Lyra nearly banged Draco's door down with a tired fist, all but slumped against the frame.

The knocks were loud and purposeful but not at all quick, and as she adjusted her bag on one shoulder and wiped a stray lock of newly washed hair from her face, Lyra took a long, deep breath and picked a scrap of apple from between her teeth. She didn't need to see a friendly face when a consistent one would do just as well. Pan circled one of her ankles.