Ford hadn't expected Cash to acknowledge him at all, so even innocuous as this was he found himself with no response. There wasn't anyone else in the break room. There was no one for whom they needed to perform. Was Cash greeting him only out of habit, or did he actually want to talk?

"Yeah," Ford replied. One word in but already he was being stupid. Yeah, what? Yes, it was the afternoon? He focused on filling the kettle with water and congratulated himself for at least having had the fortitude not to turn around and flee the break room once he'd realized Lestrange was the one here.

If Cash actually wanted to talk, what about? They couldn't discuss anything real here. They might have been alone at the moment, but someone could walk in at any time. And it didn't seem like the sort of thing Cash would be eager to talk about, at any rate. When they'd fought he'd only seemed to bring things up begrudgingly, when there was nothing to say except the truth. It didn't make sense that he'd want to talk about it now. But then what? They were going to make small talk?

"Tutshill's new chaser is doing well," he blurted. Ford did not know if this was true. It was repeated verbatim from a conversation Ford had overheard in the lift that morning; his best attempt at Quidditch-related conversation.

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