Disclaimer (Sorry it wasn't in bold before now. whoops.): Nothing you recognize is mine.
The four marauders sat together in the great hall, ready for their sixth year, already forming devious plans for deviously devious pranks. They huddled together, bending over the large table to press their heads together, whispering and giggling as students flowed into the hall from the carriages outside. Slowly as more students settled down, the atmosphere dimmed from nervous excitement to quiet agitation as they began to await the appearance of the first years, which everyone knew always preceded the appearance of the food.
Dumbledore, decked out in his most fabulous shimmering robes and shining spectacles, rose slowly and though the hall didn't become quiet the din died down significantly. Aine was in the hall waiting, separate from the huddled mass of terrified first years, watching disinterestedly as Hagrid wrangled them clumsily. She heard the noise disappear completely and was suddenly reminded of the cafeteria in the Witches Prison, as the Wardens walked slowly through, picking out likely victims and dragging them away. Though she wasn't directly thinking of it, her body tensed and her back grew straight. A mask slipped down over her calm face, like glass slipping between skin and muscle, hardening her as it made her fragile.
Inside, Dumbledore was continuing his speech. "…And this year I am sure you will adhere to these rules." The marauders felt his eyes upon them and looked up together, smiling back innocently in return. "I have little more to say before the sorting begins but that it will not be a completely normal sorting ceremony." The great hall erupted in whispers for a moment. "Quiet down now. We have a new student—a transfer student, if you will."
Sirius looked up at Dumbledore. The pause before he said 'transfer' had caught his attention for some reason he could not place. "She will be entering as a sixth year and I expect you all to readily accept her as your own. She has come all the way from America to be here. Because of the circumstances she will be sorted before the first years enter. Please show her the same respect I know you would have shown them. Now give a warm welcome to Miss Aine O Cinneide."
"Oooo," said James, elbowing Sirius, "A girl." Thin applause began and the sorting hat was unceremoniously placed on a stool at the end of the hall by a professor. It sang no song as Aine walked out into the hall, her face dead to the world. The weak clapping died away. In her mind she felt their eyes on her, burning her. It reminded her of that first day in the yard—their eyes raking over her hungrily—but something was different. Instead of desire she felt the horror and obsession you might look at a freak in circus with. She wasn't sure which she preferred.
Meanwhile the marauders had stopped everything and were staring along with everyone else. Sirius didn't know why, but the look of her made him sad and scared and repulsed all at the same time. The woman—he would call her girl if that's what she seemed—was wearing a regular uniform and nothing about it was amiss, but she herself looked like someone from another world. She was tall for a woman, and her body was a long type of thin that made her seem unnatural, as though she was walking underwater. Sirius could swear he had never seen a woman who moved in the way she did. It seemed graceful but he could tell she was tense and fit, hyper aware of herself, her limbs and torso working in practiced, planned motions—ridged like steel but as fluid as water.
It was her head that miffed him, though. He couldn't tell if he found her appealing or not, which was rare for him, and he was sure it was because she had no hair but for the fine stubble, which covered her scalp like a dim shadow, and no eyebrows, which made her face almost grotesque in the low candle light of the hall. A red split ran nastily through her lip and several deep bruises played across her face, one flowering around her eye and another flowing outwards from the corner of her mouth.
How she singled him out in the crowd he didn't know—everyone was staring, but as she passed them slowly by her head turned and she locked eyes with him. At that moment he suddenly felt the same tight weight in his chest that he was sure she felt in hers. He tried not to blink, as she wasn't, but he had to and then her eyes were gone.
Aine looked away from the boy in the crowd, away from the clear eyes she was almost sure had seen something she intended to keep to herself. That was a thought she disliked very much. After she sat down the hat was placed on her head and it began to speak to her. Immediately she was comforted by the knowledge of magic she had not felt while in jail. It turned out to be a rude hat, but that didn't matter much.
"So…dead family jail bird, huh? More interesting than the usual I have to say."
That's very rude.
"True, true. I can see you've got the makings for several different houses here. Do you have a preference?"
No.
"GRYFFENDOR!"
There were no cheers as it was announced. The whole house seemed unsure whether or not they were happy to have her or not. After a moment of confusion as to which table was hers, she ambled over to a seat, room was hastily made for her, and sat down with little ceremony. As the sorting process began in earnest she could feel him watching her, and considered turning to meet his eyes again. However, her instincts were too much for her. Turn and meet someone's gaze elsewhere and you might find yourself agreeing to a fight.
Sirius could feel her attention on him, though she didn't look at him. His gaze was trained on her where she sat, down the table from him but close enough to see clearly now. It seemed as though her expression was frozen, disinterested and dead. In the back of his mind he heard the names announced and though cheers occasionally erupted form the table he did not join in. James noted his distracted gaze and said to them, "So what do you guys think? Maybe she has cancer."
Remus, also distracted by their new addition, replied, "I didn't think even muggles beat their ill."
"She could have had an accident," Peter chimed in quietly. "You never know."
Sirius broke his silence but not his stare with a whispered, "Nah, that was no accident. Those were fists left those marks." He looked as though he couldn't tear his gaze away and even when the food arrived and his attention strayed his eyes wandered back to her. She placed food carelessly on her plate, eyeing those beside her suspiciously as she did so. He didn't know why, but Sirius got the distinct impression she was listening carefully to everything that was said around her, though it seemed she was lost in thought. Once he glanced her way and was shocked to find her eyes on him again, but in his surprise he looked away and then quickly back and they were gone, trained on her plate once more.
Aine had to look. Grey eyes had been staring too long to be ignored. Either he was very rude or he very much wanted to fight. If the latter was true to ignore him any longer might be dangerous. She looked to him only to find him looking away, speaking to a friend, and she was given a moment to observe him without reproach. Both he and the boy next to him, who had glasses, had deep black hair, while the two he spoke with across the table had light hair. Their body language betrayed them as fast friends—a dangerous weakness to let show so carelessly—as did their raucous laughter. She could tell he was tall, like his dark companion, and that they were both strong as athletes are—casually aware of their muscles. Thoughtlessly he looked to her and looked appalled to find her staring. When he looked away quickly she knew he meant no threat with his attention and went back to eating, satisfied she was not being challenged.
Sirius, on the other hand, was disappointed and embarrassed he had not been able to hold her gaze. What was he if he couldn't hold a gaze for even a moment? He hung his head over his food and ate slowly but as he sensed her turn her attention away his eyes slid after, sliding into the space her gaze left behind. She was busy slipping food away beneath the table, and fast, like she believed it would be taken away soon. Without thinking Sirius slipped a particularly perfect fruit tart under the table, mimicking her actions, and left it to rest on his leg, waiting to be presented to her later. Deep down somewhere he wanted an excuse to hear her voice, just to see what it might sound like—if it was wounded and bare like she was, or if it matched a sweet teenage girl, hidden away behind that face.