Darkness descended upon the space and Luna settled onto the floor to prepare for her phony siesta. Relaxing her body, she peered at Voldemort through partially closed eyes. She had not looked at him since her peck on his cheek, so she did not know his reaction to the act. Voldemort returned her gaze with a burning one of his own. Luna initially mistook the fire in his expression to anger, but upon closer inspection she realized that it was heat of a different sort— desire. A shiver stole down her spine, and she played it off as a quiver of chilliness. A slight smirk flashed across her face before she closed her eyes and sunk into her performance.
Two hours after Voldemort had shifted into a forced sleeping position, they felt a slight breeze enter the room. Voldemort opened his eyes a fraction of the way and scanned the room in its entirety. The breeze had entered the room through the ceiling, where a large square of brick was splitting down the middle and sliding open to create a hole large enough for a person to enter. A man did enter, sliding down a rope with a large pouch secured at his waist. His silvery blonde hair swayed slightly during his descent and his robes billowed around him. Landing on the floor without a sound, he set about placing the food from the pouch in the same corner he always put it. He placed the jug of water and empty goblet next to the food, then unscrewed a small bottle and poured what must have been Veritaserum into the jug. He surveyed his surroundings, and that is when Voldemort recognized the man— Lucius Malfoy.
Burning anger raged within Voldemort, enough for him to explode and tear Lucius limb from limb; he refrained, however, because of the plan he had devised with Luna. Never before had he considered another person's life or opinions, but he was coming to value hers as much as his own. He had abstained from attacking Lucius because he feared that Luna would be injured in the process, a decision that terrified him.
Lucius climbed the rope, pulling it up once he reached the safety of the top. He walked away from the hole, and a moment later, the ceiling began to close. His presence lingered a few hours longer, reminding Voldemort how close he had been to retribution and to freedom.
Voldemort finally drifted into an uneasy sleep, knowing that he could not discuss his discoveries with Luna until morning. As he slept, he dreamt of the faces of every person he had killed in his lifetime, each vision followed by one of the families that were left behind. It was the first dream Voldemort had in over forty years, and he would remember it until the day he died.