"Y-you'll have to k-k-kill me. I w-w-won't tell you. You c-can't make me!" he tried to shout this intimidatingly from his position on the ground, looking up at the skull white figure, but he only ended up sounding like a bad tempered little child.

"I can't make you, can I?" said Voldemort cooly, "We'll just see about that. If you don't work, there are plenty of people I can ask after I dispose of you, your bushy haired, mudblood friend, for instance..." Voldemort let this cruel note hang over Ron.