A/N: Many thanks for all your love and support. I hope you continue to enjoy the story and that you enjoy this chapter.
xx-Kitten.
Jailbird Blues
By Kittenshift17
Chapter 7
He kissed her hard enough to bruise, his lips firm and familiar upon hers, devouring her with warmth and love and so much emotion that were he a fire, he'd glow brighter than the sun. Hermione's heart ached for him as his tongue swept into her mouth, the taste of him overpowering her senses and making her ache just a little less with pain, and a little more with love. Gods, she had missed him.
His words made her chest hurt, knowing that he was in so much pain missing his twin and missing his family and barely surviving without the other half of his soul. His hands knotted into her hair hard enough to sting as he snogged her desperately, trying to flood himself with feelings of desire, of need, of love, anything to overcome the pain. Hermione knew the feeling. Knowing that Fred was gone, that she couldn't break the kiss, turn her head and snog the other twin, was like a lance to her heart and she could feel the silent tears that tracked down George's cheeks, brushing against her own as he kissed her until she felt delirious with lack of oxygen and a need for more.
She pressed herself to him snugly, revelling in his warmth, his touch, his familiarity; in the simple feeling of being held after so long without it. She'd sat for weeks in her wretched little cell before her trial, barely alive with grief; half-starved; half mad. George's tongue claimed her own and his hands smoothed all the way down her back to rest on her bum, feeling each ridge of her spine, noting the loss of condition. He was in no better shape. He had edges so sharp they hurt against her.
Hermione threw herself into the passion, the wild desperation, the need to feel anything but their emotional pain. He'd removed his shirt to sleep and she let her hands wander his torso, re-learning his long, hard lines. Discovering anew each bump of his ribs where they stood out. He ground himself against her hip, his body recalling its uses as they snogged. He was breathing hard when he broke from her lips to kiss his way down her neck, as though the exertion of this alone might kill him.
She had to remind herself that he'd barely been able to walk when he'd been brought in. She shifted so that she was straddling him, feeling the way his hands shifted to grip her hips, rolling them in slow circles over him and making her crazy with need. She knew that she was in trouble when she found herself turning her head, seeking Fred's kiss and his touch upon her skin, only to recall she would never feel it ever again.
Tears overflowed her eyes and she knew George had picked up on it too, his smooth movements turning jolty and a rasping breath alerting her to the fact that he was practically sobbing. Wanting to distract him, to bring him any kind of solace she could offer, Hermione lifted off him just enough to free his cock from his boxers. She didn't bother removing her own knickers, she simply pulled them aside before aligning their bodies and sinking down upon him.
It stung a little, her body no longer accustomed to being used in such a manner after so long spent without sex. Hermione persevered, unsure in the dark if George's uneven breath was from sobs or pleasure. He shifted under her, flexing his hips into each stroke as she impaled herself onto him and Hermione bit her lip on tears of her own when his hands trailed over her lower back, instinctively positioning her as he'd done a hundred times when it had been him and Fred shagging her at the same time.
Hermione kissed him hard, trying to make him forget, trying to distract them both from the pain of knowing that Fred would never be there with them again. George kissed her back even harder, his lips unforgiving, his teeth nipping her lips and her tongue, his hands tightening on her hips as some of his sadness and pain morphed into something darker, something more destructive. As though he might somehow alleviate his anger with the world through Hermione, even if it hurt her.
She almost jumped out of her skin when she felt a hand that wasn't George's smooth over the top of her shoulders and down her back. Jerking upright quickly, she instinctively looked over her shoulder, her tired mind playing tricks on her that it was Fred after all – that his death had all been some terrible nightmare. She found no one behind her but when she turned her head in the other direction her eyes followed the hand upon her skin, up the length of a muscular arm and through the bars of the cell.
There, his face pressed to the bars and his arms reaching through it as far as possible, stood Thorfinn Rowle. Hermione felt a strange surge of something through her stomach and she couldn't rightly say if it was dread, fear, disgust or arousal. All she knew was that the big brute was touching her while she shagged George. If George noticed, he didn't care. Hermione never broke her rhythm aboard her ex-boyfriend's cock, even as she met Rowle's gaze through the bars of the cell.
She was surprised that he didn't speak, but also relieved. She was certain that his voice might've broken the spell and somehow pushed her into jumping off George just to move out of the Death Eaters reach. It occurred to her that she should do that, anyway. But she didn't. Tipping her head back and closing her eyes, Hermione resolved to ignore his touch as she rode George harder, bouncing upon him now, not caring if they disturbed the other prisoners in the cells around them. If they could see her, they could look. She couldn't stop them, after all. She could only try to make the best of a bad situation and try to forget all the bad things in her life for a little while.
Rowle's hand wandered upon her skin, his other arms slippin through the bars and his hand tangling into her short hair. His nails scraped lightly against her scalp in the best way and she was ashamed over the little whine of sound that tore from her lips when he kept scratching at her skin with one hand while the other slid down her front to cup the pert breast nearest to him.
George's hands were biting into her hips unforgivingly and he'd begun cursing between what Hermione realised were sobs of despair and rage. Not at Rowle or even at Hermione. No, the curses leaving his mouth told tales of his anger with the world and the Powers That Be over Fred's death. When Rowle's fingers closed over her nipple, pinching lightly, Hermione hissed between her teeth at the spear of heat that shot from her nipple to her core, suddenly toppling her over the edge and into orgasm.
It was so unexpected that she huffed in surprise and clamped down on George. He groaned between clenched teeth, his grip guiding her to keep riding him through the sensations. When it stopped Hermione squeaked, the redhead surprising her with a show of energy and strength as he hoisted her off him and to her feet before following her up. Rowle made a whisper of sound, an impatient little noise when Hermione was moved out of his grip, before George bent Hermione over the bed.
Her hands came up to curl around the bars between George's cell and Rowle's to keep her balance and Hermione whined when George brutally thrust himself back inside her, his fingers bruising her hips as he powered into her. Now well within his reach, Rowle smirked a little though he remained silent, his fingers trailing up her arms until he could cup both of her breasts in his huge hands. Hermione knew she should push him away or tell him to stop. She knew she shouldn't be letting him touch her so easily when he'd threatened her so much, but the fact was that he was being gentle when he didn't have to and he would eventually be the one bending her over something and fucking her.
She didn't doubt that for a single second. She suspected that unless any of her fellow inmates were bent, she was going to have to fuck all of them – with the exclusion of Carrow, hopefully – and so what did it matter if he touched her tits right then when he would likely suckle them when he had the chance? He pinched her nipples between his fingers, rolling them and making her back arch. The bump of George's pelvic bone against her arse with each deep, slapping thrust right at her favourite angle made her crazy and Hermione was sure she was going to crack again if George didn't come soon.
The feel of Rowle's magic against her own sent her synapses firing and she squirmed when she realised he felt like fire. Like the heat of the Feindfyre she'd flown through in the Room of Requirement during the Final Battle. A raging inferno a magic and power that would devour her whole if she wasn't quick enough and careful enough. It scared her a little, but it felt good, too.
With her face pressed so close to the bars, Hermione realised she was closer to him than she was comfortable with and she could tell he wanted more than just to touch her. When he ducked his head a little, pressing his face against the bars, she realised he was trying to kiss her and she took perverse pleasure in watching him try while she hovered just out of his reach.
She squeaked when he abandoned one of her breasts, tangling his hand into her hair and tugging her closer. Hermione's lips brushed his softly while she fought his grip, jerking back in his hold and listening to the sound of George groaning when the sudden shift in her position sent him nudging deeper and pushed him over the edge.
Hermione clamped down on him, milking him, her own hand dropping to rub fast swipes over her clit until a second orgasm crashed over her, too. She sent up a prayer to whichever merciful gods might be listening that she would get pregnant. Even knowing she hadn't been off the contraceptives long enough to manage it. In her distraction, Rowle pulled her lips back within reach and he stole a fiery snog from her through the bars as her orgasm slammed into her with all the force of a tidal wave, making her knees buckle. He swallowed her little squeal of pleasure, smirking against her lips even as his tongue traced the length of hers.
She forgot for just a moment that she shouldn't be encouraging him and Hermione kissed him back. It felt like his fire might consume her right up until George's arm around her waist – the only thing allowing her to keep her feet – hoisted her backward against his chest. He was sweating and breathing hard as he pressed his face into her hair, his lips on the back of her neck. Rowle's eyes were trained on her bare breasts, but Hermione didn't both trying to hide from his gaze. There was no point. His cell was directly opposite hers, so he was going to see more of her than just about anybody else.
George kissed her neck repeatedly as he caught his breath, his cock softening inside her until it slipped right out, leaving a sticky mess upon her thighs. Making a face at the feel, Hermione pulled out of his arms and crossed to his toilet, grabbing up a few sheets of the loo paper to clean herself off. George held his hand out for some too when she wet the paper and cleaned up. She handed him some as he dropped down to sit on the edge of the bed, looking drained. His body shook from the exertion of energy and Hermione worried at her bottom lip with her teeth, hoping he'd be okay.
When he was cleaned up and she'd put her clothes back on, he tugged her back into bed with him without saying a word. He tucked her head into the hollow of his shoulder and pressed a soft kiss to the middle of her forehead. Hermione's eyes stayed open even as George drifted off, her mind fuzzy with contentment and the need for sleep. She found herself staring up at Rowle where he continued leaning his head against the bars between their cells, silently spectating.
She wanted to tell him to go away and to stop staring at them but she knew it would just encourage him if he knew it got her attention and got her to talk to him. When George began to snore, Hermione slipped back out of bed and out of his cell, no matter how much she'd like to stay snuggled into him protective embrace. She didn't want to tip off the guards that she could flit from cell to cell.
"Coming in, Princess?" Rowle asked in a low voice, tracking her along the edges of his cell until he stood at the bars to his own cells.
He was naked, Hermione noticed idly, though she couldn't make out much in the dark. He watched her hopefully, as though he'd very much like her to join him inside his cell and let him have his way with her. Hermione didn't bother to reply before climbing back inside her own cell and crawling under the covers. She closed her eyes, ignoring Rowle's faint sound of annoyance and frustration. She tried to block out some of the sounds coming from the other cells, too. She suspected that while some of her fellow inmates had dozed off and begun to snore, more than a few of them were relieving their own sexual needs solo. Hermione didn't want to think about how many of them might be masturbating to the noises she'd made while she'd shagged George.
Squeezing her eyes closed, Hermione willed herself to sleep, hoping that when she woke up in the morning, this would all just be some wretched nightmare, rather than her new reality.
~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
When she woke the next morning it was to the sound of waves crashing against the towering structure of the prison and the urge to vomit. Hermione blinked her eyes open slowly, trying her hardest to remember where she was and why she was so cold. She squeezed her eyes shut again at the sight of the prison ceiling before listening carefully. No noise but for the occasional snore came from the cells around her and Hermione sat up slowly, blinking to find the other cells seemingly deserted.
Peaking over the edge of her cell and into Lestrange's, she found the wizard stretched on his back, his arm thrown over his eyes and his mouth open as he slept on. When she looked toward Rowle's cell, he too was sleeping. Grinning at the idea of a few minutes of privacy, Hermione jumped out of bed and hurried to relieve herself without anyone watching her go. When she was finished she washed her hands before having a drink of water to clear out the foul taste in her mouth. She reached for her toothbrush too, figuring she might as well brush her teeth to help wake herself up. She missed the days when she'd been able to shower in the mornings while attempting to revive her sleep-laden body.
Finding her elbows was so much easier under water hot enough to scald her skin. Glancing toward the guard station, Hermione sighed, spotting both of them awake and playing what looked like a game of wizard's chess to pass the time. She'd have slipped out of her cell and down the showers if she didn't think the water would still be cold and if she didn't think she'd get caught. She suspected they would soon be brought some breakfast and that meant that if she was out of her cell, someone was going to notice.
Grumbling under her breath, Hermione did the only other thing she could think of to get her blood pumping and wake herself up. She needed to be in good health and peak physical condition if she was going to manage to fall pregnant and keep a baby to term. And that meant she was going to have to work out. Not caring that she might disturb the others in the cells around her, Hermione launched into a series of exercises. Star-jumps first thing in the morning would be the death of her, she was sure, but she did them.
They hurt. Hermione winced as she pulled muscles that hadn't been used in a long while and she hissed at the soreness in her body after last night's sex with George. A groan from across the row caught her attention as she kept going, and Hermione watched Thorfinn Rowle slowly lift his head. He looked mad enough to kill and Hermione smirked a little to herself to know she was annoying him already. He watched her through narrowed eyes as she continued doing her star-jumps until she got a stitch in her side before beginning to do squats instead. Her thighs quaked, threatening to give out on her as she pushed herself, but Hermione kept at it.
"Granger?" Lestrange's voice intruded when she finished her squats and moved over to the window, lifting down her water container before climbing up onto the windowsill and sticking her legs through the bars. It was just wide enough that with her feet curled around the bars on the window, the full length of her leg to the back of her knee was supported by the shelf. Hanging upside down for a moment, Hermione was panting even as she began jerking her body upward, doing crunches and not caring that the others could see her stomach when her shirt came untucked.
"Damn it, witch," Lestrange groaned, sitting up in bed and scratching his head, looking frustrated about being woken up. "Don't you know that this is a place where sleeping in is not only allowed, but encouraged? There's nothing else to do, and you're fucking loud."
"Eat me, Lestrange," Hermione retorted, her voice husky with exertion as she kept doing her crunches with her feet hanging out the window in the rain flinging itself against the stone walls of Azkaban.
"Happy to, love. Just come here and sit on my face and I'll get started," he retorted.
Hermione rolled her eyes, regretting it when it made her dizzy while she was still upside-down. When she couldn't do another crunch, Hermione climbed back down from the windowsill and got down on the floor, doing push-ups. She was too weak to do the proper ones, using her hands and her knees, rather than her feet, but they would do for now. She rolled her eyes a second time when Rowle rolled out of bed – still naked – before dressing himself in a pair of pants and beginning to copy her, also doing push-ups in the cell opposite her.
She ignored him too. She didn't want to be a cliché, but with nothing else to do in this wretched prison, she might as well push her body into strength and endurance enough that when she managed to escape, she would be able to survive on her own for as long as necessary. When she couldn't do any more push-ups, Hermione moved onto yoga – trying to remember what her mother had showed her as a girl when she'd forced Hermione to try yoga to better control her magic.
"Witch, if you're going to keep bending that supple little body of yours into provocative poses, it seems unjust to refrain from letting me fuck you," Lestrange informed her, avidly watching her through the bars separating their cells.
He kept chatting too, beginning again with his pick-up line and his non-stop bollocks. Everyone else began to stir in annoyance with him over how much noise he was making as he harassed Hermione and she rolled her eyes to herself, deciding the answer would surely be to block him out. Picking a song she loved and knew most of the words too, Hermione began to softly sing to herself. She focused on her breathing and her poses, stretching her body and strengthening her core, singing all the while.
Eventually Lestrange seemed to decide that he preferred to listen to her sing, rather than listening to himself talk and he fell silent but for occasionally humming along with the chorus if he knew the song that was she sang.
"Right," Hermione said finally, straightening as she got to her feet once more and running her fingers through her hair, using wandless magic to tame the wild curls and to cleanse her body of the sweat she'd worked up during her workout. "What do we all do for fun around here?"
A snort came from the cell beside hers and Hermione looked over to find Antonin Dolohov watching her once again. Already the hairs on the back of her neck prickled, but Hermione didn't acknowledge him.
"Mostly we fight," Neville informed her, waving around a yawn when he sat up, ready to kill Lestrange for chattering too much.
"What else?" Hermione asked. "Fighting is boring."
"Uh…." Neville frowned, looking down for a moment before looking around as though seeking help.
"We could fuck, Granger?" Theo Nott called from down the end of the row and Hermione smirked, rolling her eyes.
"I'm all locked up and can't get out in daylight hours, Nott," Hermione replied.
"Spoil sport," Theo accused. "Oi, Draco, don't suppose you'd distract the guards and knock them out long enough for us all to have a little fun?"
"Fuck off, Theo," Draco retorted from the other end of the row and so it began.
The bickering. The arguing. The accusations over who'd done what and who was most at fault during the war. Whose turn it was to distract the guards for the sake of unruly behaviour and constant threats over who would be raped in the showers next. Hermione listened to them all as Order members argued with Death Eaters and the Death Eaters bickered among themselves until the guards finally looked over, realising they had hungry prisoners to feed. She could tell from the way they looked surprised that they were used to the bunch of them sleeping later, but they got up just the same and went to fetch the food or summon the elves to feed their prisoners.
"Well," Hermione grumbled to herself when she'd been brought some food by an eager Ministry elf. "It's not what I was expecting."
"What did you get?" Neville asked, peering through the bars and trying to see what she'd been given.
"A full and hearty breakfast," Hermione admitted, blinking at the amount of food on her tray and shocked that most of it looked edible.
"Really?" Rowle asked, frowning from across the row.
"Really," Hermione nodded. "Bacon, sausage, eggs, toast, a muffin, mushrooms – Gods, I don't think I'll eat those. A ham, cheese and tomato croissant. Half an avocado. A bowl of porridge with cream and brown sugar. A bowl of cereal with milk. Bloody hell, I mean, I'm hungry, but this would feed all of us."
"They is be your orders, Miss," the elf who'd brought her tray said. Hermione watched the little creature pulling up Hermione's bed, replenishing the water in her container, and snapping her fingers to clean the toilet as though she'd been assigned to clean the cell in addition to feeding the prisoner who resided inside of it. "The Medi-Witch be telling Tilly what you must be having and she be giving you these to have with your breakfast, too."
The elf, Tilly, fished a collection of Potion phials out of her pillow-slip and lined them up all in a row for Hermione to drink. She recognised them all as nourishment potions, nutrient draughts, a pain potion and a fertility potion.
"The Medi-Witch be saying you must eat all your breakfast, even if it take until lunch. She say you must drink all your potions, too and she be telling Tilly that Tilly must report to her what you has eaten."
"How come she gets so much?" Lestrange wanted to know before pointing to his own tray, which was similarly loaded with a bowl a porridge, some fruit, some toast and some bacon and eggs.
"Tilly just be doing what she's told," the elf shrugged. "Is Miss not be liking mushrooms?"
Hermione shook her head. "When you live on nothing but boiled mushrooms for months, they get a bit sickening."
"Tilly will know for next time," the elf bowed. "Tilly be back to collect your tray and bring you lunch when lunchtime comes."
With that the elf disapparated.
"Who have you got in your pocket that wants you getting pregnant, Granger?" Lestrange wanted to know when the guards were gone and everyone was devouring their breakfast.
Hermione shook her head, her mouth too full of food to answer. Not that she'd have told him anyway. She realised that the amount of food she'd been given was for that reason, too. To help Hermione rapidly regain her health and ensure peak nutrition for the sake of getting pregnant.
"You going to eat those mushrooms?" Lestrange tried again when Hermione was diligently munching her way through her stack of toast with bacon and sauce and eggs.
"No," Hermione admitted. "You want them?"
Lestrange nodded, holding his hand out for them, cupped, obviously not caring that he'd get messy. Hermione was surprised he didn't try to grab her when she scooped them into his palm and he took them back to his tray, grinning as though he'd won something.
"You're going to pop if you eat it all in one go, Princess," Rowle warned her from across the row where he was polishing off the last of his porridge.
Hermione looked up, her cheeks full of food as she did as she'd been told, trying to force down as much as she could eat despite feeling full and queasy. She supposed Rowle had a point, but she didn't want to leave anything that could go cold because it wouldn't taste as good when it did. Sighing, she scooped the last mouthful of her porridge into her mouth and swallowed it, pleased Tilly hadn't put the milk on her cereal yet, knowing that it would keep awhile.
"She's fattening you up," Rowle went on. "And you're working out. Really are determined to get out of here with someone's spawn in your belly, aren't you?"
"Wouldn't you be if you were female?" Hermione asked. "The other option is to stay here with you lot forever, and you've been explicit in your descriptions of how I'll be treated when there aren't bars separating us," Hermione reminded.
"Could've hurt you last night and I didn't," he argued.
Hermione shrugged her shoulders at him. "Because you're cunning and you know that hurting me when I'm not even in your cell guarantees that I never will be."
"And when you're marched to the showers with the lot of us?" Rowle smirked. "What are you going to do then?"
"Who says I'll have to go with you?" she raised her eyebrows. "I might be locked up, but I can still bargain, you know. I'd rather fuck a guard than a Death Eater."
Rowle narrowed his eyes on her and Lestrange made a sound in the next cell.
"You made a deal with the likes of Proudfoot and Entwhistle?" he asked. "Tricky little bitch. Didn't think Proudfoot would go for it, but you are a pretty little thing, even if you are a mudblood."
"Proudfoot prefers to follow prison rules that allow female and male prisoners to bathe separately," Hermione smiled. "Entwhistle, on the other hand, thinks with his dick."
"So you bargained not to have to fuck us?" Rowle confirmed. "Oi! Entwhistle!"
"What do you want, Thor?" Entwhistle asked of his former friend, strolling down the row to lean against the bars outside Rowle's cell.
"Is it true you agreed to let her bathe separately so we can't fuck Granger?" Rowle asked when the other man came closer.
"What if I did?" Entwhistle challenged, glancing over at Hermione and shooting her a wink. "Pretty thing like that ruined by the likes of you lot? Please! She'll look better riding my dick than yours."
"Fuck you," Neville growled. "You blackmailed her into it, I'll bet. You're scum."
"You're the murderer, mate," Entwhistle smirked at Neville. "Actually, what about a bath now, eh Granger?"
"I just ate," Hermione groaned. "I would literally vomit all over you if you even tried to make me move."
Entwhistle wrinkled his nose. "Right. Later, then."
"You let her make a deal?" Rowle demanded. "Are you trying to drive us all mad?"
"Course I am, Thor," Entwhistle smirked. "You're already all cracked for following You Know Who, anyway. Won't take much to push you over. That bitch running this place thinks she's torturing Granger surrounding her with the likes of you three fuckers, but I know better. She's going to drive you lot mad before she breaks under the pressure of three schmucks perving on her."
"Fucking cunt," Rowle snarled, punching Entwhistle through the bars before the guard could pull back in time.
"You hit like a woman," Entwhistle teased his former friend even as he reeled from the blow and Hermione wondered how much of it was an act and how much of it was just him having fun with Thorfinn.
"You suck cock like one," Rowle retorted.
"There's no proof of that," Entwhistle said. "But I'll bet she sucks cock like a fucking angel." He jerked his thumb at Hermione. "I'll bet it'll feel fucking awesome when she's deep-throating my cock. I've got a half a mind to do it out here, just to torture you fuckers when I make you watch."
Hermione shuddered at the sinister edge to Entwhistle's voice. She'd made a deal with him to help keep the others off her and she would uphold it, but listening to him talk about her like she wasn't there and like she didn't have feelings or a brain rubbed her the wrong way.
"Hermione, tell me you didn't make a deal with this bastard?" Neville called when she turned away, walking to her window and looking out over the raging North Sea.
"Course she did," Entwhistle answered for her. "Better me than this lot, right Granger?"
"Sure," Hermione said without looking at any of them. "I might be a murderer and a prisoner, but I do have a little dignity."
"Not if you're bartering sex, you don't," Dolohov growled quietly, always keeping pace with her inside his cell. He leaned against the corner of his where it met hers, watching her face as she looked out the window.
"Better the dignity of choosing a deal than the indignity of being raped on the shower floor in every orifice by you twisted bastards," Hermione answered coolly.
"Hermione, no," Neville said, sounding stricken. "We could've protected you. You didn't have to sell yourself short like that."
Hermione pretended not to hear him. She didn't have to look to know the set of eyes burning a hole in her back were George's. He'd shagged her silly just last night and he still cared for her as much as she did for him, but she had to get out of here as unscathed as possible. Besides, her deal only meant she'd get protection for a little while and that she wouldn't have to fuck Carrow. Everyone else was fair game as long as they didn't get too rough.
"Well," Entwhistle said, sounding amused. "Now that you've all got something new and fun to talk about, I'm going to go on back to my game."
"You're a cunt," Thorfinn informed the Auror as he swaggered away. "What the fuck, Princess?"
"What?" Hermione asked innocently.
"You bargained with them not to fuck us? Really?" Lestrange demanded. "I thought you were planning to get knocked up."
"Not with your spawn," Hermione slanted Lestrange a cool look. "Imagine the stigma on that poor child if they carried the surname of a Death Eater."
"You realise we're going to get you, right Princess?" Rowle snarled from behind her. "I thought you were going to play nice, but if you're making deals to avoid us you're both a coward, and a fucking bitch. You'll never get out of here pregnant. We'll make sure of that."
Hermione didn't dare look at him, knowing he meant every word and knowing that as angry as the Death Eaters were at the idea of not getting to fuck her, her fellow Order members were just as angry that she would make a deal with the likes of Entwhistle believing they either couldn't protect her, or couldn't be trusted. As she continued staring out the window, resolutely ignoring all questions and all arguments as the Order and the Death Eaters argued once again, she wished more than anything that things hadn't turned out like this.
