"Yeah, I reckon something serious has happened," said Fred, sounding rather excited. "The Death Eaters have been by the shop three times this past hour, asking after that girl. And plenty of Heliopaths wearing their obnoxious sun badges, out patrolling the streets— more than usual, I mean. Creepy buggers."
Owing to their magical conditioning, the Heliopaths always wore a vacant sort of look, as though not entirely present… up there. Their magic ran strong; their kind of Muggle-Born was the next step in Wizarding evolution, yet their dulled minds left their spellcraft stunted.
Basically, they were glorified Stunning Spell dispensers; they could also use Reductor and Blasting Curses, and the more lucid amongst them could use Legilimency and the Imperius Curse, but she hadn't seen them showcase many more abilities.
"I think she was Oleandra's friend, yeah?" George said pensively. "Tracey Davis… I wonder why they're after her."
"Oh, that one's easy," Oleandra said dismissively. "Oleandra's killed You-Know-Who."
Fred and George goggled at her, and Oleandra felt her face flush. Singing her own praises was rather embarrassing, even though she was pretending to be Tonks.
"Wot," George blurted out.
"You're taking the piss!" Fred said, bursting out laughing. "Good one, Tonks— now pull the other one…"
But Oleandra held his gaze, and the laughter slowly ebbed out of him.
"You're serious, aren't you?" Fred said, gaping at her. "Oh, my goodness, she really is."
"How!?" George asked in disbelief. "No, never mind, that can wait," he said, growing more excited by the second. "I— everyone needs to hear about this! Fred, the radio programme!"
Oleandra owned no wireless sets, magical or otherwise, but she got the gist of what they were talking about. From the sound of it, Fred and George either ran a rogue broadcast of their own or turned up now and then on some underground resistance programme.
"Imagine that, the end of the war, just like that!" Fred exclaimed. "We need to gather everyone for a special broadcast! Right, which makes me think!" he added, slapping his forehead. "Lupin's been running up and down the country looking for you!"
Oleandra's heart lurched.
"He's been worried sick," George said. "Where have you been all this time? And the baby…"
His eyes flitted downwards to the slight curve of her belly.
"The baby's fine," said Oleandra, pulling her coat tighter around her. "Listen, I can't stay long— there are reasons— and I've business to see to. It's vital I find Tracey before the Death Eaters do…"
"Tomorrow, then," Fred said, scribbling something down on a scrap of parchment he found on the shop counter, before handing it to her. "Come to this address, towards 6 o'clock in the afternoon. We'll be waiting."
Oleandra took the offered slip of paper, gave it a quick glance, and tucked it into her pocket.
"I'll show up if I find the girl," she said. Her form rippled, her features rearranging, and once more, Bellatrix Lestrange stood before them. "See you, boys."
With her disguise restored, Oleandra stepped out of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and crossed the street to Gringotts. She mounted the marble steps to the bank's grand doors, where two Wizards stood guard, each with a long golden rod in hand. She fixed them with a glare, running through in her mind how she might slip past their Probity Probes— but to her surprise, they stepped aside and let her through.
How odd.
However, the moment she passed through the bank's doors, the light of the twenty‑four runes etched upon her soul flickered and dimmed. She had the feeling the runes' light would gutter out entirely, were she to venture deeper underground, to the vaults.
Here, the earth's magic held sway… the telluric power of the Ogham.
Just as well she'd gained the powers of a Metamorphmagus, for any rune‑wrought Glamour would have failed her then and there, before she could have even got close to the Thief's Downfall…
Oleandra approached the long counter— manned, or rather Goblined— by a row of clerks perched on high stools, each serving a Wizarding customer. To her relief, one of the Goblins appeared free, so she headed over at once.
"Ah, Madam Lestrange," said the young Goblin with a strained smile, noticing her approach. "Have you perhaps forgotten something? Is this about your vault's security measures again, or perhaps that human girl you've been looking for?"
Oleandra fought back a shudder of revulsion. Fairies, every one of them, adored beauty but loathed ugliness in all its guises… and Goblins were anything but pleasing to the eye. Still, she made the effort to look at him. From his thin smile, she guessed the Goblin was irritated with her, only too scared to show it. And, judging from his words, she'd only just missed the real Bellatrix…
The Goblin raised an eyebrow at her silence.
Asking after Tracey now would only stir suspicion, and turning on her heel to leave would look just as odd in his eyes. But to visit the Lestrange vault? No one had ever broken into Gringotts and escaped with its treasures— so what made her think she'd be any different?
The Goblin's eyes narrowed. She was taking too long to answer.
"The vault," Oleandra said at last. "I'd like to retrieve something from my vault."
The Bellatrix disguise was far too useful to abandon without at least getting something in exchange for her efforts. She would take a single item from the Lestrange vault— whatever came to hand— and then leave. And if anything went awry, she'd simply Disapparate; surely Gringotts had no safeguards against Diricawl teleportation. After all, who would bother to ward against a flightless bird from a tropical island half a world away?
"As for identification…"
"Is that really necessary?" Oleandra said coldly. "If I find you're wasting my time on purpose…"
"It's standard protocol, Madam!" the goblin stammered, beads of sweat glinting on his forehead. "The Lestrange vault's a special case— you yourself insisted my superior understand how vital its security was... in excruciating detail. I'll need to ask permission all the way up to the top and contact your comrades besides, so asking for identification is the least of it!"
Oleandra was bewildered.
Even the lowest‑security vaults at Gringotts had never been robbed, let alone the deepest and best‑guarded, so what was all this fuss about the Lestrange vault and the strange regulations surrounding it?
What in Merlin's name had she just randomly blundered into while looking for Tracey!? She'd only meant to ask the clerks if they'd seen her around!