The shack was small enough already. Rowan wasn’t exactly afraid of small spaces — clearly she wasn’t, seeing as she’d survived far worse — but in her fatigue, finding him suddenly in front of her, made her rethink that fear. She could distinctly feel her heart pounding in her chest as she stared up at him. Something in the back of her mind told her to stay where she was though, and she watched as his hand came up to press behind her ears. Her throat suddenly felt dry. She tried to focus on her breathing; steady and deep. But there was a sensation that was collecting somewhere around the small of her back, warm and coiling. So instead she focused on his voice and his explanation.

She figured it would feel at least uncomfortable. The thought of someone delving into her mind hardly sounded like a nap in the sun, especially when that someone was Malfoy. She needed to stay calm. Needed to quash that instinct to fight.

That might be a problem seeing as often when in the presence of Malfoy, her instinct was to fight him. However, lately that urge had softened somewhat. She knew she could trust him with her life, at least. Wasn’t that enough for him to be able to get in and get what she needed? Again, she had no time to ponder the answer. His fingers brushed into her hair in the path that the pain would take if she resisted. For one mad moment, Rowan wanted to lean into his hands even further; tell him she didn’t want to do any of this and to forget the past year. Instead, she set her jaw and continued to hold his gaze, no matter how much that sensation coiling in her spine was telling her to melt into him. “I can handle that.” She responded quietly, nodding. The subtle motion caused a stray lock of hair to brush against her skin and tickle her cheek. “I trust you.”

And she meant it. She had to trust him. There was no other option.

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