"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

I was filled with wonder and awe as I thought about how I got here. The Department of Mysteries, older than the Ministry of Magic itself, was a hidden world of secrets. For two years, I had been learning from the senior Unspeakable Regina Rowle, exploring the enigmas hidden in its walls. Today, I was entering the Death Chamber for the first time, a huge and dark chamber deep under the ground.

As I walked down the stone steps to the center of the chamber, I felt amazed and nervous. My eyes were drawn to the old stone archway in the pit below, covered with an torn black curtain that moved softly, as if by a ghostly wind.

Rowle, a mentor and a friend, came up to me. "Hermione, you have done very well in your studies, and your research has been impressive. The Death Chamber will be your main focus. This is where the key to unlocking the mysteries of the Veil and its ancient magic lies."

The Veil was not just a curtain; it was a living thing. It breathed and whispered, beckoning me to come closer. It seemed to have a mind of its own, a dark and seductive mind that wanted to lure me into its depths. "The Veil," I asked, "is it the portal between the living and the dead?"

Regina nodded gravely, aware of the seriousness of the topic. "Yes. Your role will be to help us understand the complexity of the magic that keeps the Veil and find out why it exists. It seems to be a symbol of the separation between the world of the living and that of the dead, blocking any passage between them."

I felt a chill run down my spine as I listened to Regina's words. The Death Chamber was a place of great power, but also of great danger. Tales of whispers and spells in its walls, tempting those who stayed too long by the Veil, had scared the Wizarding world.

"Be careful, Hermione," Regina warned, her eyes filled with worry. "The Death Chamber is not safe. The voices of the dead get louder when living beings try to talk to them. Looking too long at the Veil may result in a dangerous spell, urging you to step through it."

I took a deep breath, feeling determined. "I understand, Unspeakable Rowle. I will be alert and cautious in the Death Chamber."

Regina gave me a supportive smile, putting a hand on my shoulder. "I trust you, Hermione. Your intelligence and your bravery will help us find the answers we seek."

As the weeks passed, I became more fascinated by the secrets of the Veil. I was looking forward to resuming my research on that fateful morning, but instead I received an urgent summons from Augustus Rookwood, the director of the Department of Mysteries.

I felt a surge of nervousness as I stepped into Rookwood's lavish office. The room was a display of wealth and power, with ornate decorations on the walls and luxurious furniture. Rookwood himself was a formidable presence behind his massive desk, his gaze steady and stern.

I breathed deeply, trying to calm myself. I knew that Rookwood was not an easy person to deal with, especially since his family had a notorious reputation for hating muggles and muggleborns. But I refused to let his prejudice affect my confidence.

Rookwood reclined in his chair, scrutinizing me with sharp eyes. "Granger, do you realize how serious this situation is?"

I nodded firmly. "Yes, Director Rookwood. I am aware that a Muggle has been killed, and there are signs of dark magic involved."

Rookwood's lip twisted into a scornful smile. "That's right. The incident has left a clear mark of dark magic, which we cannot overlook. We need someone to investigate and eliminate this threat, and that someone is you, Granger."

I felt a pang of panic, searching for a way to convince Rookwood otherwise. "Sir, with all due respect, my specialty is more in Charms and Curses. Shouldn't this task be handled by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

Rookwood's eyes flashed with anger, his words dripping with disdain. "Don't challenge my authority, Granger. I am the one who makes the calls in this department. You will do as I say, or you can forget about your internship."

Determined, I clenched my jaw and kept my composure. I knew that I had to prove myself to keep my internship. With a resolute nod, I answered, "Very well, Director Rookwood. I will take on this assignment and do my best to solve the mysteries of the dark object."

I saw a glimmer of grudging respect in Rookwood's eyes. "Make sure you do, Granger. The reputation of the Department of Mysteries is at stake."

With that, I left Rookwood's office, feeling a mix of resolve and frustration. I knew that this assignment would push me to my limits and test my skills.

Sure, I can do that. Here is the rewritten text without starting each paragraph with I:

It was a long and exhausting journey to Little Hangleton. A train from London to Little Whinging, then a carriage for two hours through the green fields and hills. When the carriage stopped, the fresh country air filled my lungs, and I admired the cozy cottages and the narrow streets of the village, frozen in time.

A quaint pub caught my eye, "The Hanged Man." It looked friendly, and I thought it would be a good place to start my inquiry before heading to the site of the Muggle's death. The old wooden door opened, and the smell of ale and the sound of lively chatter greeted me.

At the bar, I ordered some fish and chips. A conversation with Agatha Sanders, the woman who ran the pub, followed. "Agatha," I said, "I'm investigating the death of Frank Bryce. Do you know anything about it?"

She looked around, making sure no one was listening. She leaned closer and whispered. "I've heard some things, dear. They say they found a body in the Riddle Manor. It's been empty since the Riddle family died."

More questions came from me, wondering if anyone had seen or heard anything strange around Frank's death. Agatha thought for a while, cleaning a glass with a cloth. "People talk, you know. They say they heard weird noises from the Manor, like screams and footsteps. But no one can prove it. And there are stories of dark shapes sneaking around the graveyard at night. But who knows if it's true or just their imagination?"

The information was absorbed by me, nodding thoughtfully. It was clear that this case was more complicated than it seemed. Suddenly, the door opened, and Harry Potter walked in, his cloak flapping behind him.

"Hey, Hermione, it's been too long! We should hang out more," Harry said, sounding a bit sad.

A sigh escaped me, feeling a mix of nostalgia and frustration. "I know, Harry. It's just... life has gotten complicated," I said, with a hint of sadness in my voice.

Harry looked puzzled. "Complicated? How so?"

A pause followed, as I gathered my thoughts. I decided to tell him about my messy personal life. "You remember how close we were, right? You, Ron, and me. We were inseparable."

Harry nodded, remembering our past adventures. "Of course, I remember. We were like a family."

Pain flashed in my eyes as I went on. "Yes, we were. But things changed, Harry. After Ron and I got engaged, it all fell apart. I caught him in our apartment with Lavender Brown in our bed. It was a betrayal I couldn't forgive."

Harry gasped in shock. "Merlin, Hermione, I had no clue. That's... awful."

Both hurt and determined, I nodded. "It was. Ron was always so jealous and controlling, and this was the last straw. His family, especially Molly, tried to blame me, saying I was too busy with my studies and didn't give him enough attention. But I couldn't stay in a toxic relationship like that."

Harry looked at me with sympathy and compassion. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. You didn't deserve any of that. You deserve to be happy."

A faint smile crossed my lips as I met his gaze. "Thank you, Harry. Your words mean a lot. After learning Alchemy from Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel, I sold my parents' apartment and traveled to Salem for more studies. Since then, my internship with the Department of Mysteries has taken up most of my time, making it hard to catch up."

Harry touched my hand gently. "I understand, Hermione. Life leads us on different journeys sometimes. But remember, I'm here for you. I've missed you."

We left the cozy pub behind, and Harry told me about the grim details of Frank Bryce's death. As we walked through the dark streets, Harry's voice was full of curiosity and worry.

"Frank Bryce fought in the First World War," Harry said quietly. "When he came back to Little Hangleton, he worked as the gardener for the doomed Riddle."

I was more intrigued by each word. I had heard rumors about the Riddles and their mysterious deaths. "But wasn't Frank Bryce a suspect in their murders?" I asked softly.

Harry nodded, his eyes on the road ahead. "Yes, he was a suspect. The authorities interrogated him, but he was never charged. He lived in a small cottage near the Little Hangleton graveyard."

We turned a corner, and the moonlight made the cobblestones look spooky. Harry went on, his tone filled with horror and wonder. "A week ago, Frank was found dead in the Riddle manor. The Muggle authorities couldn't figure out how he died, just like the Riddles before him. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is investigating, thinking it might be another attack by Grindelwald's followers."

I shuddered, feeling the cold night air chill me to the bone. "Grindelwald's followers? But wasn't he locked up in Nurmengard?"

Harry nodded gravely. "Yes, he's in prison, but many of his followers are still free, hiding across Europe. The fear is that they keep doing his dark deeds."

We neared the crime scene, and Harry's voice grew grave. "Frank's body was horrific, Hermione. He was shriveled like a mummy, and his face was twisted in terror. Dark magic had sucked the life out of him."

Trying to make sense of it, I asked. "Did they find any clues?"

Harry whispered. "They found a broken ring and a bloody book near him. Nothing else."

Intrigued and worried, I said. "Harry, I need to see it for myself. Take me there."

He smiled gratefully. "I knew you'd say that. Come on, Hermione. The Riddle Manor is waiting."

Leaving the village, the Riddle Manor loomed over us. It stood on a hill, its windows boarded up and its roof falling apart. Ivy covered its decaying walls, showing how time had ravaged it.

I shivered at the sight of the manor. "The Riddle House… it's so creepy, Harry."

Nodding solemnly, he said. "It was the home of the hated Riddle family, who were Muggles. Now, it's just a damp, crumbling ruin."

My thoughts drifted to the house's dark past. "Tom Riddle… the son of the Riddles, was bewitched by Merope Gaunt, who had his child. But when the spell wore off, he left her and their child."

Harry sighed sadly. "Merope died giving birth, and no one knows what happened to the child. The Gaunts, the last heirs of Salazar Slytherin, lived near Little Hangleton. They were a violent, poor family."

A pang of sympathy for those caught in the Riddle Manor's woes hit me. "And Morfin Gaunt, Merope's brother, cursed Tom Riddle for his sister's love. That led to his imprisonment in Azkaban."

The dreadful history and the tragedy in the Riddle Manor weighed on me. "This place is so disturbing, Harry."

He agreed, his eyes scanning the mansion. "I agree, Hermione. Whatever happened here, it still haunts this place."

The Riddle Manor loomed before us, a sinister sight in the moonlight. Its crumbling walls and broken windows spoke of years of neglect and decay. The shadows that surrounded it seemed to whisper of unspeakable horrors that lurked within. I shivered as we approached the ominous edifice, feeling a cold dread in my bones. I glanced at Harry, who looked determined and fearless.

"This is the place, then," I said softly, as if afraid to disturb the silence.

Harry nodded, his eyes scanning the dark interior. "Yes, the Riddle House. It used to be a magnificent mansion, but now it's a grim monument of a bloody history."

We made our way through the narrow hallway, our footsteps echoing in the emptiness. The air was thick with dust and cobwebs, and the faint smell of rot and decay. We reached the drawing room, the heart of the house. What we saw there made us gasp. Frank Bryce's corpse lay near the fireplace, a stark contrast to the faded elegance of the room. His eyes were wide open, staring at nothing. He was a victim of a terrible crime that had happened here.

I quickly cast some spells to detect any traces of magic. "There's something very wrong here," I said, pointing at a torn book and a strange ring on a table. "They're radiating a dark and powerful energy."

I sighed and took out my ward box, carefully placing the book and ring inside. "Poor Frank Bryce," I said mournfully. "We can't do anything for him now." I looked at Harry and added, "We have to secure this place as soon as possible, before anyone else gets hurt."