Hogwarts: Even Voldemort Can't Stop Me From Studying

Chapter 888: Chapter 259: Repent, Tom

After an unknown amount of time, the screams suddenly ceased.

Slughorn collapsed onto the ground, his face covered with tears, snot and dirt, mouth foaming, his once meticulously maintained appearance was completely gone.

He convulsed like a dehydrated fish, his eyes unfocused as he stared at the infant seated high in the chair, coldly gazing down at him.

”Sir, you still haven’t answered my question! Speak out the things I want earlier, and spare yourself more suffering.”

Voldemort’s anger seemed to have been vented, his voice returned to calmness:

”I advise you to be smart—I’ve cast the Fidelius Charm here, so don’t think you can stall for time in hopes that Dumbledore or someone else will come to save you.”

Slughorn’s unfocused gaze gradually focused, his cracked lips slightly moved, but what he said was inaudible.

Annoyed, Voldemort frowned and pointed his wand, finally making the old professor’s voice loud and clear.

”Splitting the soul... will make your soul... become... become very unstable...”

Slughorn gasped, murmuring, ”I... I regret it... for decades, I’ve been regretting every moment... shouldn’t have told you... told you those things back then...”

The Dark Lord’s blood-red eyes abruptly contracted, his face turned terrifyingly fierce, yet Slughorn’s voice didn’t cease—

”Repent, repent, Tom... true repentance... only then will you... will you become whole again...”

Voldemort’s already crimson face suddenly seemed to swell into dark red, veins under the skin twisting like worms, he gritted his teeth and growled in a low voice:

”Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!”

Screams instantly tore through the night sky, the excruciating cries fiercely tugged at the listener’s nerves, making their stomach involuntarily convulse.

Yet a pleased curve appeared on Voldemort’s lips, his scarlet eyes constricting with excitement from the old professor’s pain, he seemed to greatly enjoy it, and once the screams weakened, he mercilessly added another Cruciatus Curse.

The scene suddenly became chaotic.

Sometimes it’s a sinister graveyard, sometimes a dark dungeon, faces of Voldemort and the scarred man alternately flash by.

Tormented into silence by the Cruciatus Curse, Slughorn received no kindness, instead, hung in the dungeon, the scar-faced man repeatedly tortured him with savage and bloody Muggle punishment methods.

From the flashing scenes, it seemed he scarcely received food, with only a little water each time.

They didn’t allow him to sleep either, whenever he was about to doze off, the scar-faced man and tattooed woman would take turns to use a new round of torment to force him awake.

Vid watched uneasily, he closed his eyes briefly, turned his gaze, and asked in a low voice: ”Professor, why doesn’t Voldemort use Veritaserum?”

”Veritaserum doesn’t always compel the drinker to speak the truth, especially when the target is a Master of Potions.”

Dumbledore said gravely: ”A skilled Magic Potion Master can craft antidotes to resist Veritaserum, and can also enhance drug resistance through specific medications. Moreover, Horace can modify his own memories, so even if he takes Veritaserum, he cannot divulge true information.”

Vid said: ”So he resorts to such cruel interrogation... unless Mr. Slughorn’s will is completely shattered, even if he is willing to speak, Voldemort doesn’t dare to believe.”

Dumbledore sighed deeply.

It was not his first time seeing this memory, so he could maintain a surface calm, unlike before—when his furious magic nearly destroyed the Pensieve.

Yet the headmaster’s eyes reflected those flickering memories, his gaze seemed extraordinarily sharp and painful, his lips involuntarily downturned, his expression became cold and frightening.

After violently flickering for a while, the silver mist stabilized once more, reverting to the church where Vid and Harry had previously visited.

Shackled, Slughorn had been tortured beyond recognition, his hair almost entirely white, the formerly obese body now emaciated like a skeleton.

His head weakly drooped, pupils dilated facing the void, as if becoming a husk drained of soul.

When Voldemort waved his wand, Slughorn’s lips stained with blood and saliva wriggled, emitting mechanical raspy sounds:

”No one has ever split the soul into seven parts... continuing on, the main... your soul within your own body... is likely to disintegrate...”

Voldemort’s crimson pupils suddenly contracted, this sentence stabbed at his deepest fear.

After Nagini was destroyed, he wanted to split out another Soul Artifact, yet upon acting, a strong sensation of unease struck him.

Creating a Soul Artifact requires murder, yet killing does not necessarily ensure a piece of soul splits from within—this is merely one prerequisite; following that, even more sinister spells must be used to sever the damaged soul and seal it within the prepared object.

And when Voldemort killed the monastery’s master, the soul-tearing agony, and the terrifying feeling as if his body was disintegrating left him in tremendous panic.

He didn’t need anyone to warn him, he was clearly aware that he couldn’t continue splitting!

As Voldemort pondered, the old professor’s consciousness drifted on the verge of collapse, under magic’s control muttering softly:

”But it can... can utilize already split fragments... not damage the container... but can... can guide the soul fragment out... import it, import it into someone’s body... compel him to kill... then split that piece of soul again...”

”Can it really be done?” Voldemort asked softly: ”Twice-split soul, won’t it harm the precious Soul Artifact?”

”That... the person used... must invest all emotions in the Soul Artifact... if the other party... the other party possesses resistance, the soul fragment might be damaged during the split... yet... yet if...”

Slughorn suddenly sobbed once, his face exhibited faint resistance, seemingly struggling to hold back from speaking further.

Voldemort waved his wand once more.

Subsequently, the old professor’s expression calmed again, intermittently saying:

”If the person... wholeheartedly devotes... then his soul, his life, his Magic Power... all will become nourishment for the Soul Artifact...”

”The fragment will strengthen... strong enough to sustain a second split...”

Voldemort revealed a jubilant expression, that beastly fierce appearance, almost identical to his adolescent self.