Crabb and Goyle stood awkwardly in the middle of the Auror Office, the walls adorned with magical maps and moving posters of wanted wizards. The usual bustling energy of the department seemed more intense today, or perhaps it was just their nerves making them more aware of every little detail. The scornful look from their superior, Mr. Yeats, hung over them like a dark cloud as they waited to be summoned.

They had barely landed in Britain via Portkey when the owl arrived with orders to report to the office immediately. They had anticipated this. The failure of their investigation in Italy was a bitter pill to swallow, but they knew they had to face the consequences.

"Crabb. Goyle. Get in here!" barked Mr. Yeats, his voice carrying through the office like a whip crack. The door to his office stood open, and neither of them had any intention of delaying the inevitable.

As they entered, Mr. Yeats didn't bother with pleasantries. His eyes narrowed in on them like a predator sizing up its prey. He was a short man, balding, with a permanent scowl etched onto his face. His robes were immaculate, but his demeanor was anything but welcoming.

"So," he began, not even offering them seats, "you've finally decided to grace us with your presence after your little 'holiday' in Italy."

Crabb and Goyle exchanged a glance but said nothing. They had learned long ago that when Mr. Yeats started one of his tirades, it was best to just keep quiet and endure it.

"Do you have any idea how long this case has been dragging on?" Yeats continued, his voice rising with every word. "You were supposed to solve the mystery of Mrs. Zabini's death, not take a bloody vacation! And don't even get me started on the murder of her son. What have you got to show for it? Nothing! Absolutely nothing!"

Crabb clenched his jaw, his hands balled into fists by his sides. The insults stung more this time, cutting deeper because he knew, deep down, that they had let Yeats down. This wasn't just another case they could brush off. This was supposed to be their moment, their chance to prove themselves, and they had failed.

Goyle kept his eyes fixed on the floor, his face an unreadable mask. But Crabb knew his friend well enough to sense the same frustration and disappointment bubbling beneath the surface. They had given everything to this investigation, and now they were being torn apart for it.

"You two think you went to Italy for a vacation?" Yeats spat, his tone dripping with contempt. "Did you enjoy the sun? The food? The sights? Because you sure as hell didn't make any progress on the case!"

The urge to defend themselves was strong, but Crabb knew better. When your superior was tearing into you, you just shut up and listened. That was something they had learned long ago, back in their school days, following orders without question in the War. But this time, it felt different. This time, it felt personal.

"You've embarrassed this department," Yeats went on, shaking his head in disgust. "I took a chance on you two. I thought maybe—just maybe—you could handle a big case like this. But clearly, I was wrong."

Crabb winced at that. Mr. Yeats had been the one to give them this case in the first place, despite their lack of experience with such high-profile investigations. It had been a vote of confidence they hadn't expected, and now it felt like they had betrayed that trust.

"So here's what's going to happen," Yeats said, his voice cold and final. "You're no longer investigating this case. I'm assigning it to Auror Smith."

Crabb and Goyle both stared at him, shocked. Auror Smith? Their hard-earned clues and investigation reports were going to be handed over to someone else? Someone who hadn't spent a month digging through the tangled web of Mrs. Zabini's life?"

I would have given it to Potter," Yeats continued, almost as an afterthought, "but he's too busy with other cases. If he had been on this, he'd have caught the culprit by now, no doubt about it. But that's beside the point. You two will hand everything over to Smith tomorrow morning. Understood?"

They nodded, though it felt like a blow to the gut.

"Good. Now get out of my office," Yeats snapped, waving them away as if they were nothing more than an inconvenience.

They left without another word, their minds reeling. As they stepped out into the corridor, the noise of the office seemed distant, muffled by their own thoughts.

Crabb finally broke the silence as they walked towards the exit. "We're supposed to hand over the case to Smith..."

"But not until tomorrow," Goyle finished for him, a sly smile creeping onto his face. "Which means we still have today."

Crabb raised an eyebrow. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking we've been working on this case for a month without a single breakthrough," Goyle replied, his eyes gleaming with a mix of determination and defiance. "So what have we got to lose by pushing a little harder, just for one more day?"

Crabb considered it for a moment. "One day? What can we possibly do in one day that we haven't already tried?"

Goyle's smile widened. "First, we take all the photographs we collected in Italy and show them to Ms. Williams, Blaise Zabini's Muggle girlfriend. She might recognize someone. She might know something. It's a long shot, but it's better than just giving up."

Crabb nodded slowly, a glimmer of hope sparking within him. It was a long shot, but at this point, what did they have to lose? "Alright. Let's do it."

With renewed purpose, they gathered their notes and photographs from the investigation, stuffing them into their worn leather briefcases. They had only a few hours left before they would be forced to hand everything over, but if there was even a slim chance of finding a clue, they were going to take it.

As they stepped outside into the crisp London air, Crabb looked at Goyle with newfound resolve. "We're not done yet."

"Not by a long shot," Goyle agreed, his eyes filled with determination. They knew this was their last chance, their final push to prove that they were more than just the failures Yeats saw them as. And they were going to make every second count.

Crabb and Goyle stood under the dim glow of a street lamp, the night bus having just dropped them off near Miss Williams' apartment. The air was heavy with the scent of rain, and the quiet rustle of leaves in the wind did little to calm their nerves. They exchanged a quick glance, knowing this might be their last shot at salvaging the case.

As they approached the door of Victoria Williams' apartment, Crabb knocked firmly. They could hear footsteps from within, followed by the sound of the chain being removed. When the door swung open, they were greeted by a very panicked Victoria Williams.

"You told me that if I told you everything I know, we wouldn't meet again," she blurted out, her eyes wide with fear.

Goyle stepped forward, trying to calm her. "We're not here for any trouble, Miss Williams. We just have a couple more questions. Simple questions."

Her panic subsided slightly, and she nodded, stepping aside to let them in. "Alright, come in."

Inside, the apartment was small and modestly furnished. The living room was tidy, with a few scattered magazines on the coffee table and a small bookshelf crammed with novels against one wall. She motioned for them to sit on the worn sofa.

"Do you need something to drink?" she asked, her tone polite but still carrying a hint of nervousness.

Crabb shook his head. "No, thank you. We're in a bit of a hurry. We just need you to look through these photographs and see if you recognize anyone."

He pulled out a stack of photos from his briefcase, each one carefully selected from their investigation in Italy. They watched as Victoria went through them one by one, her brow furrowed in concentration. She took her time, examining each face closely, but with every shake of her head, Crabb and Goyle felt their hopes dimming.

Finally, after going through the entire stack, she looked up at them with a regretful expression. "No, I've never seen any of these people before."

Crabb and Goyle exchanged a defeated glance. This was supposed to be their lead, the breakthrough they needed, but it seemed like another dead end. They both stood up, ready to leave."

Well, thank you for your time, Miss Williams," Crabb said, trying to hide his disappointment. "We'll be on our way."

Just as they were about to step out the door, Victoria suddenly called after them.

"Wait!"

They turned back, and she hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "You know, you could ask Mrs. Cook. She's Blaise's neighbor. She's a bit of a gossip, always looking around the neighborhood for new stories. She's complained about Blaise more than once, about him playing his music too loud or whatever. She had her eyes on his door all the time. If anyone noticed something strange, it would be her."

Crabb and Goyle exchanged a glance, a spark of hope reigniting. This could be the lead they needed.

Crabb stepped forward, his tone grateful. "Thank you, Miss Williams. We appreciate it."

Goyle nodded in agreement. "Really, this could be very helpful. We'll be sure to follow up with Mrs. Cook."

With a final nod of thanks, they left Victoria's apartment and stepped back into the cool night air. Their steps were a bit lighter now as they made their way to Blaise Zabini's house, where Mrs. Cook, the ever-watchful neighbor, resided.

The streets were quiet as they approached the modest neighborhood where Blaise's house stood. It wasn't a particularly affluent area, but it had an air of quiet respectability. The kind of place where everyone knew everyone else's business.

They found Mrs. Cook's house easily enough. It was the one right next to Blaise's, a quaint little cottage with a meticulously kept garden. The curtains were drawn, but there was a faint light visible through the gaps.

Crabb and Goyle exchanged a determined look. This was their next step, maybe their last chance. They walked up to the front door, and Crabb gave it a firm knock.

It took a moment, but eventually, the door creaked open, revealing an elderly woman with sharp eyes and a shrewd expression. She looked them up and down with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

"Can I help you?" Mrs. Cook asked, her voice carrying the clipped tones of someone who didn't tolerate nonsense.

Goyle stepped forward with a polite smile. "Good evening, Mrs. Cook. We're Detectives, investigating the death of your neighbor, Mr. Norman. We were wondering if you might have seen anything unusual, or if you recognize anyone from these photographs."

He handed over the stack of photos, and Mrs. Cook's expression immediately changed to one of interest. She took the photos eagerly, her eyes scanning each one with the precision of someone who had spent years observing her neighbors' every move.

As Crabb and Goyle waited, their tension grew. This felt like the moment of truth. If Mrs. Cook couldn't provide them with anything, they weren't sure where else to turn.

Finally, Mrs. Cook paused on one of the photographs, her eyes narrowing as she studied it closely.

Mrs. Cook had just identified two men from the photographs—Blaise Zabini's cousins, Luca and Giovanni Zabini. The revelation sent a shock through both Aurors, but they quickly masked their surprise.

Crabb was the first to speak, his voice steady but with an underlying urgency. "Are you sure, madam? Is this the same people you saw?"

Mrs. Cook scoffed, her sharp eyes narrowing as she looked at him. "Of course I'm sure. You think I'd forget two strange-looking Italians wearing those odd clothes? They stood out like sore thumbs in this neighborhood. They came by two weeks before Norman died, acting all friendly with each other. I saw Norman giving them a very pleasant farewell, like they were old friends."

Crabb and Goyle exchanged a look, the pieces of the puzzle finally falling into place. This was it—the lead they'd been desperately searching for. But now, time was their enemy. They had to act fast before the case was taken away from them.

"Thank you, Mrs. Cook," Goyle said, trying to keep his voice calm despite the adrenaline pumping through him. "You've been very helpful."

As they stepped away from Mrs. Cook's door and back onto the quiet street, Crabb turned to Goyle, his expression resolute. "We don't have much time. If we're going to catch these two, we need to act now."

Goyle nodded in agreement. "Yeah, we have to apprehend them before Auror Smith gets the case. We can't let all our work go to waste

They quickened their pace, their minds racing with the next steps. They needed to track down Luca and Giovanni Zabini before they had a chance to slip away. The thought of handing over their hard-earned leads to someone else was unbearable, especially after how far they'd come.

As they hurried down the street, Goyle pulled out his wand, already preparing for the next move. "We'll need to figure out where they are now. If they're still in the Italy, we should be able to track them down quickly."

Crabb nodded. "We'll start with the last known addresses, and we'll use whatever resources we can. We've got one night to bring them in."

The two Aurors knew that this was their last chance. They weren't about to let it slip through their fingers. The night was far from over, and their resolve had never been stronger. It was time to finish what they'd started.

Author Note:

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