Draco Malfoy gaped at his former girlfriend and current best friend as she leaned over the countertop filling out job applications.
Job applications!
Pansy was quickly writing down her address for the eighth time in a row, on a Ministry application this time. The nails of her left hand tapped a rapid tattoo, while the quill in her right scratched hurriedly against the scroll. She was biting her lip as she shook her hair out of her eyes.
Draco watched her silently and took in her changed appearance. Draco was not normally one to notice what a girl wore (unless it was in tacky red and gold), but even he could not help but be aware of the no longer subtle differences in Pansy. Her usually flawlessly manicured nails were chipped and fixed; her hair was shaggy and fell in front of her eyes; and there was a carefully repaired seam on the pocket of her blouse.
After the war, the Parkinson fortune had vanished. Now Draco could see the results of a drastic loss of wealth right in front of him.
He knew it had happened to other people, his mother's gossip had told him that much, but never before had the poverty of someone he knew and cared about and who had once been rich stared him in the face. It made him feel very, very uncomfortable.
Draco wasn't sure why Pansy had felt the need to come over to his flat and fill out the numerous applications. In fact, if the tables were reversed (perish the thought!) he would be so embarrassed that he would lock himself up in his room before letting anyone else know. Yet Pansy appeared to be quite calm. He knew she was somewhat agitated by all the fidgeting, but she wasn't overly stressed. If truth be told, Pansy seemed resigned to her new fate, and Draco was decidedly more ill-at-ease than she was.
"Pansy!" Draco burst.
Startled, Pansy's hand jumped across the parchment leaving a blue streak. Annoyed, she looked up and muttered, "What, Draco?"
He grasped for words, "What – why are you doing this – this – thing?"
"Filling out job applications?"
"Yes."
Pansy rolled her eyes and spoke deliberately, "To get a job."
Draco was silent. He couldn't ask her why she needed a job when he knew very well why. He rubbed a hand through his hair and wished she would stop staring at him.
An awkward silence filled the air between them for a few moments. Pansy said quietly, "I don't mind, you know. Work – most people do it." She smiled bitterly to herself. "I've been spoiled my whole life. Now I'm getting my comeuppance – I have to pay now for the easy life I had before."
Draco looked away; he couldn't meet her eyes. "It's not fair."
She laughed. "No, Draco, it is fair." Leaning over, Pansy patted him gently on the shoulder (as if he wasn't the one that was supposed to be comforting her) and bent back over the scrolls.
Pansy was stronger than Draco would have ever guessed. He made a vow right then and there: despite how violently she would refuse any charity, he would make certain that she was never in need. That's what friends do – look out for each other – no matter what.
