Disclaimer: Really now, do you think I own anything? If I did, none of the Marauders would have died. They would have lived long, fruitful lives causing panic and mass chaos, like it was meant to be.

Author's Notes: I'm so sorry about the wait. I (stupidly) did NaNoWriMo and didn't have time to update. On the up side, I'm so sick and tired of my original fic and I got quite a few badly timed brainstorms that I'll be concentrating solely on my fanfics for a while.

Anyone reading When Reality Fades, should be happy to note that there will be an update tomorrow.

Chapter Seven: That Hurt

"There are some temptations which are so strong that they must be virtues." –Charles Baudelaire

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was so stupid. I should've seen that he was wincing and I should've made him let me look, and, oh God—"

Mrs. Potter wrapped Bridget into a tight hug, smoothing the distraught girl's hair and murmuring in a calm, soothing voice, "It's okay, love. His father's the same way. It would take longer than two days for you to recognize the signs."

Bridget felt her heart slow down and the panicked tears fade away. She was exhausted and the huge bruise on James's chest, the one that had screamed internal bleeding and broken ribs had scared her more than she'd like to admit. Although, really, it was rather obvious.

Mrs. Potter pulled back. "There now, dear. Feel better?" Bridget nodded, still rather shell-shocked. "I'm just glad that you're all okay," Mrs. Potter continued. "After what Sirius told me... that was very dangerous."

"Sorry."

"Bridget, stop apologizing, you did nothing wrong. Now Sarah is sending Jamie home. He'll be fine by the tomorrow, but we have to give the Blood Replenishing Potion time to work as well as the one for you. You and Sirius will, of course, join us at the Manor."

"Right."

The woman from earlier—Remus's mum—walked in, juggling a few bottles.

"Now, Katherine, James needs to take these every 4 hours," she said, handing the bottles over. "Sirius already side-along Apparated him to the Manor."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Lupin, but what was wrong? I mean the bruising implied extensive damage, possibly internal bleeding or broken ri—" Bridget stopped speaking abruptly, flushing red. The two women were staring at her. "I'm sorry. I babble sometimes."

"Are you considering becoming a Healer, Miss Griffins?"

"Please, it's just Bridget and, um, no, not me. I was just a curious and injury-prone child."

Mrs. Lupin nodded absent-mindedly. "Very well, this is for you." She handed Bridget a small, green vial. "Take it as soon as you Floo to the Manor, it might make you drowsy."

"Fine." Bridget examined the vial with a frown. "God, I hate medicine." She looked up at Mrs. Potter. "It probably will make me drowsy; most medications that warn of it knock me clean out."

Potter Manor was amazing. The grounds were huge and a lush, rich green, with thick trees surrounding an open field and what looked like a full-size Quidditch pitch. The Manor itself was just as impressive, huge, but warm with wide, open windows. Somehow, it reminded her of the Bookstore.

Bridget knocked softly on James's door, and opened it with deliberate caution. Mrs. Potter had sent her off an hour ago, giving her (and Snitch the House Elf) strict instructions to bathe, change out of her blood-soaked clothes, and eat. She had completed all her tasks and ignored all of Snitch's pleas to go to bed, determined to make James's mother do the same (with little hope of success).

"Sirius?" she whispered, eyes wide with surprise. Instead of the sight she had expected, Bridget found Sirius sitting up next to the bed, looking disheveled (at least he'd changed) and tired. "Where did Mrs. Potter go?"

"She went to bed," he replied shortly.

Bridget frowned. "How'd you get her to do that?"

"Sleeping draught in her tea." He glanced at the clock and his gray eyes followed her as she sat in the empty chair next to him. "You can go to bed, too."

"No," Bridget said. "I won't be able to sleep anyways, and I have a nice new book to read. Besides, it's not even dark yet."

She shook her head, smiling to herself, as she curled up in the chair and attempted to balance the open book on her knees. After finishing the chapter, she looked up, stretching her neck. That's odd. Sirius seemed really anxious. His eyes drifted over to the clock every few seconds and he was tapping his fingers against the armrest.

"Um, Sirius, is everything okay?"

He turned sharply. "Fine. Everything's fine."

"Are you sure?" Bridget asked again, frowning. "It's just that it seems like you're waiting for something. I dunno, it's just a little—oh my God, Remus! Peter can't control him by himself."

"You know about that, too?" said Sirius, wryly. His mouth was curved up into an amused grin. "I'm not even surprised anymore."

She smiled briefly. "Don't worry; there's plenty I don't know. Oh, poor Remus. Is there anything you can do?"

"No. Unless…" Sirius gave her a searching look. "Do you think you could stay up with James?"

"Of course. There's an alarm to remind me when to give him the potion and everything."

Sirius smiled weakly, stretching his long limbs that were probably sore from sitting in the chair. "I'll be back soon after dawn." He hesitated at the door. "Seriously, just go. I'll be fine."

She wondered for the first time how long it would take to set Diagon Alley right. They did have magic, but the street had been demolished. Half of the buildings looked like they were too delicate to breath near, let alone touch, and there were still fires burning despite the late hour.

Then Bridget saw them and realized that this wasn't possible. Diagon Alley had been cleared of Death Eater activity well before they had left that afternoon. Also, last she could remember she'd been at James's house.

The man reminded her of James. He had the same tall, thin build and messy hair, although it was gray instead of black. She'd already met him, of course, but it was the way he was spread protectively in front of the woman that made her sure that he was James's father. Even if she hadn't been able to see it, Bridget was positive that was what James had looked like that afternoon, with her.

In fact, the entire scene was eerily similar to what she had already gone through earlier in the day, with different players. Voldemort stepped forward, his person—if it could be called that—just as revolting in this strange vision as it was in reality.

"You Potters have been a thorn in my side far too long," he hissed, red eyes glinting with malicious enjoyment. "My only regret is not being able to finish the entire family at once." He grinned. "But, I shall reunite young James with you in due time. Avada Kedavra."

Bridget woke with a start, cursing any sort of medication that caused sleepiness. She could still see the limp bodies and glassy, staring eyes. She closed her own eyes, forcing herself to remember every detail, going over everything she had seen slowly and carefully, so she didn't miss a thing.

Oh, crap.

She'd changed the past again, and this time she didn't give a damn what Dumbledore said, she wasn't going to fix it. There was no way she could fix it, at least in a way that would keep her morals anywhere close to intact. Bridget wasn't going to mention this, to anyone. James deserved to have his parents.

"Are you okay?"

Bridget straightened up quickly, her book crashing to the floor because of her sudden motions. She stared at James with wide eyes, heart pounding. After that weird… dream, or whatever, he had startled her.

"Don't do that," she said. Then she noticed that he was sitting in the chair Sirius had commandeered. "What are you doing? You're not supposed to be out of bed! Go!"

James blinked. "What?"

"Get up! Back to bed." Bridget stood up, turning to retrieve his potion, and the other medical supplies. "Besides, I have to change your dressings."

When she turned back around, brandishing the potion bottles in one hand and a roll of bandages in the other, James was sitting happily on the bed. He had already shed his shirt and was grinning like an idiot. She sighed.

"God, James, stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" he asked, still smiling stupidly. "You're a much better nursemaid than Pomfrey or Sirius."

"Thank-you," Bridget replied. "And that's very, um, sweet, I think, but you hit your head really hard."

"I've been thinking," he said after gulping down the potion.

It took her a moment to realize he was waiting for a response (his bandages were tied very tightly and it was taking up the bulk of her attention). "Dangerous words from you."

"That's what Remus says." He ran a hand through his hair and Bridget stopped trying to untangle the bandage-knot. She didn't know him very well, but it was well documented that running his hand through his hair was a nervous habit, especially when James was trying not to look nervous. "Anyways, you seem to believe that you caused me to break up with Lily."

"Believe?" she scoffed. "I know I did."

James nodded, and grinned cheekily up at her. "So, you should replace her."

"What?" Bridget gaped openly at him, hands frozen where they had been untying the knot. Her mouth was in a shocked 'o' as her brain tried to process what he had just said. "Did you just ask me out?"

"Yes."

"That is the worst proposal I have ever gotten."

"I do need a date to Hogsmeade."

"No! Ugh, you are so arrogant." Bridget rolled her eyes. "You didn't even really ask me, James, you dictated that I should replace your last girlfriend, whom I am attempting to get you to date again. Besides, I refuse to be anyone's rebound, even yours."

Without waiting for a response, and feeling a little annoyed, she put her fingers under the top of the bandages, pulled it towards her (ignoring his grimace), and started to cut them away. She inhaled sharply when they fell away, completely forgetting her frustration.

"Oh, James," she murmured. The bruise seemed smaller than it had been earlier and was that ugly yellow-brown color that meant it was healing. She wanted to wince just from looking at it. "Well, I suppose it's better."

He looked down, still frowning, and hissed when he poked gently at it. Bridget swatted his hand away.

"Don't poke at it!"

"That hurt," James said, pouting.

"Of course it did. You can't tell me you haven't gotten a bruise this bad before. You play Quidditch. With huge, iron things that try to kill you."

"I'm usually unconscious when I get healed."

Bridget paused, unsure how she should respond to that. Instead, she didn't say anything, just handed James the second potion Mrs. Lupin had explained to her, Sirius, and Mrs. Potter. He seemed to know what she meant for him to do, unscrewing the top and holding it out for her. It was then that she realized what exactly was required of her, and flushed bright red.

She stuck her fingers in the substance, and scooped some out. Still blushing, she instructed him to turn around, cringing at the similar bruise on his back, and settled herself behind him. Bridget spread the goop on her hands, and carefully started applying it, pulling away when she felt his shoulder muscles tighten.

"I'm sorry. Did that hurt?"

"No," he responded, rolling his shoulders. "It's just… cold."

"Oh, sorry." She bit her lip nervously. "Tell me if it hurts."

Bridget finished up and stood, motioning for him to turn around. He did so, and she scooped out more of the potion, spreading it liberally across the bruise and trying, unsuccessfully, to ignore where she was touching. Her face was burning.

"Are you all fixed up?" James asked after a moment.

"Yeah. I'm actually a little healthier than I was before." He gave her a confused look. "I have asthma, and your little stunt, on top of the whole D.E. attack, triggered a stress-induced asthma attack. Remus's mum actually fixed some of the damage I had from previous attacks, although she can't do anything about the asthma itself."

"Sorry." James lifted his arms to give her better access, and Bridget frowned, attempting to figure out how to wrap the bandages around his torso without embarrassing herself further. Kneeling was probably her best bet, although it would still put her in an awkward position.

"Not your fault," she said, tying off the knot. "I've had it since I was six or so. It's not even that bad. I could play sports and everything."

He stopped her hands were they were nervously smoothing down the bandages. Bridget looked up automatically, eyes locking with his and felt her face slowly turn red. This would be a lot easier if he didn't switch from nice, decent James to Potter the jackass so often or quickly. It was starting to make her head spin, at least that's why she was telling herself she felt light-headed.

"No," he said. "I'm sorry I worried you, I'm sorry your first visit into the Wizarding World was like that, and I'm especially sorry you got hurt."

"It's okay. I've been hurt worse before, and you didn't mean to worry me. Also, I already knew about all that: Death Eaters, Voldemort, and the like. Besides, everything was pretty cool up to the point where Sirius's crazy cousin tried to filet us; it's not the first time someone's tried to kill me."

Bridget tried to smile, but failed, only managing a small quirk of the lips.

"Still…" he trailed off, the hand not still holding hers to his, um, chest, reaching up to cup her cheek. For a split second she had the absurd idea that James was going to kiss her—he was certainly leaning in like that was his intention—then she came to her senses and turned her eyes down and away from his, pulling her hands out from under his much larger one. Her face flushed red again and his hand felt refreshingly cool against her—she stood up.

"Thank you for your concern." She settled back in the chair and opened her book up where she'd left off. A flash of disappointment crossed his face, but Bridget was sure she imagined it. "Good-night, James."

She woke up warm. Bridget stretched, inhaling deeply. Then she realized why she was warm and why everything seemed to smell like soap and pine, and froze, blinking the sleep away as she focused on the sight in front of her. It wasn't much of anything, to be honest; it was more the implication that the expanse of white cloth had that was alarming, and the fact that it was gently, regularly moving up and down.

With one, swift motion Bridget sat up, grabbed a pillow and whacked James soundly on the head with it. She would've normally gone for the stomach, but he'd been injured and that would be cruel.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed when he showed sighs of conscious life.

"Sleeping," he replied, hazel eyes confused and unfocused as they stared in her general direction. "Or I was."

"Not that. Why am I in your bed? With you?" she asked, shortly. "And you were—"

Bridget shut up, blushing furiously. In retrospect, it wasn't the best way to keep her embarrassment hidden, but she'd already attacked him with a pillow. Still, she wasn't about to admit that she'd been cuddling up to him in her sleep.

He grinned. "You're a very needy sleeper."

Bridget hit him with the pillow again. "Shut up. You know what I mean."

"I woke up to take the last of my potion," he replied, finally seeing how upset it had made her. It seemed James was a bit mature after all. "You fell asleep in the chair so I put you in the bed. Normally it's more than big enough for two people and I stayed on the covers."

He was right.

"I've fallen asleep in armchairs before," she said weakly.

"Yes, so have I. It's not fun."

He was still right.

"Thank you."

"No problem." James grinned and bounded up. Apparently, he wasn't hurting anymore. He disappeared into a door she hadn't noticed before only to reappear carrying a large, wooden trunk. "Dumbledore sent over some of your stuff, and Mum transferred it to your trunk."

But, she hadn't had anything. That was the whole point of the trip to Diagon Alley. Bridget opened the trunk and felt all the tension drain from her shoulders. She had never been so happy to see AP textbooks and her ratty old trainers in her life.

No longer than fifteen minutes later, Bridget was in James's study (apparently the Potters had more than one) with her History textbook, notebook, and various studying supplies spread around her, feeling more normal than she had since she'd arrived. She was dressed in her usual attire: an old pair of black Converses only held together through sheer force of will and copious amounts of Duct tape, broken-in jeans from middle school, a t-shirt, and a University of Hawaii sweatshirt she'd commandeered from her cousin the year before.

She was even happy to have her old schoolwork, as dull and pointless as it could be. Dumbledore had left a note saying that she could resume her Muggle studies if she wished to, and get her high school diploma at the end of the year. He had made all the arrangements, even for her AP tests and the SAT's, and it was entirely up to her.

Bridget had gone through three years of honors and Advanced Placement courses; she wasn't about to let all that tedious work go to waste with less than a year on the clock. She paused in her essay about the direct effect trade had on the start of the Revolutionary War and frowned at the clock. It was already 9 in the morning, and the sun was high enough in the sky to cause worry. That left one, glaring question: Where was Sirius?

Author's Notes: Hello again. I hope you enjoyed it and I'm still sorry I left you with such a horrid cliffhanger last time. Anyhow, thanks to tyger cub, cam-is-hot, itra, and Gixie for putting it on Story Alert, tyger cub, Zelia, cam-is-hot, Gixie, darkxangelx-xo, and LegacyOfThePheonix for fav'ing, and tyger cub, Saffygirl, and Gixie for reviewing. Please review if you read it, as that makes me happy and helps guilt me into writing faster.

Next time:

The fireplace flamed green and Bridget watched stoically as Sirius stepped out, brushing ash off of his trousers. Her hands froze where they had been tapping out a beat she was pretty sure was from some Nickelback song for the past hour. It was a nervous habit, and Sirius had been MIA for far, far too long, even James had begun to get worried.

Sirius looked up, gray eyes widening minutely as he took in her not-too-pleased expression. "Hey, Bridget."

"When I said I'd cover for you I didn't expect it to be for this long."

"Sorry, I—"

But, he didn't get a chance to finish. The fireplace flamed green again, and Sirius lurched forward, whoever it was who just exited stumbling right into him. Bridget stood up instinctually reacting to the noise and Sirius's unbalance. He was fine, reaching behind himself to steady the other person as well.

The girl stepped out from behind him, pushing his hands away with a frustration that looked familiar. She was short, well, shorter than either Bridget or Sirius, but Bridget had just enough height to be considered tall, and Sirius was, well, he was a guy. Pale and slim with strange gray-green eyes, she froze in place.

Bridget took a alarmed step backwards, tripping over her own feet and the chair she'd spent the past two hours in. The back of the chair dug painfully into her spine, her legs were draped over the seat uncomfortably, and the back of her head throbbed once from hitting the ground so hard.

She pushed herself up, forcing her double vision to focus on the girl. "Willow?"