"O starless night! Thy loveliness my soul inhales. Without those starry rays which speak a language known. For I desire the dark, the naked and the lone."

Obsession. Les Fleurs du mal. Charles Baudelaire.

I

Ever since the fall of Grindelwald in the early 40's, a wave of change had swept through the Wizarding World, opening its doors wider for witches and wizards of muggle heritage. With her academic achievements and insatiable thirst for knowledge, muggleborn Hermione Granger had successfully secured an internship in the prestigious Department of Mysteries.

Established long before the Ministry of Magic itself, the Department of Mysteries was a place shrouded in intrigue and secrecy. Hermione had been under the guidance of senior unspeakable Regina Rowle for the past two years, delving into the mysteries that lay within the department's walls. It was her first day in the Death Chamber, a large and dimly lit room buried deep underground.

As Hermione descended the stone tiers leading to the center of the chamber, she couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and trepidation. Her eyes were drawn to the ancient stone archway that stood in the pit below. A tattered black curtain hung from it, swaying gently in an unseen breeze.

Rowle approached the intern, her voice filled with wisdom. "Hermione, you have shown great promise in your studies. The Death Chamber is where you'll be spending most of your time. It holds the key to understanding the Veil and the magic that surrounds it."

Hermione's eyes widened with curiosity. "The Veil? It's the barrier that separates the worlds of the living and the dead, isn't it?"

Regina nodded, her expression grave. "Yes, indeed. Your task will be to help us unravel the magic that keeps the Veil stable and discover the reason for its existence. It seems to be a manifestation of the barrier between the land of the living and the land of the dead, preventing free travel between the two worlds."

A shiver ran down Hermione's spine as she absorbed Regina's words. The Death Chamber was a place of great power, but also great danger. She had heard stories of the whispers and murmurs that echoed through the chamber, the lure of the Veil's supposed beauty that entranced those who stared at it for too long.

"But be cautious, Hermione," Regina warned, her eyes filled with concern. "The Death Chamber is not without its risks. The whispers of the dead grow louder when a living person tries to communicate. Staring at the Veil for too long can lead to a dangerous enchantment, where one is compelled to step through the barrier."

Hermione took a deep breath, her determination shining through. "I understand, Unspeakable Rowle. I'll be careful and tread cautiously in the Death Chamber."

Regina smiled, placing a reassuring hand on Hermione's shoulder. "I have faith in you, Hermione. You have the intellect and the courage to find the right answers."

Days turned into weeks, and she delved deeper into the mysteries of the Veil. She arrived early one day, eager to continue her studies, but instead, she received an unexpected summons to the office of Augustus Rookwood, the director of the Department of Mysteries.

Nervously, she entered Rookwood's opulent office. The room exuded an air of extravagance, with its richly adorned walls and ostentatious furniture. Augustus himself sat behind an imposing desk, his expression stern and unyielding.

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. She knew that dealing with Rookwood would be a challenge, given his family's history of prejudice against muggles and muggleborns. But she refused to let his disdain for her background dampen her determination.

Rookwood leaned back in his chair, his eyes scrutinizing Hermione. "Granger, I trust you are aware of the seriousness of the situation?"

Hermione nodded, her voice steady. "Yes, Director Rookwood. I understand that a muggle has died, and there are suspicions of a dark object being involved."

Rookwood's lip curled into a sneer. "Indeed. The incident has left the place reeking with dark magic. We need someone to investigate and neutralize the threat. And you, Granger, will be that someone."

Hermione's mind raced, trying to find a way to reason with Rookwood. "Sir, with all due respect, my area of expertise lies more in the realm of Charms and Curses. Shouldn't this assignment fall under the jurisdiction of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

Rookwood's eyes narrowed, his voice dripping with disdain. "Do not question my authority, Granger. I make the decisions here. You will carry out this task, or you can forget about your internship altogether."

Hermione's jaw tightened, but she refused to back down. She knew that she had to prove herself in order to continue her internship. With a determined nod, she replied, "Very well, Director Rookwood. I will undertake this assignment and do my utmost to unravel the mysteries surrounding the dark object."

Rookwood's expression softened slightly, a glimmer of grudging respect in his eyes. "See that you do, Granger. The reputation of the Department of Mysteries is at stake."

With that, Hermione left Rookwood's office, her mind buzzing with a mixture of frustration and determination. She knew that this assignment would test her abilities and push her beyond her comfort zone. But she was ready to face the challenge head-on.

The journey to Little Hangleton was long and arduous. Hermione endured a train ride from London to Little Whinging, followed by a two-hour carriage ride through the countryside. As Hermione stepped off the carriage, she took a moment to breathe in the fresh country air. The place seemed to be frozen in time, with its quaint cottages and narrow winding streets.

Walking through the village, Hermione spotted a small, cozy pub named The Hanged Man. She decided to stop there and gather some information before heading to the location where the muggle had met his untimely end. Pushing the creaky wooden door open, she was greeted by the warm aroma of beer and the lively chatter of locals.

Taking a seat at the bar, she ordered a portion of fish and fries and struck up a conversation with the innkeeper, a middle-aged witch named Agatha Sanders. "Excuse me, Agatha," Hermione began, "I'm here investigating the death of a man, his name was Frank Bryce. Do you know anything about it?"

Agatha glanced around, making sure no one was eavesdropping, before leaning in closer to Hermione. "I've heard whispers, dear, about a corpse that was found in the old Riddle Manor. It's been abandoned for years, ever since the Riddle family tragedy."

"Did anyone see or hear anything unusual around the time of Frank's death?" Hermione asked, her curiosity piqued.

Agatha paused, wiping a glass with a rag before responding. "Well, there were rumors, you know. People said they heard strange noises coming from the Riddle manor, like screams and footsteps, but no one could ever confirm it. And there was talk of dark figures lurking around the graveyard at night. But who knows what's true and what's just folks' imagination running wild?"

Hermione nodded, her mind racing with theories. It seemed like there was more to this case than meets the eye. Just then, the door swung open, and Harry Potter, her auror friend responsible for the investigation on the murder, entered the pub, his cloak billowing behind him.

"Hey Hermione, long time no see! Seriously, it's been forever. We need to catch up more often, you know?" Harry said with a hint of disappointment in his voice.

Hermione sighed, her expression a mix of nostalgia and frustration. "I know, Harry. It's just... things have been complicated," she replied, her voice tinged with a touch of sadness.

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. "Complicated? What do you mean?"

Hermione hesitated for a moment before delving into the tangled web of her personal life. "Well, you remember how close we used to be, right? You, Ron, and me. We were practically inseparable."

Harry nodded, memories of their adventures flooding back. "Of course, I remember. We were like a family."

Hermione's eyes briefly clouded with pain before she continued. "Yes, we were. But things changed, Harry. After Ron and I got engaged, things started to unravel. I found him in our apartment with Lavender Brown in our bed. It was a betrayal I couldn't overlook."

Harry's eyes widened in shock. "Merlin, Hermione, I had no idea. That's... awful."

Hermione nodded, her voice filled with a mix of sadness and determination. "It was. Ron was always so jealous and controlling, and this was the final straw. His family, especially Molly, tried to blame me, saying I was too focused on my studies and not giving him enough attention. But I couldn't stay in a toxic relationship like that."

Harry's face softened, understanding dawning in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. You didn't deserve any of that. You deserve to be happy."

A small smile played on Hermione's lips as she looked at her friend. "Thank you, Harry. That means a lot. After my apprenticeship with Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel in Alchemy, I sold the apartment my parents left in my name and used the money to travel to Salem to continue my studies. Since then, I've been so focused in my internship with the Department of Mysteries that I hardly had time to meet with you."

Harry reached out and squeezed Hermione's hand gently. "I understand, Hermione. Life takes us on different paths sometimes. But don't forget, I'm still here for you. I missed you."

Leaving the cozy pub behind, Harry began to fill Hermione in on the chilling details surrounding the victim, Frank Bryce. As they walked through the dimly lit streets, Harry's voice carried a sense of intrigue and concern.

"Frank Bryce, you see, served in the First World War," Harry explained, his tone hushed. "After his return to Little Hangleton, he became the gardener for the ill-fated Riddle."

Hermione's curiosity grew with each word. She had heard whispers about the Riddles and the mysterious circumstances surrounding their demise. "But wasn't Frank Bryce considered a suspect in their murder?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry nodded, his eyes focused on the path ahead. "Yes, he was. The authorities suspected him, but he was never convicted. He lived in a small cottage right on the border of the Little Hangleton graveyard."

They turned a corner, the moon casting eerie shadows on the cobblestones. Harry continued, his voice tinged with a mixture of dread and fascination. "A week ago, Frank was found dead in the Riddle manor. The muggle authorities couldn't determine the cause of his death, just like with the Riddles before him. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is conducting an investigation, fearing it might be another attack by Grindelwald's followers."

Hermione shivered, the chilly night air seeping into her bones. "Grindelwald's followers? But wasn't he imprisoned in Nurmengard?"

Harry nodded solemnly. "Yes, he's locked away, but many of his followers are still out there, scattered across Europe. The fear is that they continue to carry out his dark agenda."

As they approached the crime scene, Harry's voice took on a somber tone. "Frank's body was found in a terrible state, Hermione. He resembled a mummy, with a macabre expression etched onto his face. His body was contorted, practically skin and bones. It's as if dark magic had drained the life out of him."

Hermione's mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle. "Did they find anything that could provide clues?"

Harry's voice dropped to a whisper. "By his side, they found an empty book, its cover stained with blood. But beyond that, they couldn't find anything else."

Hermione's eyes widened with intrigue and concern. "Harry, I can't form any conclusions without seeing the scene for myself. Take me there."

Harry flashed her a grateful smile. "I was hoping you'd say that. Let's go, Hermione. The Riddle Manor awaits."

As they approached the outskirts of the village, the once grand Riddle Manor came into view. It stood on a hill, its windows boarded and tiles missing from the roof. Ivy crept over its dilapidated facade, revealing the scars of time.

Hermione couldn't help but shiver at the sight of the mansion. "The Riddle House... It's so eerie, Harry."

He nodded solemnly. "It used to be the home of the snobbishly unpopular Riddle family, who were Muggles. But now it's nothing more than a damp, derelict shell."

Hermione's eyes widened as she thought of the troubled history that surrounded the house. "Tom Riddle... the son of the Riddles, was bewitched by the witch Merope Gaunt, leading to the birth of a baby. But once Merope stopped bewitching him, he abandoned her and their child."

Harry nodded, his voice filled with sadness. "Merope died in childbirth, and no one knew what became of the baby. The Gaunts, the last direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin, lived on the outskirts of Little Hangleton. They were a violent, unstable family, living in poverty."

Hermione's heart ached for the tragic lives entwined with the Riddle Manor. "And Morfin Gaunt, Merope's brother, hexed Tom Riddle after his sister's infatuation with him. That triggered a series of events, leading to his imprisonment in Azkaban."

"Exactly," Harry said. "When he returned home, his father and sister were dead, and he sought revenge by killing the entire Riddle family. Since then, he's kept locked away in Azkaban."

Hermione shuddered at the dark history, the weight of the past hanging heavy in the night air. "There's something deeply unsettling about this place, Harry."

Harry agreed, his eyes scanning the crumbling mansion. "I couldn't agree more, Hermione. Whatever happened here, it's still haunting these grounds."

As they stepped closer to the Riddle Manor, Hermione couldn't help but feel a chill run down her spine. The moon cast an eerie glow on the dilapidated structure, and the surrounding darkness seemed to hold secrets within its depths. She glanced at Harry, who wore a determined expression despite the unsettling atmosphere.

"So, this is where it all happened," Hermione murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry nodded, his eyes scanning the decaying facade. "Yes, the Riddle House. Once a grand estate, now a haunting reminder of a dark past."

They carefully made their way up the overgrown path, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the stillness. The anti-apparition wards that surrounded the manor served as a reminder of the unanswered questions surrounding Frank Bryce's death. The villagers believed he was involved in thefts from the house, but this time, he paid with his life.

Hermione's annoyance at being pulled away from her work at the Department of Mysteries began to fade as the weight of the situation settled upon her. This was no ordinary case of theft. There was something far more sinister at play.

Years of neglect had taken their toll on the once-majestic Riddle House. The grandeur it once possessed was now a faded memory, obscured by crumbling walls and broken windows. Frank Bryce had diligently tended to the external grounds, creating a stark contrast to the dilapidated interior.

"I can't imagine how challenging it must have been for Frank," Hermione said, her voice filled with sympathy. "Not only did he have to maintain the gardens, but he also had to deal with the mischief of undisciplined Muggle children who taunted him."

Despite warnings to stay away, some curious or foolhardy individuals ventured into the Riddle House, seeking a thrill or a test of bravery. Little did they know the dark history that clung to its every corner.

"Who owns this place, Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

Harry shook his head. "No one knows," he said. "The man's true intentions remain shrouded in mystery, even to the local villagers. We've tried to contact him, but it's like he doesn't exist."

As Harry and Hermione stepped over the threshold, the musty scent of decay filled their nostrils, mingling with the thick layer of dust that coated every surface. The back door led them into the expansive kitchen, a relic of a bygone era.

"Be careful, Hermione," Harry warned, his voice echoing through the empty halls. "This place gives me the creeps."

They made their way through the dimly lit corridor, their footsteps echoing eerily. Finally, they reached the drawing room, the heart of the manor. The sight that greeted them was chilling. Frank Bryce's lifeless body lay near the fireplace, a haunting reminder of the tragedy that had unfolded within these walls.

Hermione's expertise in magic compelled her to cast detection spells. "There's a dark and foreboding presence coming from this torn book and peculiar ring," she said, her voice filled with concern.

With a heavy sigh, Hermione prepared her ward box, carefully storing the book and the ring. "There's little we can do for Frank Bryce now," she said sadly. "Our priority is to fortify the numerous wards around the house, so no more lives are lost."