Disclaimer: I don't own anything. If I did, the Marauders wouldn't have died; they would have lived long, fruitful lives causing mayhem and chaos, like it was meant to be. That never happened, therefore, I own nothing.

Author's Notes: I suck at life. First of all, I apologize for the long wait. I'll probably be late for my own funeral, so I don't know why I'm so surprised. Secondly, there was a small change in the last chapter in the… deletion of a character who was bound to create more problems than solutions. The last two scenes have been mostly re-written.

Chapter Ten

Willing to Wager

"Dare to think and dare to do." –Mao Tse-Tung

The notebook was mocking her. Well… not really, of course, but Bridget glared at it nonetheless. She knew she was well versed in Potter canon, but all she had to show for it were some vague facts and important events that she had very few details about. In fact the only concrete dates she really had were birthdates (most particularly, Harry's) and… October 31, 1981.

That was helpful.

She sighed and shut the book, rubbing her temple with her other hand. This was going to be harder than she'd thought— whether she decided to follow Dumbledore's directions or not. Bridget just didn't know enough to make a conscious difference in either keeping the timeline or attempting to make a new one. She didn't even know enough to really try to fix James and Lily's relationship.

Wonderful.

He was on the ground, blood trailing down his cheeks in a sick mockery of tears, yet there was a defiant glint in his eyes that refused to do anything to hint at surrender. He gasped for air, the breath rattling painfully in his lungs, and, slowly but boldly, he rose to his feet. He glared at Voldemort and spat at him.

"No."

For some reason, Voldemort looked pleased. "You defy me?" he said. His voice was still tempered sweetly, but there was a steel behind it that made the fact that it was but a thin veneer over the threat all the more obvious. Bridget withdrew automatically, feeling the words like they were hexes.

James's shoulders straightened. She knew what was coming; it was inevitable and it made her so proud to know such a man. One who could spit (quite literally) in the face of evil and stand up to him. "Yes. I believe that's what 'no' means."

For a moment it looked like Voldemort was going to hit James, but he restrained himself. James was swaying slightly on his feet and his eyes were starting to dull, lose their focus. He wasn't going to last long.

"Pity," Voldemort continued in the same, controlled voice. His unnatural red eyes were sharp as they examined the other man and found his weakness. "I did hope— futilely it would seem— that you would see that your current path only leads to death."

"There are," James replied in a slightly shaking voice, "things much worse than death." He grinned and unexpectedly, as if he had just been affected by another spell, he seemed much stronger. "For example, I could be a bald guy with no nose and an ego so big I just must be compensating for something."

Voldemort scowled and drew his wand down sharply in a cruel slash of red. "Crucio," he hissed.

"JAMES!" she screamed as the light hit him, his cries echoing in her mind.

"Bridge. Bridget!" The voice was solid and strong and Bridget clung to it as her vision cleared. "Bridget, look at me. Come on, love, look here."

She blinked, looking up at him, and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh God," she muttered. "You're okay. You're all right. You're—oh, thank God."

"I'm fine," he replied, sounding rather confused.

Bridget gripped him tighter, shaking and trying desperately not to cry all over him. She shouldn't be this torn up over him; she didn't have the right to be so upset over what would happened in a future that might never be. He smoothed down her hair, his other arm wrapped firmly around her waist.

She took a deep, calming breath and pushed away. She straightened his shirt nervously, studiously avoiding his eyes; otherwise James would see that she was still on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry. Of course you're fine."

But, still, Bridget couldn't help herself from running her hands along his arms and chest. She needed to know, she needed to be sure that he really was okay. Her fingers found his face, trailing across his cheekbones and down the firm line of his jaw, and, finally, she was threading them through the thick strands of his hair.

He was okay.

She finally breathed, shaky and relieved, and her eyes shut as Bridget rested her forehead against his chest. James seemed so much bigger when they were sitting down—an effect created by the relative shortness of her torso compared to his and the broad width of his shoulders— and it comforted her.

She knew who he was and had seen who he could be if he was given the chance, and it made her love him while her heart broke. He was a hero, the only hero she wanted, and he was destined to die. His arms threaded around her waist again, but, for once, she let herself sink into the feeling he gave her.

She felt so lost.

There had always been one reason why many of Bridget's family and friends thought not going to Hogwarts might have been in her best interest: her sense of direction sucked. In fact, it was nearly nonexistent on most days. She had never been good at finding her way around places, usually wandering around until she found something remotely familiar.

It was for that reason that Bridget had taken to following one of the boys or Willow—who had, oh-so-helpfully, explained her predicament to the others—around the grounds. She wasn't very keen on making other friends and they were over-protective enough that they probably would've insisted on showing her around regardless of her sense of direction (or lack thereof).

She'd still managed to get lost. Several times.

Usually, she found her way back on her own with very little collateral damage. Of course, there had been that incident with that Slytherin seventh-year, but James and Sirius had apologized so all was well. And there'd been that time when Remus had found her in a room that none of them had seen before.

She enjoyed getting lost, though. It was a way to get to know the castle for herself and the portraits were better sources of information than the anonymous, illustrious school paper: The Ravenclaw Eagle. There was one on the way to the Library from the Head dorms (if you took a bit of a scenic route) that she was particularly fond of; he always had the most interesting stories.

"Griffins?" She froze. Not again. "Are you conversing with that portrait?"

Bridget turned around; he didn't sound very combative, only a bit curious, but that didn't make sense. Severus Snape did not like the Marauders and he didn't like her. She gave him a searching look—or it was possible that she was just always around the boys. This could be interesting.

"Yes," she said carefully, trying for neutrality. She didn't know if she should prepare to take her wand out or not. "Why?"

Snape ignored her question, striding forward as he gave her a look that was almost, but not quite a glare. He gestured at the wizard in the portrait, who was glaring at him. "Do you realize who this is?"

She peered curiously at the painting. He was young—couldn't be older than twenty-five or so—with an attractive face: deep blue eyes sharp with wit and full of (ironically) something that could only be called life and dark auburn hair swept away from his face. His robes were formal and a rich shade of red that complimented his hair quite nicely, but they hung open over a plain white tunic and black trousers.

"Um… he said his name was Clarke," she finally replied, suddenly rather uncertain about it all.

"Yes, Godfrey Clark," Snape snapped back impatiently. After a beat, he continued speaking, "You have no idea who that is, do you?"

Bridget blinked; this was the strangest conversation she'd ever had. "Godfrey Clarke? Really? I think he prefers just to be called Clarke, though."

Snape let out a long-suffering sigh, rolling his eyes heavenward as if he was asking God for strength. "Gryffindors," he muttered to himself; he sounded like he was talking about a lower species of man. "They have no sense of history." He turned his attention back to Bridget while she stared, wide-eyed and more than a bit off-balance. "Godfrey Clarke built Hogwarts."

"He… what?" Bridget turned to the portrait. "You did not." Clarke shrugged— no help what-so-ever— and she turned back to Snape. "What about the Founders?"

"They built the school," Snape explained, impatience leaking from his voice like sand from a sieve. "Clarke built the castle. He was Gryffindor's ward and friends with both the Gryffindor and Slytherin Heirs until the Duel; shortly after which he disappeared. This portrait doesn't talk to any of the students."

"Oh." Snape glared at her, as if he had expected more of a response. She ignored him, instead turning back to Clarke. "Is that true?" she asked the portrait.

He shrugged again, but this time he spoke as well, the Irish lilt evident in his voice. "I speak with those who understand the true spirit of Hogwarts and her Houses. The Sorting was meant to strengthen us all," he glared at Snape, "not divide. You, mistress, do not care which House a person belongs to, even if you are Gryffindor's."

It was Bridget's turn to shrug. "It doesn't really matter in the end. Besides, most of my friends would be Ravenclaws or Slytherins, not Gryffindors. Anyways, I was asking about the family history."

"The rest," he said after a reluctant moment, "the rest is accurate. This portrait was sent after my death by my progeny in respect to Helga's wishes."

"He refuses to reveal where he went or what he changed his name to," Snape added. "Most scholars suspect he had a hand in Beauxbatons' creation."

Clarke rolled his eyes. "And I still refuse to reveal it," he said coldly and Bridget could sense—even if he was technically made of paint and canvas—the power he must have held.

"Why—?"

"Bridget?" a wary voice interrupted. "Have you gotten lost again?"

She gave Remus a stern look. "You lot are just upset I found a chamber none of you could find in nearly seven years. I was talking to Clarke, but I keep getting interrupted."

Remus seemed reluctant to take her word for it. He took a step forward, hand hovering in a barely noticeable way over the pocket where his wand was inevitably stored. He frowned at Snape.

Snape glared back.

Bridget concluded that boys were utterly ridiculous.

"Are you sure?" he asked before something like recognition sparked in his eyes. He turned slowly to her. "Did you say you were speaking with Clarke? As in that portrait?"

She rolled her eyes. This was getting to be a bit exhausting. Weren't they supposed to be clever?

"But it—"

"He," she corrected sternly. He rolled his eyes, but continued his thought.

"He doesn't speak with anyone. He doesn't even talk to all of the professors."

"He was talking with her," Snape interrupted. "Now could one of you move to the side so I can get to the Library?"

Before Remus had a chance to say the insult Bridget could see brewing in his mind, she pulled him to her side of the hallway and Snape brushed pass. Her lips quirked up into a smile.

"It was nice talking to you Sevvy!" she called after him. He stopped, his shoulders tensing up, but kept walking after a pause. She smiled, content. "That was fun."

"The portrait of Godfrey Clarke speaks with you?"

Bridget gave him a stern look. "Yes. I do wish everyone would get over it; it's not that big of a deal. Was there something you wanted?"

"Er." Remus was looking at her as if she were a small child who had done something clever without realizing it. Bridget hoped he was smart enough to know when to let well enough alone. "I was wondering if you wanted to watch the scrimmage. It's Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw."

Apparently, he was smart enough to know when to quit. Wait. "Really?"

He grinned; it reminded her of Sirius. "Yeah. You can finally see James play. It really is spectacular."

It was spectacular. There was something very natural in the way he flew, as if it were an inborn talent that he had obviously taken the time to polish to near perfection. Bridget wondered if he would have gone into professional Quidditch if it hadn't been for the war and everyone's expectations. She'd never seen a professional fly, but James outstripped everyone on the field, even Willow.

And the game itself was just as amazing. Bridget absolutely loved it; she could already feel the giddiness of an oncoming obsession. She'd always been a bit of a tomboy, having grown up watching or playing every sport imaginable, but Quidditch was even better than football... not that she was ever going to tell her father or brother that.

Gryffindor had won, too. Granted, Willow wasn't going to be too happy about losing for a... well, a while, but Bridget really didn't care; James was going to be ecstatic.

She left the Kitchens with Remus, levitating massive amounts of food and drink with their wands. Bridget frowned at the mountain of food in front of her; she still wasn't completely confident about her levitation charm and she didn't want to lose concentration.

"Audaces fortuna iuvat," Remus said to the portrait, before gesturing for her to go first.

"Fortune favors the bold?" she muttered to him. "That's a bit... self-serving for a Gryffindor, don't you think?"

"But it's true."

Laughing, Bridget carefully climbed through the portrait whole. She turned and an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush to another body as the other hand cradled the back of her neck.

The food fell to the floor with a resounding crash in the sudden silence.

Bridget melted into the kiss. Her arms wound up around his neck, fingers threading through his hair. He kept her pressed against his body with the arm he'd snaked around her waist, using his other hand to angle her head the way he wanted. It was the perfect culmination of all those weeks of tension and almost-kisses.

Or it would have been if she'd been kissing James. It hit her like a jolt to the back of her head that she wanted to be kissing James.

Sirius pulled back. "Sorry, love," he whispered, sounding almost apologetic but mostly pleased. "There was this wager with Bradley Newton—you've met him."

The stifling silence of the room was making it difficult to think, especially as a backdrop to Sirius's babbling. The only sign that Sirius had even noticed that they were in public was the fact that he'd positioned himself between her and the rest of the Common Room.

"It's fine," she finally said. "I'm going to… run away now, if that's all right."

He nodded. "Would you like a distraction, then?"

"Please."

After a quick, conspiratorial grin, he spun around, arms spread wide. "Okay, Newton, pay up. I did it."

"That was planned," the sixth year Chaser argued good-naturedly as he dug through his bag. "Anyone would be willing to snog her for a minute, galleons or not."

"So you're bollocks at timing," Sirius shot back. "Anyone who saw the game could tell you that."

He started to make a show of counting out and checking the coins and Bridget slipped away. She needed a drink.

She'd gotten her drink. It was only butterbeer, which was more likely to get her sick from sugar before she'd even get a buzz, but it still tasted nice and gave her a pleasantly warm tingle. Bridget sighed and drew herself tighter, settling into the cushion of the couch. It would be nicer if she was closer to the fireplace.

"Cold?"

She started at the voice, watching as James slid down into the seat next to her. He offered her a weak smile and a new butterbeer.

"No," she replied as she took the bottle. "I'm fine. Thanks."

It felt weird and awkward, at least to Bridget. He was sitting rather close and, well, she didn't have crushes all that often. She was having a hard time keeping herself from blushing.

"Do I need to," he made an awkward gesture with his free hand, "talk to Sirius or something?"

Uh… she frowned, brow furrowing. "What?

His ears flushed red and he refused to look at her, instead staring down at the bottle he was fiddling with. "The… er… bet."

"Oh," Bridget said, a little confused. "No. That's okay. He apologized." She gave him a small smile, shrugging sheepishly. "Well, as much as he ever does."

"Right."

He settled back into his seat, nursing his drink (it didn't look like butterbeer) with a worried frown spread across his face. Then she realized why he was concerned. Her cheeks flushed pink.

"James, sweetheart," she started hesitantly. He finally looked up at her. "I know better than to harbor some sort of… crush or whatever on someone like Sirius Black, as much as I like him. Platonically." Of course, she knew better than to harbor one for James, too, but that was obviously going strong. She just hoped no one ever found out about it.

"Good." There was relief thick in his voice and Bridget tried not to feel pleased at it. He was probably thankful that he didn't have to deal with the inevitable aftermath. She didn't blame him. "I wouldn't want to be the one to tell Willow."

"What does Willow have to do with any of this?"

James smiled, much more naturally than he had been doing so a few moments earlier. It, sitting there with him, felt normal again. He seemed pleased with the way she smiled back.

"Willow fancies Sirius," he announced triumphantly.

She tried not to laugh; she really did. But, she couldn't help letting a giggle or two escape. "No, she doesn't. Don't be ridiculous. Sirius is not her type."

"Really," he drawled skeptically. "Then who is?"

"Remus."

James's eyebrows shot up high enough to be hidden by his hair. "Willing to wager on that?"

Author's Notes: Terribly sorry about the long wait. Again. I should be getting my student loan soon, and buy a new laptop so I'm not working solely off of the kindness of friends and family. Please review if you read; the more reviews I get, the more likely you lot are going to guilt trip me into updating.

Thanks to PieAnnamay07, Lift the Wings, Coquettish, Michelle Black a.k.a. Elle, Naflower05, and Luna'sTwinMarriedToFredWeasley for the review, Lacers, Coquettish, Michelle Black a.k.a. Elle, scrockangel, ObsessedandRepulsed, and Luna'sTwinMarriedToFredWeasley for fav'ing KM, Michelle Black a.k.a. Elle for fav'ing me and Amaya-hime, and Naflower05 for putting KM on story alert.

Next time:

"What?" Bridget stared at the other girl. Her hand and quill were suspended over the parchment, dripping large blotches of black ink. "You can't seriously… you think James would do that?"

"Of course he would," Lily replied coolly. "He's done worse before."

"But…" she blinked, feeling lost and confused. "Have you met him before? Like, really, have you ever spoken to him? Are we talking about the same James Potter?"

"Yes." Lily glared at her book. "It's not difficult to believe and I don't think he should be using you to cover for him."

"Lily, he's not." She looked up skeptically and gave Bridget a long, disbelieving stare. "No, really, he's not. Geez, he's got to be the most chivalrous man I know. He's a bit of a jerk at times, but he'd never willingly hurt a female if he can help it. And he nearly clocked a Hufflepuff who made a joke about my legs; he wouldn't suggest that something could be compromised about my… honor or whatever ridiculous notion he has about me if it wasn't true. Or if he didn't trust you, for that matter. He wasn't lying.

"I mean, I may have taunted Snape a bit more than I should have, but I did not deserve the reaction I got," Bridget continued seriously. "He had me pushed against the wall with his body pressed along mine. He was just pissed off and I doubt he was going to do anything, but that doesn't excuse the fact that he's bigger than me."

Lily looked devastated. "James was… right?"

"Yes, that's what I'm trying to say if you'd pay any attention. He…" Bridget hesitated; the words felt like they were stuck in her throat. "He loves you, Lily."