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 on time! Wow, that's new, isn't it? Well, no other notes, so, enjoy.

Chapter Six: Common Sense and First Aide

"Both heaven and hell are within us." –Mohandas K. Gandhi

Bridget curled her arms around her head as debris fell. She felt a heavy weight settled across her back and it took her a moment to realize that James had done exactly what any Gryffindor boy would be expected to do: he was shielding her as best as he could with his own body. Who said chivalry was dead?

The crumbling sounds of falling rocks and chunks of wood faded to be replaced with loud shouts and terrified screams. James stood up, pulling her along with him and setting her on her feet before she could do so much as blink.

It was horrible. The building across the street no longer had a door. Instead, the front had exploded out, like the top of a party popper. She could just make out a group of people in black before James pushed her behind him.

"Stay close."

She nodded, but realized that he couldn't to see her. She took his hand and muttered, "Of course."

He pulled her down the street in the opposite direction of the Death Eaters. Bridget stumbled along behind him, wishing she had her Converses on instead of these stupid boots and trying not to trip over the rubble.

James swore and stopped abruptly, almost causing her to run straight into his back. She tried to look around him, but he seemed determined to stop her from doing so, keeping her pressed against his back with one arm. He was silent and tense and that was scarier than whatever he was hiding from her.

"Hello, Potter," a memorable voice crooned mockingly. "Didn't I say we were going to see each other soon?"

Bridget froze. Oh, crap. Right, so maybe he was hiding her from the crazy woman, not the other way around.

"Too soon," James growled. He backed away from Bellatrix slowly, with measured, cautious steps. "Shouldn't you be wearing a mask, Bella? You always did have trouble with being subtle."

"The Dark Lord wished me to show my true colors to you, Potter. You and your new friend. He will be pleased."

Wonderful. All she needed was a happy Voldemort to top off her spectacular week.

Bridget spotted Madam Malkin's with its wide-open door, hanging like a page half torn out of a book. She twisted out of James's grasp and grabbed his hand again, pulling him with her into the building.

It was a mess with robes strewn about, furniture toppled over, and a faint burnt stench lingering in the air. The building looked completely different from its pristine state just that morning, but Bridget had spent hours in there with Mrs. Potter and knew that there was another exit—there! She darted through the door and slammed it shut behind her, barring it with a broomstick.

James made a strangled noise she ignored and turned to the right. Bridget pulled him in the opposite direction. "No, go left. Instinct will tell them to go right."

There was a thud behind them and they ran.

They had escaped the panicking crowds and were creeping along silently, listening for voices or footsteps as they got closer to Gringotts. She wasn't sure if this was the wisest thing to do, running towards the chaos instead of trying to leave through the Leaky Cauldron, but it was unexpected and James had reassured her that his family had an exit plan with the Gringotts goblins.

There were perks to being an old, rich, pureblood family, it seemed.

There was a sharp jerk and she couldn't see. There was an arm around her middle, the same one that had pulled her away from James and light, and a hand over her mouth. For the first time, she actually felt the sharp stab of fear.

Bridget slammed her head back into the front of her kidnapper's face and elbowed him in the gut when his grip on her waist loosened. He dropped her and she fell to the ground, straightening up immediately and pressing her wand to his throat like it was a dagger, which was more muscle memory than anything else.

"Don't move or I'll—Sirius?" She pulled her wand away and took a step back, into James, who had apparently followed her into the alley and seemed just as shocked as she was. "What the hell was that?"

"Didn't want you to scream."

He pulled his hand back from his face and there was blood on it. She felt a twinge of guilt that she quickly squashed. He had just kidnapped her, after all.

"She you just grabbed me?" she asked. "I don't scream."

"I've realized that."

"That was stupid, Padfoot," James said.

Sirius glared at him. "Really? Thanks, Prongs. That I hadn't realized." He touched his nose gingerly again. "I think you broke it."

"What?" She had done no such thing, he could still talk normally, after all. "Oh, come here." When he didn't move, she sighed and stepped out of James's arms. "We don't have time for this. Episkey."

Sirius frowned down at her, wiping the blood off of his face. "How'd you know that?"

"Books. I read. A lot," she replied shortly, a little afraid that he'd ask for details. After all, she couldn't tell him that she'd learned it from the Harry Potter books.

"Sirius, where's my mum?"

Bridget turned to James. In the dim light he looked pale and wide-eyed, voice full of worry.

"She's fine," Sirius replied. "I pushed her in the Floo before I went looking for you."

"Oh." He looked painfully relieved for a moment before his shoulders tensed again. "Let's—"

He froze, looking around cautiously. Sirius reacted at almost the exact same time, shoulders taut and eyes sharp. Bridget could sense it, too: the air had changed. It was pulsing with an energy that was almost electric, although that was impossible with the amount of magic in the air.

Then she felt it.

Sirius had pulled her, and, consequently, James back into the main street. It was dusk now, at least 45 minutes after the attack had begun and it was quiet. Too quiet for a violent attack or its aftermath, even the dust seemed to be silent in anticipation.

Bridget turned around slowly. They were there, just like she had expected, but hoped was a product her overactive imagination. Standing in an orderly group, dressed in uniform black robes and plain white masks stood the Death Eaters. Front and center was Voldemort and Bridget felt fear run through her body with the abruptness of an electric shock.

He was terrifying and unnatural, every cell of her body seemed revolted that this abomination of nature even existed. He was tall and bald with skin tinted an unnatural pale green. Thinner than any normal, healthy human being could be, he moved like he was made of liquid and air, only held together through sheer force of will. Worse of all were his eyes, narrowed and blood red with no whites and only slits for irises, like a cat or reptile.

Bridget wanted to throw up. Every sense was telling her that—that this thing should not be.

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

"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, working in unison. 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." He made a sharp motion with one long-fingered hand. "I can see we will not get very far today. Incapacitate. I want all three alive and relatively unharmed."

Ten masked Death Eaters stepped forward, surrounding them in a loose circle.

If asked later, Bridget wouldn't be able to say what had happened. Her senses had been overloaded with lights and sounds and her body and mouth seemed to be working on their own, moving instinctually and pulling spells from the deepest parts of memory. She just knew that when the Aurors came she had not been hit with anything and the boys were still standing.

Dumbledore Apparated in between them and Voldemort. "It's over, Tom."

Voldemort scowled, grabbed Bellatrix's arm and pressed a finger to it.

"It's not nearly over, Dumbledore," he sneered and was gone.

Bridget instructed the man to hold the cloth tightly against the wound and rushed off to find the next injury to tend to. James trailed behind her, performing the simple healing spells he knew when she asked. There were too many wounded (and dead, but she never let her mind linger on that) and too few Healers, so she was doing her best to help with her basic Muggle first aide and his even more basic magical knowledge.

Forty minutes later she was on her knees in the middle of the blackened, smoking ice cream parlor. She counted off the breaths in her head before straightening out to perform the necessary compressions, watching James splint the compound fracture warily. He had seen her do it once and she'd shown him how she'd managed it, but the wound was bleeding heavily and it was worrying.

He finished tying the knot and stood, watching, hovering protectively over both of them like a prowling cat as she bent down to do the breaths again. He seemed anxious, tapping his blood drenched fingers against his pants leg with one hand and fiddling with his wand with the other.

He probably wasn't used to having to sit and let other people do the work, and Bridget would've welcomed the assistance, if he had known how. This was not the sort of thing you should teach on the field. She was so going to teach James CPR and anything else she knew as soon as they got out of this mess.

She was just worrying about how long it was going to take this woman's husband to find someone to help (CPR wasn't supposed to go on this long—not without a pulse) when he ran in, followed closely by two women. The Healers rushed up to Bridget and the woman—Victoria?—and started muttering spells, wands out.

Bridget dropped her arms, relieved that someone else was taking over. James pulled her away and she let him without muttering the nearest hint of resistance. Her arms felt weak and shaky from the regular compressions and she was pretty sure she couldn't stand on her own.

It wasn't long before the woman who seemed to be in charge directed the other Healer to take Victoria and her husband to St. Mungo's. She was breathing and finally stable.

"Now I'm to assume that you're our mysterious Healer?" the woman asked, a tired smile on her face. She came to a halt, her entire face freezing in horror and her pale green eyes on James. "James? Why aren't you in school? Is…?"

"Remus is at school. Sirius and I came at Dumbledore's request," James said. "Sirius is somewhere helping to clean up. He's fine, too."

Her shoulders relaxed a little and she frowned at Bridget. "I'm sorry. I don't believe we've met before, I'm Remus's mother. Are you Lily Evans?"

"Um, no. It's Bridget Griffins; I'm new."

"Oh." Mrs. Lupin gave James a surprised look that she didn't seem to expect Bridget to notice. Tactfully, Bridget pretended not to. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you. You've saved many lives."

She felt her face heat up. "Common sense and basic first aide, although it probably would've been easier if I had a triage to send people to."

"I'm sorry?"

Mrs. Lupin was frowning, looking politely confused. Bridget stopped rubbing the life back into her arms at once.

"First aide?" she said hesitantly. "Triage?" There was no reaction. "It's general knowledge of what to do in case of sudden injury or sickness—open wounds, fractures, burns, concussions, choking…" Bridget blinked, realizing why James had followed her lead and the Healers were so thinly spread. "But, of course, you wouldn't need that with magical, almost instantaneous healing. That'd explain the lack of triage, too.

"It's when doctors or nurses prioritize injuries based on severity: those that can wait for treatment, those that need immediate help, and the dead or hopeless. You don't need to fix everything right away: a broken bone can wait for a few hours, but someone bleeding out cannot." She stopped talking. "Sorry, I'm lecturing. You're, you know, trained and everything."

"No," Mrs. Lupin said, "that sounds very intriguing. Perhaps I could speak with you at a better time?"

"Sure."

"Now let's get you healed." Mrs. Lupin pulled her wand out. "Where does it hurt?"

"I think I sprained my wrist and my ribs hurt, so there's probably a nasty bruise there."

The woman waved her wand over Bridget's head and tutted at whatever she had seen. With two swift pokes, Mrs. Lupin prodded her wrist and torso. Bridget gasped when something wrenched in her chest.

"You were right about the wrist, but you cracked a rib and bruised your lung. Easily remedied, I'll tell Katherine what potion to give you this evening, but take it easy until then."

Bridget nodded her assent, rubbing her side gently.

Mrs. Lupin had also told them to find Sirius and go back to the Potter estate, but (not surprisingly) both boys had refused to leave the bookshop owner to clean everything up on his own. One of the Death Eaters had made performing magic on the merchandise impossible and no one with enough power had had the time to figure out how to undo it.

But, Bridget didn't mind staying to help, if she had been allowed to. James had been adamant against her even picking books up and, after telling Sirius what Mrs. Lupin had said, had gotten the other boy's full support. That was why she was sitting on the cashier desk, pouting, although she wouldn't admit that part to anyone, and cursing the fact that chivalry apparently wasn't as dead as everyone said.

The bell at the door rang, one of the few things that hadn't been obliterated in the attack, and Bridget looked up. Two men were picking their way through the upturned tables and scattered books. One stopped to straightened a dangerously leaning bookshelf, but the one in the front, a middle-aged wizard with straight, dark hair that was parted neatly down the middle and a perfectly kept toothbrush mustache, marched straight up to her, scowling around at the mess like it had personally offended him.

"Where is James Potter?" he asked briskly.

He didn't seem very happy about the situation, and was glowering down at her like he had expected nothing less than her soot-covered, slightly bloody state. Unfortunately, she had been having a very bad day and wasn't about to blindly give information out to a man she knew nothing of, even if, especially, if he acted like he had every right to know what he wanted to.

"Somewhere in the store," she answered shortly. "Why do you need him?"

"Now, listen to me, Miss…"

He gave her a sharp, pointed look and she smiled back sweetly. "Griffins."

"Miss Griffins, I am—"

"Barty, give the child a break, we've all had a difficult day."

The second man had finished his task and caught up to his colleague. He was much more approachable than the other man, with untidy gray hair and a crooked grin that made him seem younger than he probably was. He fixed stern, hazel eyes on the other man.

"I can take care of it from here," he said.

"With all due respect, sir, you are not impartial in this case."

The man raised a single eyebrow. "Are you suggesting that I cannot be trusted, Bartemius?"

"Of course not," he responded, already ramrod posture seeming to get even more rigid.

"Or that James has something to hide?"

"No, sir."

"Then leave us be. I will interview them. Then they will be allowed to return to Hogwarts."

"Yes, Mr. Potter." He gave the man a stiff nod and strode out of the bookstore.

Bridget rolled her eyes, then realized what he had said. "Oh," she straightened up, eyes wide as they surveyed the man. "You're James's father?"

"Yes," he said. He gave her another grin, and suddenly Bridget could see the strong resemblance James had to his father. "Now do you know where I can find my wayward boy?"

"Not particularly, he said they were going to the back." She frowned thoughtfully, crossing one leg over the other and tapping her chin. "I'll come with you."

James was, indeed, in the back with Sirius. The two boys were putting a rather large (growling) book on the top shelf. It took a moment to wrestle it into the proper place, especially with the bookstore keeper hovering and just generally getting in the way.

"Mate, are you sure you're okay?" Sirius asked warily, watching as James winced bringing his arms back down.

"I'm fine," he replied. James looked up and saw them standing there. "Hey dad." His eyes rested on her and he sighed. "Bridget, you're supposed to be resting."

"I'm perfectly fine. 'Sides, I've had worse than that; it was only a sprain."

"And a cracked rib," he added, not looking one bit amused.

"The last time I broke my rib and I actually managed to puncture a lung, and I was on a hike, so I had to hike two miles back to civilization with one properly functioning lung and two other injured people with me. A bruised rib is nothing."

"She sounds like you, Prongs." Both James and Bridget glared at Sirius for interrupting. He held up his hands, smirking. "Thought I'd break the sexual tension up. It'd be easier on us all if you just snogged; that's what life and death situation survivals are for."

"Snogging?" Bridget deadpanned. "You don't die so you have to make out with whoever you didn't die with?"

Sirius held up a single finger. "Unless you don't find him or her attractive."

"Right…" She sighed. "You have issues, Sirius."

"I mean, if you don't want to do it with James, I'm always open to the idea."

The was a polite cough from behind her, and an amused voice said, "Sirius, I really don't think this is the time."

"There is always time for snogging, Mr. P," Sirius replied solemnly.

"I need to speak with you, James, and Miss Griffins before we send you back to school. If you'll come with me we'll get this over quickly."

Bridget glanced over at James, realizing that he had been awfully quiet since Sirius's declaration. Her eyes widened and she took note of how pale he looked a moment before he dropped to the ground, unconscious.

There was a sudden, stunned second of silence before chaos broke out. Mr. Potter was yelling at the store owner to get some help and both Sirius and Bridget had rushed to James. Bridget was just turning him onto his back when Sirius mentioned that he had been having chest pains.

She pulled his shirt out of his pants and pushed it up, eventually unbuttoning it with a practiced ease that came with daily use. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw what was under it and she realized that she couldn't do a thing.

Author's Notes: Yes, well, there's the end of the chapter. I hope everyone enjoyed it and that I didn't disappoint anyone too much with my lack of ability in writing action. I really am bad at it. Anyways, hopefully the next chapter will be up in a week's time and, since it's already written, I have high hopes for my actually managing it.

Thanks to Saffygirl for reviewing (my favorite form of awesome-ness), fav'ing and putting Kidding Me on story alert. Also thanks to RyujiIshida for fav'ing and putting it on story alert and mandita for putting it on story alert.

Please, please review. It really does help me update faster because the guilt of letting people down is stronger with more reviews.

Next time:

Voldemort stepped forward, just as revolting now as he was in harsh reality.

"You Potters," he began, hissing out the word harsher than he had said 'Mudblood,' "have been a nuisance for far too long."

His red eyes glinted with some sudden, private amusement, and his grin widened, taking on a sharp edge as he stepped even closer to the couple. They continued to stand tall and proud, refusing to cower before this monster, the man still covering her, shielding her with every ounce of strength left in his body. Voldemort looked down at them, frowning.

"You had the chance to be great. You were pure, strong, proud, and you threw it all away for Muggles and Mudbloods. A waste."

He called out, "Avada Kedavra," words sharp and painful, and the world went green.