Thanks for the reviews, I have fixed the error.

I am considering exploring a bit more on the Sherlock Holmes side in the next chapter, which would show why the previous Sherlock Holmes chapter is actually relevant to the overall plot of story. If it is possible, can people please tell me in the reviews if they would like to see that or should I continue on Seraphina's side for now? Thanks!

Mental breakdown warning.

Chapter 23 Stuck here for good

1896

Summer. Finally, I am free to test my theory. I cast a few wandless glamors on my hair and face, making my hair and eyes light brown and tinting my skin, giving me a much livelier complexion. I elongated my nose, and gave myself a light sprinkling of freckles, now, I imagine I look a lot less recognisable before I walked into Diagon Alley. For some reason my skin refuses to tan, no matter how much sun I got in the Scottish Highlands. I checked my appearance on a shop window and did a double take, a grin spreading across my face. Almost unrecognisable, I just need to slouch a bit. Perfect!

I walked to the entrance of Knockturn Alley, drawing my hood up. Even in disguise, it is best to not draw attention to myself. I entered the apothecary.

"Wha' do ya 'ant?" The shop owner snapped.

Wow, first class service, huh. No wonder the shop is always empty. I drew a note from the depths of my pocket. On it I had written the words Ageing Potion. It would not do for me to be traced down by my voice after all, if things don't go well in my plan.

He nodded, and went into the back. Coming back out with a dark bubbling green bottle. I grabbed the bottle and gave it a sniff, instantly fighting to hold back my breakfast. It smelled like dog barf! It was an Ageing potion alright…Just enough to age one 80 years!

Discreetly, I waved my hand, conjuring another note in my pocket before pulling it out, like I had expected this all along.

20 years only.

He took my note and gave a disgusting toothy grin, grabbing the potion back from my hands, his face leaning uncomfortably close. It took every ounce of my will to not flinch. What does he eat for breakfast? Tobacco and stale firewhiskey? It smells like something died in there! I couldn't decide which one smells worse, his breath, or the potion.

"'Omeone knows 'heir potions!"

He came back with a bottle of glowing sky blue liquid.

I sniffed it again. It was around 20 years. You can tell by the smell of elderwood in the potion. Depending on the number of years, it will either smell like dog barf or wet dog. Disgusting. But enough to tell the difference. The ageing potion was time consuming to brew, so I'm buying it instead. I will get three hours as a thirty year old, which should give me enough leeway to get into the Department of Mysteries and toss a certain jar through the veil to test my theory. I gave the man a curt nod and he grinned that horrible grin. Suddenly, running for the hills seems like a fabulous idea.

"One galleon!"

I handed the gold coin to the man, and walked out of the shop. Pausing, I conjured another note.

20 doses of pain relief as well.

He grinned. Bringing out a crate of dark blue potions.

"2 Galleons!"

I paid, quickly shoving the entire crate into my magically expanded bag. Perks of being too familiar with dimensional magic! Walking out as quickly as possible without drawing undue attention.

The Veil is my last hope. The last book had a theory similar to mine, stating that the Veil may be able to send things to different dimensions. A sort of gateway, if you will, first found by the Celts in the centre of Stonehenge. Not built, found. It was one of the reasons why the place had a magical significance even to this day. It has long been theorised that it is literally a portal for the soul, hence the ancient traditions of sacrificing to it during Samhain. Then again, not even the Blacks practised that anymore, with the number of magicals being captured and killed during the festivals in the past, before the Statue was in place. It just made no sense as to why the ICW just pretty much…still insist on banning them when muggles no longer hunt us. The veil was still, afterall, theorised to be a gateway to the soul, and the remaining Druid pockets sometimes make a splash on the news around a century or so ago with their protests and threats on trying to get it back to the Stonehenge, usually quoting its spiritual importance. Much to the chargin of the ministry, who are trying to keep its existence under wraps. It was just very unfortunate that they were always rebutted by the government on the lack of any proof, other than the fact that the objects vanished once they passed through. The only problem was that they had no way of seeing the soul. And since I have the means, I may as well test that.

I apparated home, stripped before downing the ageing potion. My body will grow and I really don't want to rip my clothes, considering my financial situation. My entire body became covered in pins and needles as I tumbled to the ground, my bones jerked sharply in pain, almost as if they were broken and pulled simultaneously, my legs stretched longer, my chest filled up, my hips wider and my face lost the little remaining baby fat. I crawled up when the pain stopped, heaving in deep gulps of breath. I looked in the mirror, I did not look too bad at all. My eyes were still bright gold, and my cheekbones were more prominent, overall, my features look sharper, and I gave off an almost predatorial feeling.

I conjured up fitting clothes to cover myself up. Then I casted more glamors to hide my distinctive hair and eyes, turning them brown again. I had brought the pain relief in case the growth potion triggered my menstruation, which has yet to start. It simply wouldn't do for my mission to be ruined because I was in too much pain to walk. I am in a world of magic, like hell I am going to just endure the pain!

Double checking that I had everything I needed, I grabbed my bag and apparated to the ministry.

Walking in was easy, except for the initial lack of balance due to my new height, no one paid me a second glance. I walked into the golden lifts.

"Department of Mysteries, please."

The doors closed, leaving me alone with the odd feeling of being a bird trapped in a glided cage. The lift zoomed backwards then dropped down into darkness. What's with rollercoaster transports and wizards? This is almost as bad as the knight bus! A warning would be nice! I set my feet apart as instructed by my Wing Chun instructor on keeping balance during a punch. Just in time as the lift changed directions once again. I should really have brought gloves, I regret not thinking of this, because now, if I tried to grab the handles for balance, there is a high chance that I can be traced if anything goes wrong. I barely managed to not crash when the lift door opened.

"Level nine. Department of Mysteries." The voice announced in a monotone.

I steeled myself as I slowly approached the door. A low swooshing sound almost made me jump back into the back of the lift. The place was creepy, suddenly, a sentence appeared inside my mind.

Abandon all hope, ye who enter.

I resisted the urge to chuckle, how ironic yet fitting? I am here because of how desperate I was to find a way back home, just like Dante at the gates of Hell. Hopefully, I will be able to return without seeing a lot of people being tortured. I took a deep breath, steeling myself and walked out with as much confidence as I could muster into a dark circular room lit by blue flames. It was deserted. The air was cool, almost bursting with magic, yet it was nothing like Hogwarts, instead, the magic is almost…hostile. The door closed behind me and the entire structure spun.

"Room of Death." I commanded. I am not sure if this will work. If it does not, I will have to manually test each door, which will be exponentially more risky in terms of getting caught.

In that scenario, I might have to be the one doing the torturing in order to get free.

Thankfully, a door swung open with a loud groan, the stone somehow grating on the floor as it vanished into nothing, revealing a giant veil on top of a pedestal shaped like a small hill. The air was cold and slightly musty with a familiar dry, dead tinge, like the way necromantic magic feels in my veins. Vaguely, I wondered if I should be concerned about how much necromancy I have been using for the unmistakable feeling of Death to become as familiar to me as it currently is. As soon as I walked in, the door slammed shut behind me. Steeling my nerves, I approached the massive gate. The veil fluttered in an non-existent breeze, voices whispering from behind it. There were voices of children, begging for help almost accusingly, voices that I have ignored once. Much to my regret. Guilt gnawed at me as I remembered the too small wooden coffins carried out in the dead of the night, easily carried by two nuns. The final, desperate screams before the end…

I pressed my lips together, trying to shove the memory from my mind, I averted my gaze at the gate. Ignoring the shiver that ran down my spine, I took out the jar of Soul Fire.

Okay, time to do the test. I tossed the fire and the jar into the veil. Instantly, the room temperature changed. The veil stopped fluttering so suddenly, it was almost like they had been forcefully slammed into a wall. The whisperings stopped, almost as if time itself stood still. Then the room dropped even colder. A chill that crept through the air, like crawling veins, except invisible, and much, much faster. The flames screamed as it was ripped violently out of the jar, without shattering the glass. I watched, frozen in horror and fascination as it was torn to shreds, wisps of flame drifting out from the edge of the portal into the room, consuming itself like burning tissue.

Leaving nothing behind.

The temperature of the room returned to normal as the jar sank into the veil, so softly, so gently, like it was sinking into a lover's embrace. The whispers accompanied the jar as it vanished, leaving the veil to flutter in the non-existent breeze again, the voices whispering, murmuring.

It was as if nothing ever happened here.

I guess that clarifies that the soul would not survive a journey through the veil. My last road is cut. That soul was shredded, like lettuce in a shredder. That's horrifying. I can't imagine wanting to go through that…ever. Maybe I should start researching ways to bring a soul from the dead back instead…That way, at least there is a chance I can talk with my parents in the other dimensions…

Wait, what exactly happened to the jar?

Conjuring a bird, I placed over a dozen tracking spells on its body, before tossing it into the veil, watching as it got swallowed up like it the veil was nothing but the softest gauze. In my mind, I felt the bird moving further and further away, then suddenly going so far that it was not possibly on Earth, before going out of range.

I guess the body might have travelled to another dimension. Just not the soul.

I left for home, upset. I slid against the wall, my head in my hands as I shrunk down. For the first time in years, I cried. I screamed out my frustration, letting my magic whip around me as I cried. My heart felt like lead, all my work, all my efforts, and now? Still no way home! No! I don't want to be stuck here forever! I don't want to die in an universe where my previous life did not exist! I existed before this! I know that I do! I know my pets were real! My goldfish! My books! My parents! Everything is not just a fever dream! I know it! I must be real! I have to be!

I screamed even as I felt myself shattering to a million pieces, my identity, my world, the barrier that kept me from panicking when I first woke up all those years ago was rudely yanked out from underneath me. Now I am falling, falling without any form of protection. I won't see anyone I knew before again. Not my parents, not my robots, not my friends, nothing. I can't remember their faces anymore! Not even the name of my bloody goldfish! I won't wake up with a smile if I die, there will not be another world waiting for me, everything I do will have a consequence, this is not a game! My life is not a game! This! This is the only reality that I will ever see! No robots, just magic. Just magic and an antiquated society where people are barbaric enough to kill children! I laughed, tearing my hair out as tears continued to stream down my face, the world was collapsing around me, too tight, too small for me to breathe properly, for once, I felt the pain of the steel wire of my corset as it dug into my sides, but I kept laughing, crying, I couldn't even tell!

Until a large pot of ink exploded, splashing all over me, shocking me from my reverie. I screamed in frustration, summoning the broken bottle to me. I balled up my hand until my knuckles were white. It wasn't until the blood dripped down my bare leg in sharp contrast that I realised what I was doing. I opened my fist, inside, the glass shards jutted out from the badly cut flesh, ink and blood mingling. Finally opening my eyes, I noticed the absolute mess the room was in, swearing as I levitated the draft sprinkled in patches of black and red, the results of my blood and ink. Sighing and sitting down, I finished the final line on the theory of magical ties to the soul. The magical journal of new discoveries pays at least four galleons for each piece. And I needed the money.

Because I will starve, and I will die if I run out of funds. I can't just…respawn somewhere else. This is my only world now.

There is simply no way home. I researched any and all relevant topics, soul magic, necromancy, dimensional magic, time travel. It took me five years. But I am stuck here, for good.

…Might as well shake things up a bit.