XXX - the other Black

                                    

                                          



.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.



A Horcrux.
Danica felt her head spin, a deep nausea stirring as she walked through the silent corridors. She tried to shake the weight off, focusing on the steady rhythm of her heels clicking against the stone floor, but the thought persisted, relentless. 
It is a Horcrux.
Two weeks had passed since she'd found that cursed page in the Room of Requirement, hidden so carefully it was as if it didn't want to be found. Maybe it was right—maybe she shouldn't have uncovered it. The knowledge felt like poison seeping through her veins.
Regulus would be crushed.
She had told him nothing, hadn't dared to. The idea of sharing this with him—this horrifying truth—felt like it could shatter whatever faint glimmer of hope he had left. And for all she knew, that hope might be the only thing keeping him together.
The locket. The word lodged in her mind.
She pressed a hand against the cold stone wall, steadying herself as the realization sank in deeper. Voldemort had torn apart his own soul—left it fractured and bleeding, embedded in that piece of jewelry. He was immortal.
Danica halted, her breath catching. His soul? Or was it only a fraction of it?  The thought of there being other pieces stirred a deep sickness in her. What if there were more of them?
Her feet moved on instinct, mindlessly taking the stairs that spiraled toward the Astronomy Tower. The stone steps seemed endless.
She focused on the repetitive motion, the hollow sounds, yet every time her foot hit the next stair, the sensation of wrongness grew. It curled in her stomach, tightening, twisting as her mind spun.
She reached the open air of the Astronomy Tower, feeling the cold night seep into her skin as she leaned heavily against the stone ledge.
Danica closed her eyes, feeling her chest tighten as she drew in a shaky breath. It was pathetic, really. Two weeks had passed, and still, the knowledge churned inside her, jagged and indigestible. She couldn't let it consume her. Get a grip, she told herself, inhaling through her nose and exhaling slowly, watching as her breath rose into the cold night air, dissolving into faint wisps of vapor.
One step at a time. She focused on that thought. If she could just focus, organize the chaos in her mind, maybe then she could face this. She clenched her hands, grounding herself against the rough stone of the tower ledge. It was just a matter of concentration, she assured herself. She could manage this. She had to.
Okay, she told herself, clutching at the shreds of calm. Organize what you know.
Riddle. Tom Riddle. She closed her eyes, willing his image into her mind—the young, charismatic student, transformed into the Dark Lord. Voldemort. Once a Slytherin, studying here, walking these very halls decades ago. But somehow, he still looked so young. It was the Horcruxes, it had to be. 
Her pulse quickened, but she forced herself to focus. Are there more? Her mind wanted to spiral down that path—how many pieces, how many places? She clenched her jaw. No. Concentrate on what you know.
The locket. The Horcrux. It was in a cave, protected with traps and dark magic. She gripped the ledge tighter, her knuckles pale against the stone. What happens if it's destroyed? She couldn't even be certain it could be destroyed. Did breaking it release his soul, or did it simply... vanish?