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… late. But, I do have the next chapter ready for next week. Aren't you all proud? Okay, fine… so I'm not the most constant of folks, but I do try. Anyways, here's the chapter. Have fun.

Chapter Five: Gryffindor Blood Traitors

"Every sweet has its sorrow; every evil its good." –Ralph Waldo Emerson

Bridget stretched, arching her back and taking as deep of a breath as she could manage before curling back into a ball. It was early morning, school-day early, too, that time in the wee hours when the sun was still dawning and she spent her time half-asleep, praying that school would be cancelled for some reason or another.

In the same part of her mind that wished for horrible blizzards on a tropical island, she knew that she should probably get up, but the bed was soft and warm from a night spent tucked under the covers and she wanted to savor the feeling as long as she could. But, when voices softly floated in from the common room, she finally decided that it was time to give in to the inevitable. Bridget pushed the blankets and slid her legs off the bed, touching her feet to the cold floor as slowly as she could.

It took her a while to remember everything that had occurred the night before (probably because of denial), but she was already halfway to the bathroom when it happened. Due to her absent-minded clumsiness, she had no clothes other than what she was already wearing, which technically belonged to James. Grumbling, she made an about-face and opened the door, leaning out into the common room.

"Sorry, James, but did you find me—oh dear."

Bridget overbalanced and stumbled fully into the room, revealing her attire, or lack thereof.

Sirius wasn't the other person with James, like she had thought. Nope. Why would she be lucky enough to have a boy who would obviously take her state of dress the wrong way see it? It wasn't even Lily, who would've made everything so much more difficult. Actually, Bridget had never seen this woman before, so she really couldn't be sure exactly how bad things had just gotten.

She was beautiful, though, even if she looked to be in her early fifties or so. A little taller than Bridget herself was, and slender, the woman radiated grace and good-breeding with everything from her posture to her well-tailored, Victorian-influenced robes. The corners of her dark blue eyes and full, pink lips had fine lines, laugh lines, and her thick, black hair was streaked with gray, which had been the only signs of age.

"Bridget," James said after what seemed like hours (it was probably only a few seconds, he didn't seem very embarrassed), "this is my mother, Katherine Potter. Mum, this is Bridget Griffins."

Oh, God. It was his mother. This was horrible.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Bridget said, automatically responding to the introduction when all she wanted was to sneak unnoticed back into the bedroom.

Unlikely.

"The pleasure is entirely mine." Mrs. Potter smiled gently at Bridget before turning sharply to her son, her lips in a stern, straight line strangely reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. "What were you thinking, James? I know that your father and I raised a better son than this."

Bridget blinked. What?

"What?" James asked. He sounded just as confused as Bridget felt, but Mrs. Potter was having none of that.

"Taking advantage of a girl who is not only adjusting to a new life in a new world, but is entrusted to your care? James Nathaniel Potter, I am very disappointed in you. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Take advantage of her? How would he—oh. Oh.

James seemed to get what his mother was implying at the same moment Bridget did, and the two flushed bright red in unison. Admittedly, the evidence was in Mrs. Potter's favor.

Bridget had just left a bedroom, still half asleep, looking for James. Her hair was a mess, hanging over her shoulders and back in tangles and she wasn't wearing much: a too-big dress shirt that obviously belonged to someone of the male persuasion, and boxer shorts that were rolled up to fit better, which, combined with her knee-high school socks, didn't cover a lot of leg.

Crud.

"Mrs. Potter?" Bridget said, hoping that she wouldn't incur the older woman's, um, disappointment. "James didn't—" Her face was burning, she was sure she had never blushed this hard before. She cleared her throat. "I mean, he never, uh, took advantage of me."

Bridget chanced a look at James. Although he was no longer blushing, he did not look happy.

"Oh my dear," Mrs. Potter said kindly. Crackers, her declaration hadn't done much to convince the woman, "I'm sure it didn't seem that way," ("Mother!") "but Potter men tend to be extremely charming."

"Uh, right," this was getting worse by the minute, "I'm sure that's true, but we haven't, um, slept together. He just lent me clothes to sleep in because I don't have any and we had an incident with an inkwell."

James's mother gave him a stern look. He returned with one of his own. Bridget saw the family resemblance. It was all in the stubborn attitudes. And the hair.

"Really, Mrs. Potter," she repeated, still bright red. "James has been nothing but a gentleman since I got here."

"Yeah, Mum. It's not like she would let me do anything, anyways. She's trying to get me back with Lily."

Mrs. Potter looked surprised. "Lily Evans? That charming red-haired girl? Whatever happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Mum."

While they were having this invigorating conversation about James's love life, Bridget stared at James, shocked (although, in retrospect, she shouldn't have been). He was standing, arms folded across his chest, with a stern frown on his face. He was, for all intensive purposes, pouting.

Because he couldn't get in her pants.

That jerk.

"James," she said, not realizing that she had interrupted the mother-son moment (which had turned to the state of his hair—apparently a Potter trait—and the twelve detentions he'd wrangled—also something that he seemed to inherit from his father) until after she had done so. Nevertheless, this was important. "You can't go around telling people."

"Why not?"

Why not? Why did he think it was okay to do that? For the love of God, her life didn't need to be any more difficult than it already was. He was so frustrating.

"Because even if you figured it out, no one else is supposed to know. And I don't need it to be any harder than it's already going to be."

"I still don't understand why it's so important."

"Which would be because I didn't tell you!"

"Why not? It's my life!"

"Suffice to say the fate of the world hangs in the balance. So, even if I don't want it to happen, it has to." She didn't want him to die, after all. She didn't want any of them to die.

James grinned and she jerked back, noticing for the first time that they had stepped closer to each other during the brief argument.

"Don't want it to happen?" he repeated, carefully forming each syllable as he said it.

"That—" Oh crud. "That came out a lot more suggestive than I had intended."

James took a step closer, looking every bit like he was relishing the red staining her cheeks (she was positive it was going to become permanent with the amount of blushing she'd done recently). Bridget was suddenly very aware of how little she was actually wearing and the warmth she could feel from his body, only a couple of inches away from her own.

Life was so unfair.

"James," his mother called, looking exasperated, but amused. "Be nice."

He grinned at her one last time before backing away a step. "Yes, Mum."

"Now," she said. Mrs. Potter was definitely a woman who knew how to keep boys like James (and Sirius, most likely) in check. "Did you get Bridget a spare uniform?"

"Um…"

"It's no matter now, James. I brought along robes; it would be best if you didn't wear your Hogwarts robes, either, or your Muggle clothing. We don't want to attract too much attention."

The door banged open.

"Sirius has," dramatic pause, "arrived!"

"Right, Mum," James drawled. "Not too much attention."

Bridget stared at her reflection. She had never been very fond of dresses, forever a tomboy, but even she'd admit that she looked pretty good in the burgundy and cream set Mrs. Potter had brought for her.

The skirt fell to about three inches below her knee and was fuller than she was used to, but, strangely, not any heavier than the skirts she wore at home and her blouse was a fitted, cream, button-up shirt, emphasizing the curve of her waist as it flared out into her hips. The robes that went over the whole thing were slightly longer than the skirt with sleeves that flared out at her elbows. She also had to wear a pointed witch's hat on top of her pulled back auburn waves.

The whole thing, along with the cream button-up boots and gloves (which, she had been assured, she only had to have, not wear), gave her a very 40's look. She liked it, and, at the very least, it was more up-to-date than Mrs. Potter's Victorian one.

"You look beautiful, dear," Mrs. Potter said. She smoothed out Bridget's waistline. "I'm sorry it can't be more modern but it's best to stay with Wizarding fashions at Diagon Alley when school's in session."

"That's okay. This has always been more my style than 70's Muggle clothes. Although, I'm afraid I'll always prefer my t-shirts and jeans. A girl straight out of the millennium. Sad, but true."

"What do you mean?"

Bridget turned away from the mirror to look at the older woman. "I'm, um, from the future. 2007, to be exact. My parents haven't even met yet. I'm not to be born for, I dunno, a little over ten years."

"That does explain quite a bit," Mrs. Potter said after a few moments that Bridget spent trying to decide whether it had been stupid of her to tell James's mother. "Now, why don't we see what the boys think?"

The boys seemed to think well of the outfit. At least, that's what she had gathered from their reaction of staring, open-mouthed until she was bright red (yet again) and Mrs. Potter had cleared her throat to get their attention. It did make sense, though. She wasn't half bad looking when cleaned up and they had only seen her completely stressed out after a long day, or in pajamas. It was bound to be a bit of a shock.

They had looked pretty good, too, in suspendered dress pants and button-up shirts under open vests. With the way they were holding their robes and the fedora-type hats they were wearing they looked rather like detectives from old-fashioned detective movies, and Bridget had to stop herself from laughing. Then Sirius sat on the desk and flicked the rim of his hat and she couldn't help but giggle.

Sirius looked pleased that he had gotten a reaction, even if he didn't know the reason.

"Right," he said, grinning widely. "So, is everyone ready to go now?"

"He was creepy," Bridget said, frowning as she attempted to find somewhere in her robes to put her new wand.

She couldn't believe that in all that fabric there were no pockets. None. It was insane. And her arm ached from all that stupid wand-waving.

"Here." James reached for the wand but stopped short, his hand hovering over the handle. Bridget gave him an odd look. "May I?"

"Um, yeah." She flipped it over, placing the handle in his open palm. "Sure."

"Most wizarding robes have a pocket in the sleeves for the wand." James gently took her right wrist and turned it over, before sliding the wand into it. He gave her a crooked grin. "You know, most people don't like having other handle their wands. It's a sign of trust when you do."

"Yes, well, even if you can be a huge jerk, deep down inside, sometimes very deep down, you are a good guy and, strange as it may sound, I do trust you." Her lips quirked into a smile and she looked up at him again. "Except with Slytherins and other such matters in which you are hopelessly biased. In that case I'll probably turn to someone else. That person will most likely be Remus."

Bridget cocked her head to the side and took a step forward, carefully straightening his tie and flattening his collar. It was a task she was used to performing for her brothers and male friends and something she had done without thinking. Just as reflexively, she looked up, a teasing smile on her face, to make a smart mouthed comment.

The smile slid off and the comment died somewhere between her brain and voice box. James was looking down at her with an expression that she recognized all too well. This was not—wait.

Bridget frowned, waving her arm in front of her face and watching the loose, dark red fabric swish back and forth unheeded. She pulled the sleeve taut and squinted into the dark cavern. The empty, dark cavern.

"What are you doing?" he asked. He sounded fondly amused, but she ignored that.

"What happened to my wand?"

"It's in a pocket," replied James proudly. "A pocket of space created with magic."

Bridget blinked. "Huh?"

"A pocket," he repeated slowly, "of space."

When her expression didn't change, James held out his arm and flicked his wrist sharply. His wand slid smoothly into his open hand as she watched, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. Immediately, she flicked her own wrist, imitating him as closely as she could manage and almost squealing with delight when her wand appeared.

"Oh my God, that is so cool."

Bridget looked up, practically beaming with excitement to see a very… unhappy James? That was odd. Then again, he wasn't looking at her. He was looking over her head, frowning at whatever was there. He slid his arm around her waist, confusing the girl even more. He looked very stoic, very serious, very adult, very not-James, at least not the James she had seen so far.

"James, what are you—?"

"Just play along, please." Did he just say please? Who the hell was he and where had James gone? "If we're lucky we'll dodge a Bludger."

"Okay. That's ominous, yet I find the Wizarding phraseology amusing."

He ignored her comment, instead leading her onto the main street of Diagon Alley. James abruptly pulled her to the side, almost causing her to stumble, and stared into Madam Malkin's shop window, like they were trying to decide whether or not to go in. It was a bit odd, to say the lea—

"Well, if it isn't the baby Potter," a cruel voice said from behind them. "Dumbledore let you out for good behavior?"

James scowled at the window before plastering a polite smile on his face and turning around, bringing Bridget with him.

The speaker was a tall, thin woman with long thick black hair and a face that was beautiful in an unforgiving, sinister 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."

"Nice to meet you," Bridget said, letting the words drip off her tongue with minimal disdain. Actually, she was just proud that she had managed to not punch the older witch.

"Lestrange, this is Bridget Griffins."

There was a flicker of recognition in Bellatrix's narrowed black eyes, which Bridget quickly decided could, in no way, be a good thing. Bellatrix quickly recovered, scowling darkly.

"It is never a pleasure to interact with Gryffindor blood traitors," she sneered.

Oh, wow. How original was that?

"As fun as this reunion has been," James said, "Bridget and I really must be going. I'll tell Sirius you sent your disregards."

"We'll see each other again soon, Potter, you can count on it." She smiled at Bridget, more baring her teeth than anything else. "You as well, Griffins."

Without another word, Bellatrix turned and continued down the alley. James turned her in the opposite direction and led her away.

Bridget was proud of how she handled the situation. At the very least, she didn't run from the psychotic woman or try to kill her, which she had so terribly wanted to do. After all, Bellatrix had destroyed Neville's parents and killed Sirius among so much else. When they got a store's length away from her, James flicked his wrist and drew out his wand. Bridget stared; she couldn't get over how so very cool that was.

"We need to find Mum and Sirius," he said, speeding up and attracting the bulk of her attention once again. "Lestrange was wearing Death Eater robes."

She stopped walking, pulling James to a halt.

"What?" she said. "Are you kidding me? Death Eaters?"

"Oh good, you know what they are."

How the hell was that a good thing? Bridget frowned, but James was far too busy doing his Gryffindor hero thing. She pulled him to the side when she noticed that people were giving them odd looks.

"James, are you sure? I know Sirius's dear cousin is a crazy, torture-loving bitch, but if there was an attack, would she really reveal herself to someone so obviously—crap, you're right."

"How do you know about Lestrange?"

"I can't tell you and, honestly, I wouldn't want you to know this one. I know enough to want the woman, if she can be called that, dead and that she's formidable when she's completely lost her mind. She's relatively sane now; therefore, I am screwed. How'd she know my name?"

There was a giggle somewhere around their legs and they both looked down. A little boy of about five was staring up at them. He was cute, with big, blue eyes, a face full of freckles, and a shock of bright red hair. Bridget frowned, it couldn't be…

"Charlie? Charles David Weasley!" a shrill, panicked voice called.

The little boy huddled closer to James, who looked absolutely terrified of the little kid. He must not have much experience with children. Bridget knelt down, attempting to keep her skirt at an appropriate length.

"Charlie?" she asked in a soft voice. She didn't want to scare the kid—he was adorable. "Is that your mum calling you?"

"Mummy's mad."

"Hm… I think she's just a little worried about where you wandered off to. You could meet some scary people when you're not with your mum or dad."

He smiled up at her, all innocence and trust, and Bridget felt her heart melt. "You're not scary. And he's a Potter."

"Aren't you a smart, big boy?" Charles beamed up at her and she held out her arms, picking him up when he deemed her safe. "Now, why don't we find your mum? I think she went off to go look for you."

"Okay."

"Come along, James," she commanded. "We'll find Mrs. Weasley, then your mum." Bridget smiled at Charlie. "He lost his mummy, too."

"He did?"

"Yes, he did. See, even big boys need their mummies sometimes. Is that yours?"

Mrs. Weasley was very pretty, all deadly curves and bright, curly red hair. Aside from the red hair the only thing that identified her was the two other boys she had: a child no older than a year and a boy who looked about seven or eight. Bill and Percy.

"Charles! Oh, there you are," she said, rushing over when she saw them. "Why'd you run off from Mummy?" She turned to Bridget, almost in tears from relief. "Oh, thank you so very much. I was so worried."

"That's alright, Mrs. Weasley. He's a darling."

Bridget handed him over to the woman, who had handed Percy off to Bill and was now fussing over Charlie. When she deemed the boy unharmed, she turned to Bridget, smiling brightly. "Thank you again. If I may, what is your name?"

"Bridget Griffins, and this is James Potter." Mrs. Weasley's eyes widened; she seemed to recognize the name. Bridget smiled gently at her. "I hate to be worrisome, but James and I just saw someone who is—how should I say this?—a little less than reputable. I've heard wonderful things about your family and I wouldn't want anything to happen. It's always better to be safe than sorry."

Mrs. Weasley looked between James and Bridget and seemed to deem them both trustworthy (James's Potter name probably helped quite a bit). She picked Charlie up. "William, we're going home. I need you to carry Percy for me."

"Yes, Mum."

She took one last look at the two teenagers. "Thank you for the warning. If you ever… need anything, don't hesitate to owl me. We're at the Burrow and my husband, Arthur, is at the Ministry."

Bridget watched them hurry off towards the Leaky Cauldron, and took James's hand again. "I'm sorry, I needed to make sure they were safe. The Weasleys are trustworthy and important."

James gave her a long look, and nodded. "I understand." He started dragging her away again. "Draw your wand. If anything happens stay close to me, point your wand at anyone in black and yell Stupefy."

Bridget nodded, barely having time to get a good grip before she was thrown to the ground and the world exploded around her.

Author's Notes: How was that? I'm actually quite proud of this one, especially the Bellatrix and Weasley meetings. Isn't Charlie a sweetie-pie?

Thanks to Coquettish for the review. Please read and review this time; it'll help with the next chapter.

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

"That is the girl, my Lord." Bellatrix was to his right, her grin feral and unmasked.

"You have done well, Bella," Voldemort said. His voice was silky and beguiling, but grated against Bridget like the cries of a man dying painfully. "Welcome to Diagon Alley, Miss Griffins."

His eyes roamed over her appraisingly and Bridget fought the instinct to hide, or at least cover herself. She refused to give him the satisfaction. He made an appreciative sound and James and Sirius stepped in front of her. Voldemort smiled, his teeth white and square and so very human it made the alterations that much worse.

"And accompanied by young Masters Potter and Black. Commendable choices, they may yet prove useful."

"Go to Hell," Sirius growled, voice low and angry.

Voldemort chuckled. "I plan on staying here for a very long time," he said. "Forever."