When Luna awoke the next morning, the sun had yet to rise; Voldemort, however, already had. Luna worked at her stiff muscles, stretching until she heard the satisfactory crack of her spine. Then she turned to the man before her, gave him a small smile, and stood. The light in the room was very dim, but the moonlight was strong enough that it reached the inner walls of the chamber. Luna could make out shapes in the dark, and she knew that the large shadow on the opposite wall was Voldemort.
Her nose was telling her that there had been a visitor in the night; she could smell food coming from the far left corner of the dwelling. She navigated towards the sustenance, careful not to step on anything— especially not any body part that was connected to Voldemort. When she reached the source of the smells, she was delighted to find an assortment of fruits, vegetables, meats, and cheeses. A jug of water sat to the left of all of the food and two goblets had been placed before the jug.
Luna helped herself to some grapes, ham, and asparagus. Pouring herself a gobletful of water, she moved back to her spot on the opposite wall and began to eat. As she enjoyed her breakfast, Voldemort watched her warily. He was hungry, of course, but he did not dare touch any of the food or drink until he was certain he would not be poisoned. The girl was foolish for accepting the food so eagerly; after all, she had no way of knowing what extra ingredients were inserted into the food. Her stupidity was Voldemort's gain, however, because she had unknowingly become his taste-tester. He would wait a few days to eat, making sure that she stayed alive and well before he laid a finger on any of the meal. If, after that time, she had survived, he would begin to feed.
"How did you get here?" Luna asked suddenly, her gaze lifting from the grapes and slowly making its way towards Voldemort. "I came by Portkey; it was a Bertie Bott's bag."
Voldemort was surprised; he did not expect the girl to begin speaking to him so suddenly, and conversationally, as well. He did not answer her, but instead looked away from her as though he were ignoring her very presence. Unperturbed, Luna continued speaking.
"I'm Luna, in case you were wondering. You're the Dark Lord, of course. We're told in the wizarding world not to say your name. I don't mind not saying it; to be honest, I don't think it's that great of a name anyway. Clever, though, how you rearranged the letters of your original name." Her voice had a dream-like quality, as though she were speaking to someone inside her head rather than the wizard sitting before her.
Luna continued talking all day, about her father, her mother's accident, Harry and her other friends at school, and about how many people consider her to be too eccentric for their tastes. Voldemort never looked at her, but he listened to every word. He was determined, as was his nature, to learn as much as possible about the girl. As long as she continued to spill her secrets, Voldemort would be able to find out exactly how she operated. Finally, her throat became sore from all of the talking, so she ceased her monologue and resumed eating the food in the corner.
"Do you always talk that much?" Voldemort asked, sparing Luna a glance.
"Only when no one else has something to say," Luna replied with a half-smile, as though she were enjoying a private joke to which she alone knew the punch line.
Voldemort catalogued the information in his mind; he had grown suspicious of her honesty, because he was so used to dealing with people who lied and tried to hide information from him. To know that she was a genuinely honest person comforted him as much as it unnerved him.
Telling Voldemort all of that information had felt a little strange, considering who she was talking to, but everything she had said was true; her honesty included the fact that she talked whenever someone else did not want to. She rationalized that she would have told him all of this eventually, and saying all of it on the first day was helpful. If she could tell him everything about herself first, maybe he would share some of the details of his life. He was the most intriguing person she had heard of, apart from the man who first introduced her father to the idea of the nargles. Being able to learn about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would be an amazing way to discover why he was so determined to perform acts of unspeakable evil.
Luna curled up on the floor, using her robes as a pillow. She fell asleep quickly, easily, as though her imprisonment were nothing but a vacation. Voldemort stayed awake a few hours longer, making sure that he would not be susceptible to attack. Long ago he had discovered how to survive on a couple hours of sleep per night, enabling him to minimize the vulnerability that slumber presents.
Voldemort pondered the girl that lay before him. When he thought her an enigma, he had judged far too quickly; she was an enigma, wrapped in a puzzle, topped with a heaping scoop of mystery. He understood why students found her strange— she was brilliant, but not in the traditional sense. The maturity that she gained at such a young age was not seen very often, especially in the wizarding world. She was a worthy opponent, not to Voldemort, of course, but to some of his more skilled followers. He would have to keep a close watch over her, making sure that she did not strike when he was unprepared. Content with his observation, Voldemort leaned his head against the wall and sunk into a light sleep.