Victoria Simmons has never been quite normal. She was just a little insane, as her mother said, a little quirky. Her clumsiness caused for random bruises on her knees and elbows, and when asked how she got them, the only reply she could give was, Who knows? She had an unhealthy obsession with pickles, which were her favorite food, along with burnt potato chips, cucumber, and mustard. Some could argue mustard was not a food, and instead a condiment, but if they did, they had obviously never met Victoria Simmons, for it had a designated spot on her plate during each meal.

Occasionally, she wondered why people always gave her such weird looks. I mean, sure she got herself into some peculiar situations, like the time her foot got stuck in the toilet, or her gum fell down her shirt, or she accidently smacked McGonagall on the bottom, but really, didn't everyone find themselves in embarrassing situations every once in a while?

She pondered this as she found herself in yet again another one of these situations. The latest? She'd suddenly been overcome with the greatest desire to clothe the suits of armor, and the only logical thing she could think of was, of course, to pull down her own skirt and use that.

Maybe if she'd worn her other knickers–the ones with the stars instead of the gingerbread men–maybe then she wouldn't have found herself sitting in McGonagall's office, being offered a biscuit rather forcefully.

"No, thanks," she replied, her legs now becoming very cold as her skirt was still on the suit of armor.

"Have one," McGonagall insisted.

"Really, I don't–"

"Take it."

"Okay..." she hesitantly took the smallest biscuit she could find in the tin, taking a timid bite.

"Ms Simmons, might I ask why you were standing in the corridor not properly clothed while the suit of armor wore your school skirt?"

"Well, you see, Professor, it really does make a lot of sense, you know. Don't you ever wonder what it'd be like to be a suit of armor? I reckon it'd be mighty lonely, I'll tell you that. But also, I'm pretty sure it'd be cold. Have you ever touched them? They're really cold, you know, and I thought to myself, Maybe they'd want a little warming up! And well, I don't just carry skirts around with me, save the one I was wearing, mind you, so I thought to myself, why not!"

McGonagall pursed her lips. "You are aware the consequences of your actions, correct?"

"Well, Tinny won't be as cold now, I'm hoping."

"You will be serving detention for the nest week, starting tonight at eight. Is that understood?" McGonagall told her loudly.

"Yup, got it," she answered cheerily. "Can I go now?"

"Yes. Just remember to get another skirt, Ms Simmons."

"Right-o, McG."

"Oh, and Victoria?" McGonagall called as Victoria made her way towards the door, her hand on the handle, turning it slowly.

"Yeah?" she answered.

"Nice underwear." Her lips formed a thin, almost indistinguishable smile.

"Thanks!" Victoria answered cheerily. "I got it from this really cute shop just around the corner from my house, it's got the most adorable little–" Her professor's stern glance stopped her from going anything further. "Right, leaving now," she amended quickly, exiting McGonagall's office and heading down the corridor. Her thin legs now had goose bumps from the draft within the castle, and she quickened her pace to the Gryffindor tower. She was going to be late for her first class now, but she figured McGonagall would understand considering she was the one who told her she should get another skirt.

The staircases seemed to be on her side as they were perfectly aligned to get to the Tower, and she cheerily gave the Fat Lady the password, conveniently missed the odd look she received from said portrait. She ran up the stairs to her room, grabbed a skirt and her bag, before heading back out towards her first period of the day, Transfiguration.

She opened the door loudly, letting it bang against the wall next to it as she jauntily entered the room, not bothering to close the door behind her. She easily attained all eyes in the room, her peers sniggering behind their hands, McGonagall giving her a stern glare.

"Please find your seat, Ms Simmons," she told Victoria, who saluted her and slid into her seat next to her best friend, Julia Tent.

Unfortunately, her chair wasn't under her butt, and she instead fell to the ground. Laughs erupted through the class as her face turned beet red. Julia's bubbly face appeared in front of her, asking, "Are you alright?" but there was no real infliction in the question; she was laughing just as much, if not more, than everyone else.

"I think I broke my bum," she groaned, lifting herself off the ground and planting herself firmly into her seat. Eventually the laughter died down, and McGonagall restarted class.

"Now that there aren't anymore interruptions..." she started.

"Wouldn't be too sure of that," someone in the back sniggered, and Victoria sent whoever it was a nasty look before whipping back around to face front.

Almost instantly, her attention was elsewhere–the tree outside, the quill twirling in her hand, her empty parchment, the strand of hair that wouldn't stay out of her face. Transfiguration had never been that interesting for her.

A note slid it's way into her view.

What'd you do? It read it Julia's messy scrawl.

Dressed Tinny in my skirt, thought he looked cold. McG came round the corner just when I was admiring my handiwork, she wrote back.

You're an idiot, Tory.

Eh, stuff it.

So..if Tinny's still a he, why'd you give him your skirt?

Victoria stared at the parchment for a second before writing a simple reply, Cross-dresser. Don't be ignorant, Jules.

Julia laughed next to her, shaking her head and turning back to the lecture at hand. Victoria turned back to the window, letting her quill twirl in her hand once more. First period and she was already bored...

XXX

The day passed by slowly with little more events on Victoria's part. Sooner than she thought, she was sitting in the Common Room, her satchel full of notes and textbooks sitting by her feet, but it was virtually no where near her thought process. She figured that she could finish the homework she had been given the next morning at breakfast, or at least her first couple periods.

"Is it beetle eyes or parrot droppings that work best in the Quickness potion?" Julia asked from next to her. Victoria shrugged, her eyes trained on the Mary Jane's on her feet as she watched them twist and turn as she moved her foot.

"Beetle eyes," came a deep voice from behind them, as the boy jumped over the couch they were seated on and slid in between them.

"Thanks," Julia mumbled, scratching away at her essay.

"Hey, Finn," Victoria greeted, raising her eyes to be met with one of her friends, Finn Worth.

"Hey. Heard about your stunt this morning. Risky move. Wish I woulda been there so I coulda at least given the old Tinman my trousers," he replied, slinging an arm around her shoulder and tousling her hair.

"Than McG woulda given you detention as well."

"How much you get?"

"A week."

"Not too bad."

She shrugged. "I've had worse."

He laughed. "Yeah, like that time you transfigured all the steps into slides on Graduation Day last year."

She cringed. "Yeah, McG practically had a fit. But man oh man, did that little hussy Tammy White deserve it after giving me that look on my first day of Hogwarts. Old cow made me cry."

"Did you ever think to let go of your old grudges?"

"Hell no," she replied. "That look almost made me pee my pants. Come to think of it, I think I did. I almost jumped out of the window to go back to my parents before dear old Jules came in the compartment." Victoria jerked her thumb to her best friend, who still had her face pressed up against her essay.

"Huh?" she asked, lifting her head up. Her nose had been so close to the parchment that when she lifted her head, her nose had smeared against the drying ink and there was now a black smear across her nose as well as her parchment.

Finn laughed. "You've got something just right there, Julia," he told her, rubbing his own nose. She rubbed her's before realizing it was wet and looking down at her parchment.

"Aw, man, I always do that," she complained, fishing her wand out of her bag to clean up the mess.

"Well," Victoria said, clapping her hands. "As much fun as this is, some of us have funner places to be. Like detention, for example. See you guys later." She got up, waving as she left.

"Funner's not a word," Julia called after her, but Victoria waved her off, exiting the portrait hole and making her way down to McGonagall's office for the second time that day.

Once she entered, she saw that she was not the only one being punished by her dear old professor tonight, and that another of her peers was sitting in her usual seat in front of McGonagall's desk.

She entered the room, waving to Mcgonagall as she entered, before turning to the offending boy in her chair. "You're in my seat," she told him.

"Er, what?" he asked, shifting slightly.

"My seat. You're in it."

"You have your own seat in McGonagall's office?" he asked.

She sighed impatiently. "Yes. And that's it. I've sat in that exact seat since the first time I got in trouble in first year."

"It doesn't matter," McGonagall snapped. "You will be leaving anyways. Follow me," she ordered them, sweeping out of the room. Victoria gave the boy a nasty look before following her professor. She heard the boy follow after her.

"You will be cleaning the trophies with Mr Filch," McGonagall called back to them. "He is awaiting you in the trophy room."

Neither student answered her as they walked down to the trophy room where Filch was, as promised, waiting, his cat surprisingly no where to be seen, but his sickly yellow teeth barred in a smile nonetheless.

"Troublemakers," he grunted, his smile turning into a scowl at the sight of them. "I'll take them from here, Minerva."

McGonagall nodded, leaving them with the caretaker. He gave them disapproving glances before handing them toothbrushes and demanding their wands.

"Why?" Victoria asked suspiciously.

"So you don't use magic to clean the trophies," he snapped.

"But how do you know you're not going to kill me once I hand it over?" she questioned.

The boy elbowed her, a slight smirk on his face, "Just give him your wand."

She sighed. "Fine, but when we're about to be slaughtered and fed up for breakfast tomorrow morning, and your girlfriend is sitting there eating you, don't come crying to me," she complained.

He merely smiled, lifting up his toothbrush and heading into the trophy room. She followed, and Filch stood guard at the door. They worked in silence for a few minutes, before the boy decided to break it.

"So, where's the cat, Filch?" he asked.

"Be quiet," the man snapped, his glare intensifying.

"Oh, well, I was just wondering, you see," he said innocently, "I heard that some troublemakers were planning on taking her hostage and perhaps painting her pink. I was just hoping that didn't happen, she's such a nice cat after all."

Filch's naturally pale face turned an ugly shade of red. "Why, those mangy little..." He trailed off, glancing at them. "I'll be back. Don't even think about leaving." With that, he wobbled out of the room, on the look beloved cat.

The boy next to her smirked at his handiwork. He sat, dropping the toothbrush next to him, and grudgingly, she did the same. They sat in silence for only a moment before he broke it.

"So," he said. "You're the one who put her skirt on the suit of armor, right?"

She sniffed indignantly. "Yes," she replied haughtily.

A slow grin appeared on his face. "Nice," he approved.

Okay, so maybe the boy wasn't that bad after all.

"What's your name?" he asked, still grinning.

"Victoria," she answered slowly. "Victoria Simmons."

"Sirius Black," he told her, offering her his hand. She grabbed it, before pulling it back and narrowing her eyes. "Sirius Black," she repeated. "Why does that sound familiar?" The wheels turned slowly in her head before she snapped her fingers knowingly. "You're the little booger who dyed my hair in second year!"

He smirked. "Most likely guilty as charged. Us Marauders have a way of causing mischief."

"You who?" she asked, her head turned to the side.

"Marauders," he said in a 'duh' sort of voice.

"Who's that?"

"Please tell me you're joking."

"Why?"

"You don't know who we are?"

"No."

"Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs?"

"What?"

"Oh, come on." He gave her a look, but she only blinked back before he sighed, asking, "What year are you in?"

"Seventh."

He adopted a strange sort of look on his face. "House?"

"Gryffindor."

"So lemme get this straight..." he said. "We're in the same house. We're in the same year. Meaning we've had classes together since we were eleven. And you've never heard of us?"

He sounded so incredulous that she felt she owed him a pause before her answer. "No," she told him.

He groaned. "Have you been living under a rock?"

She huffed. "No," she said, "but maybe you have if you're head has gotten so large but there are still people like myself who don't even know your name."

She lifted herself up off the floor, her toothbrush trapped under her foot. She heard something snap, and when she lifted her food, her toothbrush sat broken in two. Sirius didn't seem to notice, so she continued to the other side of the room, grabbing a trophy and rubbing her finger across it.

"Why are you using your finger?" he asked, a strange look on his face.

"I broke my toothbrush," she mumbled, her cheeks growing red. He merely laughed.