil, murderous bi—"Bridget, this is Bellatrix Lestrange."