"I must admit… I do not understand, Madam Bellatrix," the old Goblin wheezed, tugging at his collar. "Why would one such as you be interested in a Goblin company legend?"
"Never you mind," Oleandra said, prodding his back with her wand. "Keep walking and talking. Don't change the subject."
After slipping and sliding down the rails a while longer, they finally reached the lowest level of Gringotts. Oleandra had never had any business venturing so far into its depths; she had never been here before, and so was forced to rely on the old goblin to guide her. She kept a close eye on him as they walked through the pitch darkness; as he had recommended, for he did not know she could see through the dark far better than he could.
"It's a well-known fact that Gringott made his fortune mining precious metals, which is how he obtained the capital to found Gringotts Bank," explained the old Goblin. "Essentially, he claimed the planet was entirely hollow and filled with riches, which is preposterous, naturally; but he did have a knack for finding buried treasure in the unlikeliest of places… each time he returned from his underground expeditions, he came back a much richer Goblin."
It was after one such expedition that he returned with the Thief's Downfall, a unique kind of water with anti-magic properties… perfect for dealing with nosy Wizards who liked to wrap themselves in layer upon layer of enchantments.
"Do these company legends of yours mention exactly where he found the Thief's Downfall?" Oleandra pressed. "Do tell."
The old Goblin shook his head.
"I'm afraid Gringott must have explored tens of thousands of tunnels and caves in his lifetime," he said in a low voice. "While he greatly enjoyed publicity, he liked to keep his secrets close to his heart… when he died, he took his secrets with him to the grave."
Which meant that, unless Oleandra had a way to speak to the dead, she had reached a dead end. She no longer had the Resurrection Stone, and even if she did, it did not truly raise the spirits of the dead; it could only summon pale imitations, shaped by the memories of the person holding the Stone.
"Unless the Hallows can only show their true power when all three are assembled…" Oleandra murmured to herself. "The soul-reaping wand, the spirit-summoning stone, and the ghostly concealment cloak…"
From a purely magical point of view, a case could certainly be made that death linked the three Hallows… but the connection was tenuous at best. However, that only made Oleandra more confident in the rumours that the person holding all three Hallows would master Death itself; all legends had to have some basis in history, no matter how small.
The connection in the fairytale was that the artefacts came as a set, given away by the same entity, Death… which meant there had to be some purpose in gathering all three again; why else would three unrelated items appear in the same story in the same breath?
"This way, Madam…"
They turned a corner, and Oleandra was startled to come face to face with a sleeping Dragon of immense size… far larger than the one she had faced in the Triwizard Tournament.
"Do you see the sconces burning at the end of the path? That is where your vault lies… I'm certain you already know which one," said the Goblin, regaining his composure. "You do have your key, I trust? Shall I remain here while you conduct your business? A Witch of your stature must treasure her privacy..."
"What about that Dragon over there?" Oleandra said suspiciously. "Is it not going to attack me?"
A look of shock appeared on the Goblin's wizened face. He clearly hadn't expected her to be able to see the monster in the darkness… or to discern its true identity by scent or sound alone. Its deep rumbles as it breathed were remarkably similar to the sound of the groaning of rock convergence; the sound the bedrock made when under immense stress.
"Of course not!" the Goblin said hastily, mopping his brow. "It is well trained, not to mention blind!"
False. True. True.
"In that case, why don't you go first?" Oleandra said with a sinister smile. "Go on, I'm waiting."
The elderly Goblin's facetious façade finally fell.
"I think we both know you aren't the real Bellatrix Lestrange," he said. "Unless you happen to have the key to her vault, you can forget about robbing her."
Truth. Falsehood.
"I imagine you Goblins have ways of unlocking your own vaults even without the matching key," Oleandra said lightly. "Would I be right in saying that?"
She pointed her wand at him, and he flinched.
"Well, you are correct about one thing," she said softly. "Consider yourself lucky that I am not Bellatrix Lestrange… still, however distasteful I find the Unforgivables, I am not above using them... so for your own sake, I'd recommend you stop testing my patience."
Before the Goblin could react, she seized him by the collar and pivoted on the spot, vanishing in a whirl of blue feathers. A heartbeat later, they reappeared beneath the torches he had shown her earlier, past the hollow in the wall where the Dragon rested.
Oleandra let him go, sending him stumbling forward, and in a blink her wand was trained on him once more. Trembling, the old Goblin pressed his palm to one of the vault doors, and with the sound of groaning metal, it melted away, revealing a glittering ocean of gold beyond.
"Go on, you first," Oleandra said, flicking her wand. "I'm right behind you."
The vault did not appear to have been carved out of the bedrock; rather, it seemed to Oleandra as though the Goblins had simply apposed a vault door to the entrance of a naturally occurring cave, sealing it off and calling it a vault. But what if lacked in décor, it made up in riches… she was staring at literal mountains of gold! Coins, goblets and plates, trinkets of all kinds, reaching up to the ceiling!
And all enchanted, by the looks of them…