Magic //Peter Parker x Reader

The Cave

Strange holds the vial in wonderment, "How is Wong?"

You shrug.

Strange nods, then tips his hand. A long strand hangs, suspended like glass. Your eyes shift, and you notice a drawing on Strange's desk, one of Santhos from the memory at the orphanage, the of the cave and its distinctive outcropping. You turn, and the pearl of the memory drops into the pensive.
_

The memory is the same as before, right down to the crackling embers of the fire.

"My goodness, is it that time already? Off you go. Howard, Mary, don't forget your essays..." Wong says.

The others exit, and Wong turns, eyes his hourglass, and then spots Santho, still there.

"Go on, Santho. You don't want to be seen out of bed after hours..." Wong shoos him.

"I know a secret shortcut or two." Santho shrugs.

"Yes, I imagine you do. Something on your mind, Santho?" Wong asks.

"Yes. Its true, I couldn't seem think of anyone else to mention this to. The other Professors, well, they're not quite like you. They might...misunderstand this question." Santho says, touching his chin.

"Well...Go on." Wong nods.

"I was in the library the other night, in the Restricted section. I read something very odd. It was about a type of rare magic. I thought perhaps you could...illuminate me. It's called, as I try to understand it...a Horcrux."

Wong's weak smile evaporates altogether, "Excuse me?"

"A Horcrux. I came across the term while reading and I don't quite seem to understand it."

"I'm not sure what you were reading, Santho, but that's very dark stuff." Wong shivers.

"I know. Which is why I came to you. I mean no disrespect to any of the teachers at Midgards, but I thought if anyone could tell me...it would be you." Santho smirks coldly

Wong frowns, clearly disturbed, then speaks quietly, "A Horcrux is an object in which a person has hidden part of their soul."

"Yes, I thought it might be...something like that. But I don't understand how it works." Santho's features mold in frustration.

Wong looks down, "One splits one's soul and hides
part of it in an object. By doing so, you are protected should you be attacked and your body destroyed."

"Protected?" Santho mutters.

"That part of your soul that was hidden, lives on. In other words, you cannot die." Wong shakes his head.

Santho nods and turns away, staring at himself in the mirror on the wall opposite. A hint of red glints in his eyes, "How does one split his soul?"

"I think you can guess the answer to that. Murder. Killing rips the soul apart. It is a violation against nature. After, a person is never the same." Wong frowns.

"Out of curiosity— can you only split your soul once? For instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number—"

"Seven! Good God! Isn't it bad enough to think of killing one person? To rip the soul into seven pieces..." Wong stops, suddenly worried, "This is all hypothetical, isn't it, Santho? All academic..."

"Of course. And I promise I'll not speak of our conversation. It'll be our little secret..." Santho reaches out then and pinches the flame of a candle, killing it.
_

You yank your head out of the Pensieve, looking at the surface, where Thanos' face quivers in the liquid.

"Sir—" you start.