my boy builds coffins, he makes them all day
but it's not just work and it isn't for play
he's made one for himself, one for me too
one of these days he'll make one for you
('my boy builds coffins – florence and the machine)
She doesn't even know why she cares. He's not her boyfriend, he's not even her friend. She doubts he knows her name, and if he ever thinks about her, it's as Daphne's little sister, not someone important. He has no idea how she feels about him, no idea.
And what she feels: love and caring and tenderness and – worry. 'Cause she doesn't know what he's doing, but it can't be good. She heard Pansy boasting about it the other day, and if it's true, that he's really got it…well, that's it. He's going to die (because, really, he knows, and she knows that he's just a boy, a frightened little boy). And Daphne tried to warn him, but of course he didn't listen, because no one listens to Daphne, and, for that matter, no one listens to Astoria, either.
She doesn't want it to come to this. It gets worse every day, and people are dying, and she's scared, because she and Daphne are definitely not joining Him, and she's only fifteen, for Merlin's sake, and she can tell that it's coming…war is coming. And she's a Slytherin half-blood who has absolutely nothing against Muggles or Muggle-borns, so where does that leave her?
But Draco is just going to go along self-destructing, helping Him, destroying lives, bringing them one step closer to the one thing everyone is dreading. And there's nothing she can do to stop him.
So she sits and waits, waits for the sky to fall down and crush them all.