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Harry's POV

Voldemort spun a tale of misery and loneliness, threading together the lives of many people, including my own.

He had never known his parents, dumped at an orphanage as his mother died from childbirth. He had no friends and spent most of his time alone, in his room.

Then Dumbledore visited him and offered him a place at Hogwarts. Tom Riddle Jr had found his place in the world. He craved knowledge, and soon he was immersed in the Dark Arts, thanks to a few Slytherins in his year. Tom was best at it, so he was the one to follow, the one to fear most. He liked it. In the orphanage, no one really paid attention to him, not even the 'Matron', who was a very nice lady, but a bit batty.

I had no idea that Voldemort had it bad. I had never thought about it before. Not that it really mattered.

In his fourth year, Tom met a girl. Her name was Tally and she was in Ravenclaw. They happened to need the same book at exactly the same time. There, in the library, Tom Riddle began to fall in love. His friends in Slytherin disapproved of his affections, but he didn't care. All he cared about was her. One of his cronies got so angry, that one night, he ambushed Tally and killed her. That was the day that Tom Riddle died, and Lord Voldemort was born. The rage he flew into pushed him further and further into the Dark Arts. The first murder he made was via the Basilisk.

"The one Harry killed four years ago?" Ron asked.

"You killed her?" Voldemort was shocked. "Why?"

"Well," I said defensively "she tried to kill me after sixteen year old you set her on me."

Voldemort huffed and looked away. There was a certain sadness in his eyes, like he had lost a friend.

"Myrtle knew it was me who commanded the Basilisk, but she never told, I don't know why."

"Maybe she has a thing for guys with black hair" Ron snickered, glancing at me.

I winced and lightly punched his shoulder, as he was sitting close to me.

Since then, Voldemort graduated and spent a year working at Borgin and Burkes, delivering parcels and packages. Mr Borgin took a liking to him and they spent lonely hours in the shop, discussing the Dark items in store. He then spent a year travelling, learning more about the Dark Arts, doing a favor here and there to gain allies. When he returned to Britain, he was more dark and powerful than he had ever been. He decided to make use of the knowledge Professor Slughorn had so kindly let slip and he began to make Horcruxes. The first victim was a homeless muggle, someone no one would miss. The man begged for mercy, but by this time Voldemort had no feelings and killed him.

I stared at the Dark wizard unable to speak. How could anyone be so cruel? Tears were rolling down his cheeks. If I had looked round at the rest of the room, I was sure at least Hermione and Tonks would be crying. But I couldn't tear my eyes from the wreck in front of me.

"It's best if I don't think about it right now, the victims I mean." He shuddered.

"Why not?" McGonagall asked sharply.

"When someone makes a Horcrux" he began, " their soul is ripped into two pieces. One is stored away, in an object of some sort, the other remains in the body. I made seven, as it is the strongest magical number. the only way to make ones soul whole again, is to feel remorse, for every single murder. It is excruciatingly painful, and the person should have the objects in their possesion. I neither have the Horcruxes, or the bravery to do it right now. Distance makes the transition more painful and less likely to succeed."

McGonagall looked absolutely horrified. She sat with her hand on her heart, breathing hard. Funny, I wouldn't have pegged her as squeamish.

"So what made you request this meeting?" I asked, still confused as to why he was telling us all this.

He sighed. "I was content with my life, trying to destroy you, Potter. Until Lucius Malfoy forced me into using his son. He is a very troubled boy, he only wants to please his father. Growing up, he never got any praise from anyone but his mother. Watching him turned my stone cold heart warm again."

He looked pointedly at Hermione, who gasped, blushed and shook her head.

"How can you know? You can't! You just can't!" Everyone was staring at her now.

"What, Hermione?" I demanded. "What does he know?"

He grimaced and looked at Hermione again. "If you don't tell him, then I will." He raised his thin blonde eyebrows, a challenge.

She buried her face in her hands. "You do it."

Voldemort moved his hand slightly, as if to pat her on the shoulder.

"Draco fell, just as I did for Tally. But he fell for his complete opposite, Miss Granger here."

My head whipped round to face Hermione, as did everyone else, but Voldemort was still talking.

"He kept his feelings secret since foruth year, the Yule Ball I think. When I visited Malfoy Manor, I found a picture under his pillow."

Hermione peeped out from behind her hands. She peered at me to see what I thought of this new revelation. I wasn't even sure how I felt about it. I was in shock, I think.