She let herself go at that.  It had gotten easier to fight the urge to slip into mindless delight at his touch, but there was a sense of unutterable relief at just letting the thrall take her.  Some part of her mind whispered this was dangerous.  He could do anything to her when she was like this and she’d just coo at him that he was wonderful, but she did trust him.  She trusted him not because of this disease that had somehow altered her very being into a creature told her to, but because she knew he was, at his core, utterly reliable.  He’d served the Death Eaters and Voldemort to save his parents even though it had almost broken him.  He’d do anything to save her.  He would never, ever hurt her.