The interior of the cabin was one room, smaller than Draco's bedroom at the Manor. A fluffy sofa faced a roaring fire just inside the door. Something delicious smelling simmered on the stove against the back wall, and a bed was in the opposite corner. His stomach rumbled.

Luna giggled. "It's chicken soup. Muggles believe it has healing properties. It actually does. Hermione told me there's some chemical in it that's good for your breathing passages. But I think that the more powerful properties are because it's made with love. You make it for the ones you love. That's what makes it effective against the bandenbruits."

"The what?" he asked, already lifting the lid on the pot.

"Bandenbruits. They're like wrackspurts, except instead of making your brain just fuzzy, they put negative thoughts and feelings into it." She laid a hand on his arm. "Your head is full of them. That's what makes you think you're a bad person, but you're really not."

Draco wasn't in the mood to argue the fact that he was, actually a bad person, so he silently spooned two bowls of soup, and found freshly baked bread, still warm, in the oven. He carried them over to the fire, where he and Luna ate in silence. When they finished, she took the bowls back to the kitchen area. She returned to find him on the sofa, scowling into the fire. She knelt on the cushion beside him, putting both arms around him and laying her head on his shoulder. When he didn't move after several minutes, she gently turned his head to face her.

"You really aren't. You are not a bad person." She insisted softly.

He yanked his sleeve up angrily and shoved his forearm at her. "Do you see this?" he spat. "THIS! This right here shows that I AM a bad person."

Luna gently laid her hand on the Dark Mark. "No, the wizard who put that mark on your arm was evil. You, Draco Malfoy, have a beautiful soul."

She looked at him so earnestly that he willed himself to believe her, even if only for her sake. He knew that no matter what he had done in his lifetime, and would do in the future, saving Luna would always his best accomplishment. The world needed her light.

She still looked at him as if she could see into his soul and wasn't repulsed by what was there. He lowered his head slowly, and she lifted hers, parting her lips slightly. He kissed her softly, with more care and tenderness than thought he possibly had in him. She reached up, threading her hands into his hair and slipping her tongue between his lips. With a groan, he yanked her against him, and in the space of a heartbeat they were a tangle of limbs and lips and clothing and she was on her back and he was on top of her and he should take her to the bed but to hell with that because this sofa was doing quite nicely and her lips were on his collarbone and her hand, oh shit, and he gasped her name and she told him not to stop and bloody hell she was a virgin and he had been much too rough with her but when he tried to pull back she breathed his name and bucked against him and he's so close and she moaned and tightened around him and Luna, oh shit, Luna I love you.

He collapsed with his face against her neck. When their breathing slowed, he raised his head, almost afraid to look at her.

She smiled at him dreamily, as if she knew the most amazing secret. She tilted her head up, kissed the end of his nose, and whispered "I know you do."

He rose and gently, almost reverently, carried her over to the bed. He lay down beside her, and for hours or maybe it was only minutes, looked into her eyes, silently reveling in the feeling that for the first time, only time in his life, his soul felt whole.

The rain had long ago stopped, the sun came out, and was starting to set. She kissed his nose again and whispered "I wish we could stay right here, just like this, forever."

He sighed. "You deserve so much better than me."

"You're exactly what I want, Draco Malfoy."

She kissed him again. He made love to her again, slowly, tenderly, committing every detail to the memories that would last the rest of his life.

They fell asleep cradled together as the last traces of light fled from the cabin. He awoke as the first traces of sunlight reached the windows. He slipped out of bed quietly and dressed in the pre-dawn light.

Walking back to the bed, he looked at her as long as he dared, memorizing how sweet and peaceful and unconcerned she looked in sleep. He slipped his signet ring off and placed it in her palm, curling her fingers around it, and placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

Resolutely, willing himself not to turn back to her side, he walked out the front door of the cabin and apparated back to the Manor. It was time, as Professor McGonagall said, to face the music. He would wait for the Ministry to come for him.

Because they would come for him.