Now, when faced with the task of explaining herself, Lyra found that she couldn't. In her mind it all seemed so very silly, the sort of inconsequential chatter tossed about over rouge, pleated skirts and cherry cigarettes in the girl's loo of her school in Oxford.

And yet, Draco was the least sympathetic person she knew. Perhaps that was exactly what she needed. A good shock of careless disregard. Digging her palms hard enough into her eyes to make them ache against the pressure, Lyra took a sharp hiccup of a breath then sagged. "Will and I aren't speaking to each other," she stiffly exhaled, face remaining half-hidden.