Barrow Fields the worst thing about prison was the dementors

Mahler had only been knocked to the side — but Harley was not so lucky. She fell to the earth in nothing more than an inelegant, laughing heap. Yes! That was certainly more fun than fancy footwork! The perpetual, boorish grin never left her lips even as her body thudded to the ground and the impact shook her bones and musculature. Perhaps it hurt, but maybe it didn’t. It probably did, but Harley had never really felt pain the ways others did, she had come to realize.

So, little did the man know, but this was far closer to the real Harley than was the dancing creature at which she had played. “Ha! Sorry,” the hoyden said, unable to bite her tongue. The girl climbed atop eerily steady limbs and shook the earth’s dust from her pelt. Finally “Harley,” came her introduction, as he had finally curried enough favor to learn of her name. Harley's eyes flashed, locked onto his, and left the next move for him to fill in. She wondered what he would do — what he might say. Though the man was quickly becoming more familiar, he was still so foreign to her.