Luna awoke to find a very troubled-looking Voldemort, who was staring into space as though deep in thought. She moved to his side, hesitantly placing a hand on his shoulder and alerting him to her presence. He looked down at her, an odd gleam to his red eyes.

"You asked me yesterday if I felt sorry for the murders I've committed. Yesterday I told you I didn't. I wasn't lying yesterday, but if I were to give the same answer today, I would be." He shook his head, looking haunted.

"You feel sorry for the lives you took?" Luna replied, not believing what she was hearing.

"I do." Voldemort was thrown onto his back as an invisible force slammed into his middle. His head cracked onto the floor with a resounding smack! and his face became blank. A thin trickle of blood seeped from under his skull and traveled along an indent in the floor.

Luna rushed to his side, pulling off her robes as she went. Left in her skirt and button-up shirt, she lifted his head with infinite delicacy and placed her robe under it. She checked his eyes, but they were unresponsive. After further inspection, she concluded that his breathing was shallow and his heartbeat was faint. His forehead was blazing with the heat of a fever, so she ripped off one of the sleeves of her shirt and dipped it in the water, placing the cool fabric on his forehead to help with the burning. Not knowing what else she could do to aid him, Luna did what felt most natural to her— worrying.

Three days passed, and Luna did whatever she could to help him heal. She kept her sleeve damp and on his forehead, her robes under his skull, and made sure to pour a little water into his mouth so he did not dehydrate.

The most remarkable changes were happening to Voldemort as he lay unconscious: his skin was gaining color, his nose was growing outward, and black hair was growing atop his head, threaded with silver. He was becoming more human, though Luna had no idea how such a feat was possible. Magic was not allowed inside the room, but it was happening before her very eyes.

Finally, in the early hours of the fourth morning, Voldemort stirred. Luna leapt to her knees and looked down at his face, checking to make sure he was alright. In the days that she had taken care of him, Luna had plenty of time to recall the moments they had shared together. She concluded that, despite his firm beliefs, she loved him. She loved how he became so strong despite his damaged past, that he could still be a whole person with a broken soul, that he trusted her above all others. She loved that his favorite candy was Bertie Bott's Every-Flavor Beans, even though he could not taste anything; he enjoyed the surprises they held within.

Voldemort's eyes fluttered open— his brown eyes, no longer blood red. He looked at Luna and a small smile appeared on his lips, fuller since his transformation, and there was a happy shine to his pupils.

"Welcome back," Luna said, unable to contain the tears filling her eyes or the hysteric laughter bubbling from behind her lips, "I've been worried about you."

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he replied, his voice containing a deeper baritone undercurrent. He smiled, a full smile stretching his lips to either side of his face. "While I was gone I had been thinking of you. About everything, really, but of you especially."

He struggled to a sitting position, the back of his head throbbing slightly. Recognizing the change in his voice, he inspected the rest of his body. He held his hands in front of him, noticing the pinkish tint to the skin. Feeling his face, his fingertips bumped the pointed nose where only slits had been before. His fingers moved upward, where he encountered thin eyebrows, and farther north to where there was a full head of thick hair. He was astonished by the changes in his appearance, and looked to Luna for answers.

"You've been unconscious for about four days, and I have no idea how you transformed the way you did. How do you feel?" Luna looked at Voldemort as though the answer was going to appear on his forehead.

"Better. Whole," he replied, meaning every word. "You gave me water with the Veritaserum, didn't you?"

Luna's eyes widened as she vaguely replied, "Of course I did, you would have died without it, and I wasn't going to let that happen."

Voldemort thought about her answer, concluding that she had to give him the liquid. He gazed into her eyes, the dreamy orbs dancing with light. His transformation had been painful, as though he had swallowed a gallon of Polyjuice Potion, but there was comforting warmth that accompanied it. Voldemort had an inkling of what had happened to him, but he was not sure he was ready to accept that particular truth. If his soul had reassembled, it meant he was as vulnerable as any mortal being, and he had a hard time accepting that notion. But as he looked at Luna, a girl who lived each day without fear of her life ending, he gained confidence in his survival. If he were ever successful in breaking free of his prison, that is.

"I say we execute our plan of escape tonight, now that I'm fully recovered," he said to Luna, leaning towards her in excitement.

A flicker of something— disappointment?— flashed across her features, but she quickly masked it before smiling at him. "Sounds good to me," she replied.

In that moment, Voldemort thought Luna was beautiful. It was possibly a trick of the light, or disorientation from the knot in the back of his head, but Voldemort could not stop believing in her beauty. He leaned forward, cautiously, and placed a soft kiss upon her lips. She reacted, applying more pressure, and Voldemort erupted. He slid his arms around her waist, noting that his skin was no longer cold enough to cause her to shiver. She tangled her hands in his hair, angling her head for deeper contact. She slid her tongue along his lips, silently asking permission for entrance.

Voldemort's lips parted, but he was unsure of what to do next. He had never actually kissed someone before, and he was nervous about proceeding. But when Luna's tongue swooped into his mouth, he stopped worrying. Her taste— taste, something he never believed he would experience again— enveloped him, drawing him closer to her. Their tongues danced in rhythm, swooping and twisting to their owners' silent music.

Luna pulled back, placing a small kiss on his lips before retreating to her personal space. Voldemort smiled, excited about the events that had just taken place. The kiss had told him things he was afraid to believe, but thrilled at the same time. He felt affection in her lips, desire on her tongue, and he was sure he had reciprocated the same to her. Voldemort must have gained the pieces of his soul, because he could not feel emotions as pure as these with only a portion of his soul inside his body.

Luna's dreamy voice drifted in his direction as she said, "I was struggling with whether or not I should tell you this, but as it's our last night in the room, I feel it's appropriate. Voldemort, Tom, whatever you're answering to now, I love you. I realized it as you were lying unconscious, and though I know you believe you are incapable of being loved, I do love you."

Voldemort's heart swelled as he heard these words. It was painful to have emotions such as these, but it was a good ache. He searched his soul to give the appropriate response. "That makes me happy," he replied, "and I am glad to know that I have experienced love in my lifetime. I don't know if I'm capable of giving love in return, but I do feel… something… for you: affection and fondness, and quite a bit of desire. That may be as close to love as I can get."

"I didn't expect anything in return, honestly, but I appreciate it. Receiving anything that you're able to give is special enough for me," she responded.

They gazed at each other a moment more, then set about getting ready to execute their operation. As they lay down, they could not resist peeking at each other during moments in the night. Luna was content with her love for Voldemort, and Voldemort was thankful that she did not demand of him something he was unsure he could give.