Sirius and James walked down the hall slowly, alert and quiet. Cutting class at Hogwarts was not for the faint of heart. The last detention they incurred had them performing tasks for Filtch better not spoken of. As they ambled by the half open doors of classrooms and study halls the sounds of softly turning pages and the hard voices of teachers lecturing floated out to meet them. If the door was open enough James occasionally caught the bright eye of a classmate or two inside and gave her a dashing wink and "Stop that giggling!" was heard from the miffed teacher as they passed.

"That kind of thing is why your Lilly hates you so, you know," said Sirius once they walked through he schools entrance hall and out into the spring sun.

"You're just jealous I'm in love."

Sirius laughed. "Maybe. If I thought you knew what love was I might be... but as it is I'm sure I'm not."

"Yes. I can see you're very well versed in such a feeling. Who is she this time?"

"Who is who?"

"The talented woman who hit you in neck with a bat, of course." James laughed as Sirius tried to crane is head and look at his own neck. "Tell me you remember her name."

Sirius hastily settled with covering the field of hickeys with his hand before crying, "Shelley is very sweet and I won't have you talking about her that way!"

"Fair play, fair play. Don't get too excited and hurt yourself now."

"Isn't it beautiful outside," Sirius said in a sugar sweet voice, looking out over the great lake. "The sun, the birds… positively magical!"

"I know you changed the subject and ha-ha." James said, looking at his friend sideways for acknowledgement. Getting none, he played along, "But it is much better than being McGonagall's class right about now. Is it just me or has she been a little...on edge?"

"The understatement of the year," scoffed Sirius, 'She's been just plain mean!"

Laughing, they leaned back into the sweet grass, loosing their ties and dozing off as the sun grew warmer and warmer and the breeze toyed lovingly with their hair.

Aine o Cinneide arrived in prison on the most beautiful day in March. It was warm and sunny for the season and the winter snow was melted entirely, but for a stray bit of ice here and there. They told her five years with the chance for parole, but she couldn't tell if she wanted to be let go or if she wanted to sit and rot somewhere, forever.

The hospital had released her that day, with a gunshot wound in her leg and a bullet still nestled in one of her ribs like it was flirting with her. She could feel the wrappings, tugging at fine hair and skin as she moved and felt as though they were her only companions. On her back, also covered in gauze and tape was the something that hurt too much to ignore but that she was focusing all her energy on forgetting. She knew when she shifted the injury opened itself up to the air again, refusing to heal, oozing blood and transparency—an enemy forever with her, never fading.

The bus she rode on was a dank grey, inside and out and the bars were covered with mesh grating and, she assumed, strong spells. Her lemon yellow jumpsuit said MASSACHUSETTS WITCHES PRISON on the back in bright purple letters. It didn't matter really, but she knew she looked pretty bad in yellow and had expected orange, which she had envisioned wearing while the judge sentenced her, and didn't know what to think about it. As she looked out the window at the approaching prison, which looked like any other prison, all she could think about was the jumpsuit and its surprising yellowness.

When they arrived she was pulled off the bus—the only passenger that day—and shuffled over to processing. The magical restraints that made her feel disconcertingly paralyzed were removed and she was unceremoniously strip searched by an overweight grumbling witch and given a new jumpsuit several pairs of underwear a white tank top a pair of serious looking boots.

"Steel tipped toes," pointed out the witch as Aine put her clothes on, mortified she was being watched so carefully as she did it. When the guard spoke Aine looked up at her questioningly. The guard looked down at her smugly. "We can hear your thoughts in here, honey, just so's to make sure you don't get any ideas."

Fuck me. Thought Aine despairingly and the warden replied, "I wouldn't think that too often, love. You're quite a pretty peach and there are some naughty wardens about. They might take it as an invitation." The warden leaned over and stroked Aine's long brown hair. She picked up a lock slowly, running her eyes over it as it winked copper and deep red in the dim indoor light. Aine looked up into her greedy eyes with a feeling of deep fear. There was never a time in her life when she had felt powerless. Growing up her family was the police—people respected her, as she deserved. And now she was nothing but the sweet easy temptation for a prison full of miscreants. Oh, the mysteries of life.

The warden laughed. "You're funny. I hope it helps you in there." She grabbed Aine's arm and lead her away into the prison the moment the bots were tied up. "As to the steel in your shoes, we've had too many incidents of girls breaking eathother's feet for the spite of it. I think when their wands are taken they feel so powerless they fight each other for control. Or something." They arrived at their destination—a small cell with a creaky bunk bed. Olive wool sheets. A toilet in the corner with a washstand and a mirror, broken to pieces. Aine looked at the warden as she set her things on the bottom bed, since the top looked taken. The other woman shook her head, but nodded when Aine moved her extra clothing underneath her mattress.

"Sleep with them on is my advice." Aine looked at her with confusion. Smiling the warden continued, "You're liable to get either your boots or your toes stolen, other wise." She laughed loudly and suddenly and Aine jumped. "Or both!"

Aine sat down on the bed, not knowing what was expected of her. "Well come on, come on the girls are out in the yard and I'm," she chuckled a little and took Aine's arm again, "sure they want to meet you as soon as they can."

As they emerged from the building the sun blinded Aine for a moment and when she could focus her eyes she saw a huge, dead-looking yard—dusty ground, a couple of dusty shrubs and chain link fence—and several quidditch courts, which confused her.

"Broom-blocker spells," said the warden before she left, locking the door behind her.

Aine took a couple steps forward into the sun and realized every woman outside was watching her. They had been milling around in their blinding jumpsuits, but now they were all still. Aine didn't know what to do. Should she wave? That was the last thought she had time for before they were on her. The first blow landed directly on the gauze on her back and she screamed and fell to the ground. Then the scene turned into some thing from an Animal Planet; they were like sharks and she very much resembled fresh meat.

Later as she was being tended to in the prison doctor's she realized they had partly been fighting over her—like squabbling over property rights. She had the doctor cut all of her beautiful red-brown hair of right then.