Chapter 738
Repent, Tom
Chapter 738 Repent, Tom
After an unknown amount of time, the screams abruptly stopped.
Slughorn collapsed to the ground, his face covered in tears, snot, and dirt, with white foam oozing from the corners of his mouth. His once carefully cultivated personal image was now completely gone.
He convulsed like a dehydrated fish, his gaze unfocused as he stared at the infant sitting on the high chair, coldly looking down at him.
"Sir, you haven't answered my question yet! Just tell me what I want to know so you won't suffer any more."
Voldemort's anger seemed to have dissipated, and his voice returned to calm:
“I advise you to be smart—the Fidelity Charm is cast here, so don’t think you can buy time and hope that Dumbledore or someone else will come to your rescue.”
Slughorn's unfocused gaze gradually focused, his chapped lips moved slightly, but it was impossible to hear what he was saying.
Voldemort frowned impatiently, pointed his wand, and the old professor's voice finally became loud and clear.
"Splitting your soul... will make your soul... become... become very unstable..."
Slughorn, panting heavily, murmured, "I...I regret it so much...For decades, I've regretted it every single moment...I shouldn't have told you...say those things..."
The Dark Lord's blood-red eyes suddenly narrowed, and his entire face became ferocious and terrifying, yet Slughorn's voice did not stop—
“Confess, repent, Tom… true repentance… only then… can you become whole again…”
Voldemort's already flushed face turned a deep crimson, the veins beneath his skin throbbing like earthworms. He gritted his teeth and growled:
"Heart-piercing, bone-scraping! Heart-piercing, bone-scraping! Heart-piercing, bone-scraping!"
The screams instantly tore through the night sky, the extreme pain tearing at the nerves of the listeners and causing their stomachs to involuntarily spasm.
But Voldemort's lips curled into a pleased smile, and his crimson eyes contracted excitedly at the old professor's pain. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, and once the screams subsided, he didn't hesitate to cast another Cruciatus Curse.
The scene suddenly became chaotic.
Sometimes it's a gloomy graveyard, sometimes a dimly lit dungeon, with the faces of Voldemort and the scarred man flashing alternately.
Slughorn, who was rendered speechless by the Cruciatus Curse, received no kindness whatsoever. Instead, he was hung in the dungeon, where the scarred man repeatedly tortured him with the savage and bloody methods of Muggle torture.
Judging from the fleeting images, he received almost no food and only a small amount of water each time.
They wouldn't let him sleep either; whenever he was about to fall asleep, the scarred man and the tattooed woman would take turns torturing him to keep him awake.
Wade couldn't bear to watch. He closed his eyes, turned his gaze away, and asked in a low voice, "Professor, why didn't Voldemort use Veritaserum?"
"Truth serum doesn't always force the user to tell the truth, especially when the user is a potions master."
Dumbledore said gravely, “A skilled potions master can concoct an antidote to Veritaserum, or increase resistance by taking certain medications. Moreover, Horace can alter his memories, so even after taking Veritaserum, he cannot reveal the truth.”
"That's why he needed such cruel torture," said Wade. "If Mr. Slughorn's will hadn't been completely broken, even if he were willing to talk, Voldemort wouldn't have believed him." Dumbledore sighed deeply.
This wasn't the first time he'd seen this memory, so he managed to maintain a semblance of calm, unlike before when his enraged magic nearly destroyed the Pensieve.
But the principal's eyes reflected those flickering memories, his gaze sharp and pained, his lips uncontrollably twitching downwards, his expression turning cold and terrifying.
After the silver mist flickered violently for a while, the scene stabilized again, turning back into the church that Wade and Harry had visited before.
Slughorn, shackled and tortured beyond recognition, had his hair turned almost entirely white, and his once obese body was now as thin as a skeleton.
His head drooped limply, his pupils dilated into the void, as if he had become an empty shell from which his soul had been ripped away.
After Voldemort waved his wand, Slughorn, with blood and saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth, moved his lips and emitted a mechanical, hoarse sound:
"No one has ever split their soul into seven parts... If you continue, most importantly... the soul within your own body... may very well disintegrate..."
Voldemort's crimson pupils suddenly contracted; those words struck at the deepest fear within him.
After Nagini was destroyed, he wanted to create another Horcrux, but after taking action, he suddenly felt a strong sense of unease.
Creating a Horcrux requires killing someone, but killing someone doesn't necessarily mean you can get a piece of their soul—that's just a prerequisite. You still need to use a more evil spell to separate the damaged soul and seal it in a prepared object.
When Voldemort killed the monastery master, the excruciating pain of his soul being torn apart, and the terrifying feeling that his body was about to fall apart, plunged him into extreme panic.
Without needing any warning, he clearly realized that he could not continue to split apart!
As Voldemort pondered, the old professor's consciousness teetered on the brink of collapse, murmuring under the control of magic:
"But it's possible... it's possible to utilize the already fragmented pieces... without damaging the container... but it's possible... it's possible to guide the soul fragments out... import them, import them into someone's body... control them to kill... and then split that soul fragment again..."
"Is it really possible to do this?" Voldemort asked softly. "Wouldn't splitting a soul that has already been separated damage the precious Horcruxes?"
“That…the person being used…must pour all their emotions into the Horcrux…If the other party…if the other party has a rebellious spirit, the soul fragments may be damaged during the splitting process…But…if…”
Slughorn suddenly sobbed, a slight struggle on his face, as if resisting saying what he was about to say.
Voldemort waved his wand again.
Then, the old professor's expression calmed down again, and he said haltingly:
"If that person... gives their all... then their soul, their life, their magic... everything will become nourishment for the Horcrux..."
"The fragments will become powerful... powerful enough to support a second split..."
Voldemort's face lit up with ecstatic joy, his beastly, ferocious expression almost identical to that of his youth.
(End of this chapter)