The next few days continued in the same fashion as the first; Luna talked and ate, Voldemort secretly took in every bit of information while pretending not to notice the girl, and they continued with the same sleeping habits. Finally, after Luna had told Voldemort every detail about herself, and had survived the food and drink, Voldemort allowed himself to feast. He ate the meats, the fruits, and the vegetables, not tasting any of it, and drank deeply from a water-filled goblet.
Stuffed to capacity, he sat against the wall and reveled in the fullness of his stomach. Luna appeared to be deep in thought, a faraway look in her eyes that spoke of countless notions zooming through her brain. Suddenly her eyes moved to look at Voldemort's face, and her voice drifted dreamily across the room as she said, "What was your childhood like?"
"My mother died, too," Voldemort blurted out suddenly, with no real reason or rationality. A shocked look crossed his face before he quickly masked it. Yet he felt the need to tell Luna about his mother's death. He also wanted to tell her about how he had felt so unwanted when he realized that his father was still alive. He wanted to tell her about the promise he made to himself on that fateful day in the orphanage when Dumbledore told him that he was special. He had promised never to let anyone make him feel inferior, because he was special and he deserved to be wanted, feared, and admired by everyone around him.
Realizing what had happened, and promising that he would never drink from a goblet that he himself did not prepare, Voldemort leapt to his feet. Veritaserum was a tricky potion, and that he had no ability of tasting its presence hindered him in a way that he was not prepared to handle. Yet, try as he did, Voldemort could not stop the words from spilling from him.
"She was a witch, you see, but she was weak. Her unrequited love for a Muggle weakened her to the point where she was practically Muggle herself. Then she got pregnant with me, and he ran off. She was so weak that she couldn't even stay alive for her own son. She was too selfish to fight for her life, because living meant having to live with the rejection. But I lived, and I lived with rejection from both of them. That's why I'm so strong, because I survived rejection."
For over fifty years, Voldemort had kept that secret inside. He made sure that no one knew why he had to become so strong, why he had to conquer so much. Of course, fate ruled that he tell it to a girl whom he had met only a few days ago, under the influence of a Truth Serum, in a small dungeon room. He spoke of all of the things he did not want to tell her, but felt he needed to or he would die. For hours he spoke, as the sun descended and darkness enveloped the room, and still he had more to say. His voice tapered to silence as the potion wore off, and when he was finished, he looked at Luna once more.
Throughout Voldemort's confession, Luna remained pensive. She heard every word that he said, taking it all in and processing it. She could not believe that he had to go through his whole life believing that he was not wanted. It made sense as to why he had so much hatred in his heart, why it was so difficult for him to battle Harry: Voldemort had never known love. Harry, who had also lived without his parents, was surrounded by love— smothered by it, really. Voldemort, however, had no love in his heart. Luna wanted to say something to him, anything to let him know that she understood, but she knew it was not the right time for heartfelt sympathy. If Voldemort did not know love, then he certainly knew no sympathy.
In the end, Luna just nodded her head, moving on to the next thought in her mind. She thought of her father, and what he must be feeling as he tried to locate her whereabouts. He would be so worried, probably telling the Ministry that she was kidnapped. They would not believe him, not crazy old Xeno. Luna was perfectly fine with people believing that she was off her rocker, because they didn't understand her; she worried about her father and the sadness that emanated from him whenever someone laughed in his face.
Deciding that her thoughts could wait until morning, Luna lay down on her robes and curled her feet under herself. She drifted into sleep, dreaming of a little boy who looked into a window display. Instead of toys, however, the store sold loving parents. The boy's pockets were empty, and he was unable to take a parent home.