Mystery of the Broken Wand - Chapter - 6 (Patreon)

Victoria sat across from Crabbe and Goyle, her hands trembling slightly as she recounted her story. The dim light in the room cast shadows on her face, accentuating the deep lines of worry etched into her features. Crabbe and Goyle, who had been so certain of their path just moments ago, now found themselves listening intently, their expressions a mixture of suspicion and confusion.

“The first time I met Richard Norman—no, I mean Blaise Zabini, was in January 7, 1998 ” Victoria corrected herself, her voice faltering as she spoke the name. The correction hung in the air, heavy with the weight of the truth. Both Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a glance, the name striking a chord in their memories. They knew the significance of January 7, 1998, the day Victoria had mentioned. It was the day of the infamous London Bridge attack during the height of the war against Voldemort. The memory of that night was etched into their minds—a chaotic battle between Death Eaters, Aurors, and the Order of the Phoenix, a night of violence, fear, and desperation.

As Victoria spoke, Crabbe’s thoughts drifted back to that fateful night. He remembered the fire and smoke, the deafening sounds of spells clashing in the air, and the sight of Death Eaters apparating away when the battle had turned against them. Goyle, seemed lost in his thoughts, the memory of the London Bridge attack stirring something deep within him.

“Go on,” Crabbe urged, pulling his mind back to the present. His voice was gruff, but there was a hint of impatience, a desire to finally piece together the puzzle that had been tormenting them.

Victoria took a deep breath, her eyes distant as she continued. “I was coming back from one of my late-night shows. There was a party after the show, and I had some drinks… I shouldn’t have been driving, but I did. The roads were dark, and I wasn’t paying enough attention. And then, out of nowhere, he was just… there, in front of my car. I didn’t even see him until it was too late.”

Her voice cracked as she relived the moment, the guilt that had haunted her for years evident in her every word. Crabbe and Goyle remained silent, their eyes fixed on her, absorbing every detail.

“I hit him,” Victoria continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know what to do. I panicked. I was drunk, scared… I called the cops, but I didn’t stick around. I couldn’t… I couldn’t face what I’d done. But the guilt, it never left me. I had to know if he was okay, so I started visiting the hospital. He was in a coma, no ID, nothing. The doctors didn’t know who he was, so they just called him ‘John Doe.’ But to me, he became Richard Norman.”

Crabbe and Goyle listened intently as she described how she had visited the hospital regularly, bringing flowers and sitting by his bedside, talking to the unconscious man she had nearly killed. It was a strange, one-sided relationship, but it was also the beginning of something more. She had named him, cared for him, and when he finally woke up, she had been there, waiting.

“When he woke up, he was… different,” Victoria said, her brow furrowing as she tried to find the right words. “He didn’t remember anything. Not his name, not where he came from… nothing. The doctors said it was some kind of memory loss, maybe from the accident. He was curious about everything, like he was seeing the world for the first time. I remember him staring at the light bulb in the room like it was some kind of miracle.”

Goyle frowned, his mind working through the implications of her story. If Blaise Zabini had lost his memory, then that would explain why he had disappeared from the wizarding world so completely. It wasn’t just that he was hiding—he didn’t even remember who he was.

“I took him home,” Victoria continued. “He had nowhere else to go, and I felt responsible. I helped him recover, took care of him… We watched movies, talked about everything… and eventually, we grew close. That’s how we started dating.”

Crabbe leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “You mentioned a stick. You saw him looking at a stick?”

Victoria nodded slowly, her expression troubled. “Yes. When I hit him with my car, there was something in his hand… it broke in the accident, just like he did. I didn’t think much of it at first—it just looked like a piece of wood. But after he woke up, he would sometimes look at it like… like it meant something. I didn’t understand, and he never explained it to me. But when you showed me that stick earlier… it looked like the same kind of thing. I don’t know what it is, but Blaise—or Richard, as I called him—he seemed to care about it.”

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged another glance, the pieces of the puzzle finally starting to come together. Blaise Zabini had been a Death Eater, fighting on the London Bridge that night. When the battle turned against them, he had tried to apparate away but had somehow ended up in front of Victoria’s car instead. The accident had broken his body, his wand, and his mind, leaving him vulnerable and lost in the Muggle world. And in that state, he had fallen in love with the woman who had nearly killed him.

But that still didn’t explain everything.

“If that broken stick was his, then whose stick was he holding when he was murdered?” Goyle muttered, voicing the question that had been nagging at both of them.

Victoria looked at them, her eyes wide with confusion. “I don’t know… I don’t know anything about any stick. All I know is that Richard—Blaise—was a good man. Whatever he did before, I don’t believe he deserved to die like that.”

Crabbe’s mind was racing. There were too many unanswered questions, too many loose ends. They had come here looking for a simple answer, but instead, they had uncovered a mystery that was far more complicated than they had anticipated. And now, with their deadline looming, they were no closer to finding the truth.

As they prepared to leave, Crabbe decided to take one last precaution. He pulled out the wand they had collected from Ollivander’s and held it out to Victoria.

“Before we go, I need you to do one last thing,” he said, his voice firm. “Take this wand. Just hold it for a moment.”

Victoria looked at him, then at the wand in his hand. She hesitated, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “What… What will it do?”

“Just hold it,” Crabbe insisted. “We need to be sure of something.”

With a shaky breath, Victoria reached out and took the wand from his hand. Crabbe and Goyle watched her closely, their muscles tensed, ready for any sign of magic. But as Victoria held the wand, nothing happened. No sparks, no reaction—nothing at all.

Crabbe let out a slow breath, relief washing over him. “Alright. You’re clear.”

Victoria handed the wand back to him, still looking bewildered. “What… What was that about?”

“Just a precaution,” Goyle said gruffly. “We had to be sure.”

As they collected their things and prepared to leave, Crabbe couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that clung to him. They had learned so much, but it felt like they were still missing something—some crucial piece of the puzzle that would make everything fit.

They left Victoria standing in the dimly lit room, her eyes following them as they walked away. The sound of the door closing behind them echoed in the silence, and for a moment, the two men stood in the cold night air, lost in their thoughts.

“What now?” Goyle asked quietly.

Crabbe shook his head, his mind still racing. “We keep going. We’re running out of time, but we’re not done yet. There’s more to this… we just have to find it.”

And with that, they disappeared into the night, their minds heavy with the weight of the mystery that still lay before them.

The next day dawned cool and misty, with the early morning fog still clinging to the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley. The Ministry of Magic was already bustling with activity as witches and wizards hurried to their respective offices, robes billowing behind them. Inside the grand, marble-lined halls of the Wizengamot, the scene was no different. The meeting had already begun, and the chamber was filled with the low hum of voices discussing the day's agenda.

Crabbe and Goyle sat in their usual seats, representing their respective houses. Though their Houses had once been aligned with the darker side of wizarding politics, their experiences during the war had left them wary of extremes. Over the years, they had shifted toward a more neutral stance, voting for what they believed was in the best interest of the wizarding community as a whole. Today’s meeting was no exception, with the Wizengamot deliberating on a new law that aimed to regulate the use of dangerous magical creatures in urban areas.

Crabbe, always the more reserved of the two, listened intently as one of the representatives argued in favor of stricter controls. Goyle, on the other hand, appeared slightly distracted, his mind still turning over the events of the previous day. The discovery of Blaise Zabini’s Muggle girlfriend and the implications of his memory loss weighed heavily on him. He was eager to share their findings, to finally make a breakthrough in the case that had been haunting them for months.

When the vote was called, both men raised their hands in support of the new law, their neutral stance aligning with the majority. The Wizengamot session concluded shortly afterward, and the members began to file out of the chamber, robes rustling as they exchanged polite goodbyes.

As Crabbe and Goyle made their way toward the exit, they were suddenly intercepted by a woman with sharp features and a quill poised over a notepad. Rita Skeeter, the infamous reporter from the Daily Prophet, stood before them, her bright red lipstick contrasting starkly against her pale skin. Her eyes gleamed with the thrill of a potential scoop.

“Gentlemen,” she began, her voice smooth and overly sweet, “I couldn’t help but notice your recent involvement in the Zabini case. Word around the Ministry is that you’ve uncovered something quite significant. Care to share with the Daily Prophet?”

Goyle, never one to shy away from attention, opened his mouth to respond. The excitement of finally being able to share their discoveries overwhelmed his better judgment. He wanted to tell her everything—the accident, Victoria’s confession, Blaise’s memory loss, the broken wand. It all seemed so crucial, and he felt the urge to unburden himself of the secrets they had been carrying.

But before he could utter a single word, Crabbe’s large hand clamped down on his shoulder, squeezing firmly. Goyle shot him a surprised look, but Crabbe’s expression was stern, his eyes sending a clear message: Not here. Not now.

Crabbe turned to Rita with a practiced, polite smile. “We appreciate your interest, Ms. Skeeter, but we’re not at liberty to discuss the details of the case just yet. We’re very close to catching the culprit, and once we’ve wrapped things up, we’ll be happy to give you an exclusive interview. For now, though, we must keep our findings confidential.”

Rita’s eyes narrowed slightly, clearly dissatisfied with the vague response. But Crabbe’s tone left no room for argument, and she reluctantly lowered her quill. “Very well,” she said, her voice dripping with disappointment. “But don’t keep us waiting too long. The public has a right to know.”

With that, she stepped aside, allowing them to pass. Crabbe and Goyle wasted no time in making their way to the Apparition point, their footsteps echoing through the corridor as they hurried away from the reporter’s probing questions.

Once they were safely out of earshot, Goyle let out a frustrated sigh. “Why’d you stop me? We should’ve told her! This could’ve been our chance to finally get some answers.”

Crabbe shook his head, his expression serious. “And what exactly would we have told her, Greg? That we’ve uncovered some vague leads but still have no idea where to go from here? That we’re stuck? We can’t afford to look like we’re floundering in front of the press. It’ll only make things worse.”

Goyle grumbled under his breath, but he knew Crabbe was right. They had been spinning their wheels for weeks now, chasing down every lead only to hit dead end after dead end. The discovery of Blaise’s identity had been a breakthrough, but it had also raised more questions than answers. They know only how he had ended up in the Muggle world .

As they exited the Ministry building and stepped into the chilly afternoon air, Goyle glanced at his partner. “So, what do we do now? Where do we go from here?”

Crabbe’s brow furrowed in thought. “We need to retrace our steps. Go back to the beginning and look at everything again, from a different angle. There’s something we’re missing—something important. Maybe Victoria knows more than she realizes. We should talk to her again, see if there’s anything else she remembers.”

Goyle nodded, though the prospect of starting over filled him with a sense of exhaustion. But he knew it was necessary. They couldn’t give up now—not when they were so close.

As they Apparated away from the Ministry, both men steeled themselves for the long road ahead. The case was far from over, and the truth remained elusive. But they were determined to see it through to the end, no matter how many twists and turns lay in their path.

Back at the Ministry, Rita Skeeter watched them disappear with a calculating gaze. She knew there was more to this story than they were letting on, and she would find out what it was—one way or another.

For now, she would bide her time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The game was far from over, and she was always one step ahead.