Chapter 6: Realization
Voldemort sat on the forest floor, lost in thought. He tried to make sense of what the veela had said. What could she mean, and how was he supposed to listen to his heart, when he hadn't done so for almost all his life? He sighed, and buried his head in his hands. There was so much pain now, so much misery. It felt like his heart was about to explode. So much pain.
He didn't know how long he had been sitting there in the grass, but at last, he got up. He couldn't be sitting there to the end of the days, though he wanted to. As he was walking down one of the paths, he felt that something wasn't how it was supposed to be, there in the woods. He couldn't put his finger on it; it was just a normal quiet wood. Wait! That was it! It was too quiet! He hadn't heard a single sound expect from himself and the veela. Not a cheerful chirp from a bird, not the running of a deer. How strange…
He didn't know where to go, but he started to walk anyway. Suddenly he stopped, and gasped. An image had popped up in his head. It was the image of a young man lying curled up like a ball by a lake. He was thin and his skin was a pale and sickly grey. He had long brown shabby greasy messy hair, and was cowered in dirt. "Quirrel!" Voldemort gasped.