Draco spent the rest of the night in the library, not because he had anything to read in there, but because it was far enough from Luna that he would not have to think about her (though he still did) and close enough to Astoria that if she came out and seemed as though she might be making her way to the room where Luna was, he would be able to stop her before she got too close to their houseguest. He sat at one of the tables, with a book in front of him so that he might justify to Astoria why he had picked this place to sit if she happened to come in and ask, and pondered the fact that a girl he barely knew – except from her being trapped inside his basement years ago – was now in his spare room.

How in the Hell have I managed to get into this?

Draco was disgusted with himself. He was a Malfoy, for the love of Merlin! What was be doing offering charity to some poor, stupid girl like Luna Lovegood? He should have sent her straight to St. Mungo's – or better, hexed her for being on his property in the first place. He didn't have to take her in as though he had some sort of responsibility to her – in fact, he shouldn't! She wasn't his responsibility, even if he had wronged her back when he was only seventeen years old. He had wronged Harry Potter and Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley too, and he wouldn't have let them into his house! Not ever, not in a thousand years! If he had seen one of them wandering in the gardens and destroying his wife's rosebushes (even when he, Draco, was angry with his wife) he would have given them a good cursing and made sure they never came back. He would have called the authorities on them. He would most certainly not have invited them into his home.

So why had he invited in Luna?

He was probably making one of the worst mistakes of his life, he thought bitterly. She was probably going to steal everything she could lay her grubby little hands on…

But, then, maybe not. He hadn't known Luna Lovegood well when they had been at school, and even when she was locked in the cellar, he had never really had much to do with her other than bringing her food and occasionally feeling sorry for her and wondering what it would take to get her out without being persecuted by the Death Eaters for insubordination. He didn't know the kind of girl she was, but if he had had to guess, he wouldn't have supposed she was the type to steal.

She looked too damnably pure to steal.

She looked like someone who would fold their hands carefully in their lap and gaze into space with perhaps a dazed little grin and never even realise that there were valuables nearby. She looked like someone that he'd like to smack upside the head, he thought angrily.

But he didn't, really. He didn't want to hurt her. That would be cruel – she was clearly mad, after all, and it would have been terribly rude of him to hit a madwoman. It would be un-gentlemanly, and, if nothing else, Draco tried to be a gentleman where he could.

Especially since the war and the damage it had by necessity done to his reputation…

"Draco, darling? What are you doing up?"

Draco had been so engrossed in his musings about Luna Lovegood that he had not noticed his wife's footsteps, and did not realise that she was standing by his shoulder until he spoke. The sound of her voice made him jump, and he whirled around, heart pounding, terrified that she had found Luna until he saw that her expression contained no anger, only bland concern.

"Oh… Astoria," he said, trying to stop his heart from hammering. "I couldn't sleep…"

"Why not, love?"

"I don't like sleeping in a bed without you," he lied smoothly. It was easy to say, and Astoria beamed when she heard it.

"Draco, love, I'm so terribly sorry about our fight last night," she said, sitting down beside him and reaching out to take his hand. "I should not be so suspicious – I love you, you know…"

"I know," Draco said, though he was thinking no, no you don't, Astoria, you little shrew. You don't love me – you just hate fights more. Because you have no spine.

"I don't like being angry," she whispered, batting her lashes in his direction. "You know that. When I start treating you that way… really, Draco, you ought to just tell me off."

"I don't like telling you off, my sweet." He was still forcing lies, and they tasted bitter on his tongue. He wouldn't have to lie to Luna, he thought suddenly, and then hurried to cast the thought aside. How could he even consider being in this situation with Luna Lovegood? She was a wholly different woman from Astoria, with different interests and different ways of fighting (he was sure) and to compare them did no one any good. Moreover, he thought, and felt a flush creeping up the back of his neck, he was not married to Luna Lovegood.

Thank God.

"Now let's not ever fight anymore," Astoria said, as though it were that simple. They had made pacts of that nature in the past, and the promise not to fight never held up for longer than a few days, and then Draco would come home too late for Astoria's satisfaction and she would accuse him of infidelity once again, and the promise would be forgotten. But he could not say that to her, because she was his wife, and to say that would be to sound ungrateful, and rude, and yes, un-gentlemanly.

"Of course, love," he said. "Let's never fight again."

It was a hollow promise, and it matched the hollow feeling that was growing in the pit of Draco's stomach with every passing second in which he looked at Astoria. He wanted her to leave so that he did not have to see her anymore and perhaps go visit Luna instead…

What was he thinking?

What did it say of him that he would rather spend his day with an insane woman than with his own wife?

"I'm going to go out with Pansy today," Astoria said, standing up and breaking the awkward silence that had settled between them. "We're going out shopping… if that's all right with you, I mean," she added, and despite their promise, made only seconds ago, not to fight, Draco thought he noted a touch of scorn in her voice.

"Yes, of course it's all right," he told her. "Have a good time," he added as she began for the door, but he was thinking only I do hope that this will allow me some time with Luna.

The time before Astoria left for her shopping trip with Pansy seemed to last forever. Draco hung about the kitchen while she prepared her breakfast and a pot of coffee (if he had had his way, he would have house-elves doing it, but Astoria insisted that house-elves were going out of fashion and that people keeping them were being branded as slave drivers – no thanks to that thorn in both Draco and Astoria's sides, Hermione Granger, and her stupid little "Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare"). But, at long last, Astoria stepped into her shoes and pulled on her cloak and said not to expect her back for dinner, and then fluttered out, and Draco was alone in the house with Luna Lovegood at last.

He stood in the doorway, staring after his wife for a moment, then bolted for the room where he had left Luna during the night. He could not remember ever running so fast, his feet pounding against the floorboards at such a pace that it was a wonder he did not slip and fall and break every bone in his body. More than once he had to grab onto the walls to keep his balance. The portraits stared at him with profound confusion while he ran, but he paid them no mind, and wrenched open the door, almost falling in. He had no idea what it was that was drawing him to her so strongly that he could not bear the idea of walking, but it was something.

Luna was lying upon the bed – asleep, Draco could only assume – with her arms and legs stretched out to the sides. It – the bed – was of such a size that she was not quite reaching the edges, even with her limbs all fully extended. Her hair was spread upon the pillow around her head as though she were lying, drowned, in water, and her eyes were shut. Draco was reminded of a Muggle poem that Astoria had told him about once, about a lady who was loved by no one, and so she laid herself in a boat and floated herself down the river to die. Luna looked the way that Draco had pictured that lady – but still, he thought, with a bit of an odd, infuriating, serene little smile on her lips.

"Luna…" Draco said, rather tentatively. His heart was suddenly beating quickly once again… and what for? Why was he nervous? This was stupid, he chided himself.

"Yes, Draco?" she said, not opening her eyes, startling him a little bit.

He swallowed, then said, "I…" He had meant to say I think I should take you to St. Mungo's – that was certainly what he had thought would be the best thing to say, but he could not quite bring the words to his mouth.

Luna sat up slowly, her hair rippling down over her shoulders. Her head turned and she seemed to look straight at Draco, though her eyes were still closed. He felt a surge of uneasiness – it seemed to him, at that moment, as though Luna Lovegood was able to look into the very depths of his soul. Maybe she could… He had heard stories about people with a talent – real talent, not the rubbish that students were expected to believe of their divination teachers – for seeing into people's hearts, their minds, and especially their souls going mad from all the secrets and information that they knew. Perhaps Luna Lovegood had acquired such a skill, and that was how it had come to be that she had turned from the bright, quirky little girl he had seen when they were at school to this eerie little waif.

But then she opened her eyes again, and they were quite ordinary, and bore no signal of holding deep, troubling secrets.

"I…" he began again.

"Do you love your wife very much?" Luna interrupted. Her voice was suddenly quite as bright and cheerful as he had ever heard it, and somehow, that unnerved him just as much as hearing her speak in troubled, quiet tones. "Do you love Astoria?"

"Yes," Draco said immediately. He did not pause to give it even a second thought – how could he? If he did, then he might hesitate, and might not be able to answer yes… and yes was the only appropriate answer that he could give to this question.

"Please don't lie to me," she said softly, and once again, Draco wondered whether it was possible that she was seeing into his soul. How else could she know that he was lying? Surely he was not so obvious as to give it away merely from his body language, or the fact that he was keeping her here without his wife's knowledge. But Luna was looking straight at him, and he felt quite certain that no matter what he said right now, she would know the truth – the whole truth – and manage to get it out of him in some way or another.

Draco swallowed hard, fighting the urge to display panic upon his face. "I… love my wife," he repeated, though he was well aware of the uncertainty in his tone.

"Do you love her more than anything in the world?" Luna asked him, and he noticed a very defined sadness in those wide, grey eyes, though he knew not why it was there.

"I love her… I love her as any husband should love his wife," Draco said, trying to give diplomatic answers without simply lying. It was not easy.

"But you're unfaithful to her."

"I am not!" he protested. "I've never laid a hand on another woman, not since we were married, and–" fresh anger seethed in his core, making him clench his fists against it, "and you will not accuse me! You don't have any evidence!"

"I know that you've thought about me," Luna said, and Draco's stomach sank once again. "I know that you're thinking of me right now."

"How do you know that?" he whispered, then winced for not denying it.

"I know a lot of things, Draco Malfoy…" Luna whispered, rising up onto her knees onto the bed and moving forward, touching his cheeks with fingers scarred from the thorns of last night's roses and as cold as ice against his skin.

"You're mad! Mad! I'll… I'll take you to St. Mungo's and have you thrown in with the Longbottoms!"

"No, you won't," Luna said dreamily. She let her hands fall, and sank back against her pillows. "If I'm gone, who are you going to think about when your wife isn't being the way you'd like her to be?"

"I could find someone else!"

"But you won't."

Draco fell silent, and stared at Luna. She shut her eyes again, stretching out upon the pillows, and he watched her, both profoundly confused as to what to do, and with a growing touch of an idea in the back of his mind.

He had not been unfaithful to Astoria because it would be a stain upon his reputation. Women gossiped, and Draco feared the power one would have if she decided to let slip that she was in Draco Malfoy's bed. It would be an incredibly fast way to destroy any credibility he had managed to build up since the war.

But Luna Lovegood… Luna Lovegood would not gossip. Luna Lovegood, he thought, more than a little vindictively, did not even have friends to gossip to. If he decided that he wanted her, then his secret would be as safe as it could ever be with anybody…

And why shouldn't he want her, and why shouldn't he have just exactly what he wanted?

Luna's eyes had opened again, and she was watching him, and she began to smile. It was a bright, quite cheery smile, and to Draco, it seemed all but an invitation.

He leaned warily forward and knelt upon the bed, a part of him still expecting some catch, but Luna said nothing as he got closer and closer to her, and when he took a deep breath, pushed all thoughts of Astoria out of his mind, and pressed his lips against hers, her only response was a soft, pleased sigh.

Draco raised one hand to grip Luna's breast through her fluttery white dress. He felt her nipple go hard under his hand, and she gasped.

Yes, Draco thought. He most certainly wanted her…