Confess, Tom

After an unknown length of time, the screams came to an abrupt stop.

Slughorn collapsed limply on the ground, his face smeared with tears, snot, and dirt. White foam spilled from the corners of his mouth, and the carefully maintained image he had once cultivated was utterly gone.

He convulsed like a fish out of water, his unfocused gaze fixed on the baby sitting high above him, looking down with icy indifference.

"Sir, you still haven't answered my question! Tell me what I want sooner, and you'll spare yourself even more suffering."

It seemed Voldemort had vented his anger. His voice returned to calmness.

"I advise you to be smart—this place is protected by the Fidelius Charm, so don't think of stalling for time and hoping Dumbledore or anyone else will come save you."

Slughorn's vacant eyes gradually focused. His cracked lips moved slightly, but what he said could not be heard clearly.

Voldemort frowned impatiently and pointed his Wand. The old professor's voice finally became loud enough to hear.

"Splitting... splitting the soul... will make your soul... become... become very unstable..."

Slughorn gasped harshly and muttered, "I... I regret it... For decades, I've regretted it every moment... I shouldn't have told you... told you those things..."

The Dark Lord's blood-red eyes suddenly narrowed, and his entire face became vicious and terrifying. Yet Slughorn's voice did not stop—

"Confess, confess, Tom... Truly confess... Only then... only then can you become whole again..."

Voldemort's already flushed face seemed to darken to a deep crimson. Veins beneath his skin writhed like earthworms as he gritted his teeth and growled,

"Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!"

The screams instantly tore through the night sky. Those cries of extreme agony savagely clawed at the listeners' nerves, making their stomachs cramp involuntarily.

Yet a pleased curve appeared on