Chapter 41: A Torn Soul

"I must admit, this could very well work"

"Just as physical injuries can heal, perhaps the soul can be put back together again, binding the torn pieces with precision to expedite the healing process."

"However, we're dealing with a problematic dilemma here, the soul is inherently intangible. Even the specters of the dead don't have a corporal form in this realm, much less the souls of the living."

As he continued to read, Sherlock felt that this book resembled more of a wizard's experiment diary than anything else.

The author seemed to face troubles when working with souls, and consequently, the following chapters were brimming with accounts of their trials on the myriad factors that could influence the manifestation of a soul.

Eventually, the author discovered an appropriate casting technique.

A charm that targeted the user's own soul, an incantation that could penetrate the soul without causing damage, thus offering a method to repair it.

The journey to perfect the casting technique had been convoluted, but not insurmountably so, there had always been ancient spells aimed at the soul. The Unforgivable Curses, for example, were directed towards the soul.

There was, without a doubt, much to learn from them.

What truly hindered the author's progress were the troubles in deciding upon the perfect binding element.

Unlike the casting technique where its only task was to string the binding element through, the latter needed to bind the torn parts of the soul tightly, blending effortlessly with the soul as it healed.

The author's first thought was to use another soul as the binding element.

As both the torn piece and the binding element were of the same essence, this could ensure maximum compatibility and integrate smoothly with the wounded part.

However, mending the soul didn't operate under the same mechanics as typical stitching, once the binding element was in place, it couldn't be detached.

But how could an complete, independent soul act as the binding element?

Ignoring the moral implications for a moment, the enormity of a living person's soul simply wasn't conducive for something as slender and tough as a binding element.

And at this juncture, unfortunately, all further research hit a deadlock.

Despite overcoming numerous obstacles and technical complications, even to the point of conducting trials on a Dementor, the challenge of locating the apt binding element hindered the author's idea from reaching fruition.

In theory, even physically torn souls could be rehabilitated using this method, but the prerequisites for the binding element were too precise for the method to be used in practice.

Firstly, the binding element would also need to be a soul, but not a complete one. Instead, it should ideally be a fragmented piece of a soul that has been partitioned into minute parts.

Accomplishing this condition was overwhelmingly difficult, after all, a wizard's soul wasn't a garment that could be torn off at whim.

The author of the book hadn't come across any magic that could separate the soul without inflicting death either.

Ultimately, the magical experiment alluded to in the book saw an abrupt conclusion.

The innovative witch, who had envisioned such an ingenious solution to mend a splintered soul, was profoundly disheartened that her magic couldn't be perfected and her injuries couldn't be healed.

In the hope that future generations might discover a better alternative for the binding element, she diligently recorded every detail about her experiments – from the conceptual stages to every step of the modification process – in her book, all save for the concluding step.

For reasons unknown, somehow this book had found its way into the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library, and now it rested in Sherlock's hands. He pondered over the soul-stitching method mentioned in this book.

An account of the author's personal life, which was interlaced between the lines of her experiment, along with the peculiar mark on Sherlock's left forearm that led him to this book, were enough for Sherlock to question whether the author of this book could have been the eccentric mother of his former identity.

Given that the most likely source for the mark on his left forearm would be from the mother of his previous identity, a striking detail from the book caught Sherlock's eye.

The mentor of the witch was a Potions Master noted for having an extensive knowledge of potions or, put simply, was supremely skilled in the art of potion-making.

The closest mentor that Sherlock's previous identity's mother had was Horace Slughorn, who had served as the Head of Slytherin House in Hogwarts and also imparted potion classes then!

Merging these two extraordinary coincidences together made them appear slightly less coincidental.

The author of this experimental record could very well be the mother of Sherlock's original owner — Sally Forester.

Her self-portrayal in this book did not echo a shred of the mania that was evident in the portrait hanging in the study of his previous identity. In the book, she came across as a sagely, curious, and supremely logical witch.

Given the stark difference between the deranged figure in the portrait and the wise woman described in the experimental record, Sherlock found himself reassessing whether any drastically transformative events had altered the insightful witch into a lunatic.

Perhaps, the unsuccessful conclusion of the magic experiment, as mentioned in the book, led to her soul not being repaired, progressively worsening over time, and finally, she succumbed to insanity?

With limited evidence at his disposal, and no way to revisit the past, Sherlock couldn't confirm his conjectures. What perplexed him currently was why the crescent mark directed him to this experimental log.

Beneath the surface, Sherlock was burrowing through thoughts he didn't want to face.

His soul may share the same problem as the one mentioned in the record of the mother of his previous identity — a fracture!

However, as stated at the outset of the book, a damaged soul would impede a wizard's capacity to cast regular spells. Sherlock, throughout his time acclimatizing himself to magic, never sensed his spells to be weaker than those of his peers, a clear contradiction to the effects of a fractured soul.

He cast his gaze upon the section of the book titled "Soul Stitch", that provided instructions to analyze the integrity of one's own soul. After a brief period of contemplation, he decided to assess his own soul.

Just as he anticipated, his soul was not intact; it had suffered severe damage!

Sherlock moved away from the chair, pacing agitatedly in the confines of his office, his brows furrowing together.

He couldn't comprehend how his soul tear had no discernible effects on him. His spells didn't seem weakened when compared to those of other wizards, nor did he ever experience any physical discomfort.

So, when and why was his soul torn?

He couldn't find a satisfactory answer, and even if he did, it wouldn't solve anything.

Looking at the book titled "Soul Stitch", Sherlock shook his head and mused softly,

"If the author herself couldn't find the ideal binding element, how could I possibly succeed?"