"If you would. I'm desperate for a decent wand. Everything is so hard without being able to do magic," Pansy whinged. She felt like a ruddy Squib. She didn't like things being so unsettled. "If you think he might be interested in a trade, I'm sure I could talk my father out of some of the harvest. He's been difficult about taking me to Rome or Paris for a wand but he wouldn't deny me a little of our produce for trade." Moorland was renown for the quality of its magical floral and fauna.
Pansy's fingers straightened a crease in his robes. "Draco, things have to get better, don't they?" She knew the answer, but she hoped differently.