My boy builds coffins. Hermione concluded in her head, it just isn't fair.
She was stirred from her thoughts as Harry appeared, coming into the tent and resting in a chair. He was obviously still cooling down after his fight with Ron. Her Ron.
Would he ever know? Could they possibly get their moment before it was too late? Perhaps she wasn't supposed to know.
And when each one's been made he can't see it again.
"He is mine, he always has been, and now he's gone and thrown us both away. He had no use for sails until now. All I know is that someday this will be buried with the coffins he's built." 'Mione told herself under her breath.
One of these days, he'll make one for you.