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"We need to withdraw some items from the Lestrange family vault for this lady," Dumbledore said gently to Bogrod.
The goblin adjusted his glasses and peered at Dumbledore.
"Mr. Dumbledore, Gringotts has strict regulations. Only immediate family members are permitted to access a family vault, regardless of the reason," Bogrod said sternly.
Dumbledore gave a slight nod. "It just so happens that we have a member of the Lestrange family with us."
With that, he reached out and lifted the hood, revealing Bellatrix Lestrange.
Bogrod's usually composed expression flickered with surprise.
"Mrs. Lestrange?"
He even removed his glasses, scrutinizing her face with great care.
Everyone knew Bellatrix was supposed to be locked away in Azkaban.
"I want to enter my vault," Bella declared haughtily, chin raised, exuding her usual arrogance—even under the Imperius Curse.
Bogrod eyed her warily before wiping his glasses and stepping closer for a better look as if seeking proof.
"What are you staring at, you filthy goblin?" Bella snapped, her voice dripping with disdain.
To everyone's surprise, Bogrod looked relieved.
He exhaled softly as if reassured by her behavior.
Turning back to Dumbledore, he asked, "Mr. Dumbledore, may I ask the purpose of this visit?"
Dumbledore smiled lightly. "Bogrod, there's no need for concern. It's just routine."
Bogrod hesitated momentarily, but seeing that the request followed proper procedure, he chose not to press further.
Besides, the individuals standing before him were all highly influential figures from the Ministry of Magic—Gringotts had no interest in making enemies of them.
"Very well," he said at last.
"I will take you to the vault."
He led the group out of the lounge, then called out in a commanding voice, "Bring me a clanker!"
A younger goblin hurried over, carrying a small leather pouch that jingled with the sound of clinking metal.
Bogrod took the pouch and secured it around his waist.
"Right, then! Follow me, Mrs. Lestrange!" he announced.
Dumbledore, Bella, and the others trailed behind Bogrod as they made their way through the bank.
The path to the vault was a dimly lit stone corridor, its walls flickering with the glow of torches.
The ground sloped steeply downward, and a narrow railway ran along the passage.
Bogrod took out a whistle and blew sharply.
Within moments, several carts came rattling toward them along the tracks.
"Everyone, in!"
They clambered into the carts, and as soon as they were seated, the vehicles jolted violently and sped off into the depths of Gringotts.
The trolley glided silently through the winding, maze-like corridors of Gringotts.
Twisting sharply between jagged stalactites, it plunged ever deeper as if descending into the very heart of the earth.
Suddenly, the cart veered around a bend, and Ethan saw a torrent of water cascading directly onto the track ahead.
He recognized it instantly—the Thief's Downfall.
A powerful security measure, the enchanted waterfall stripped away all magical disguises and enchantments, exposing any intruders for who they indeed were.
Within seconds, the cart passed beneath it, and Ethan felt the cold rush of water drenching him completely.
The trolley continued unimpeded, but a startled scream rang out from one of the cars ahead.
It was short-lived—interrupted by Moody's gruff voice barking, "Imperio!"
Ethan grimaced. He knew exactly what had happened.
Bella had just been freed from the Imperius Curse—only to have Moody immediately reapply it.
The trolley sped downward for a few more moments before finally screeching to a halt.
"Alright, we're here!" Bogrod declared, hopping out of the cart with surprising agility for his short frame.
"That bloody waterfall!" Moody growled, dragging a thoroughly soaked Bella from the cart.
His missing leg made the task awkward, and to everyone's surprise, Bella—still under the Imperius Curse—wrapped him in a hearty embrace.
The sight was bizarre, to say the least.
Bogrod, ignoring the oddity, turned to Moody and whispered urgently, "Sir, keep your voice down—there's a big one here."
Moody grunted, suddenly remembering what lay deep within Gringotts. He fell silent.
Bogrod led the group forward, turning a small corner.
Then Ethan stopped in his tracks, eyes widening in shock.
A dragon.
A massive fire-breathing beast, chained to the stone floor, guarding the four or five deepest vaults, loomed ahead.
Its once-magnificent scales were now pale and ragged from years of confinement.
Its eyes, cloudy and pink, blinked dully in the dim torchlight.
Thick, rusted chains anchored its hind legs to the cavern floor. Its tattered wings, if fully extended, would fill the entire underground chamber.
The dragon let out a low, guttural growl, sensing movement.
Then, suddenly, it turned its massive head toward Ethan and roared.
The sheer force of the sound shook the walls, dislodging dust and small rocks from the ceiling.
A split second later, the dragon spewed fire.
Ethan barely had time to react—he and the others scrambled backward, retreating into the tunnel just before the flames scorched the ground where they had been standing.
Bogrod panted, shaking his head.
"Its eyes have been in the dark too long. They've deteriorated. But that only makes it more vicious."
He gestured toward the chains.
"We have a way to control it, though. It's been conditioned since childhood."
With that, Bogrod unclipped a small, metal device from his waist—clankers.
With a practiced flick of his wrist, he shook the device.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
A sharp, metallic ringing echoed through the chamber, reverberating against the stone walls.
"You have nothing to fear!" Bogrod declared with a grin.
"This beast has been trained to fear the sound of the clankers!"
The dragon let out a pitiful whimper as if on cue and staggered backward, shrinking away from the noise.
Bogrod beamed proudly. "See? Every time it hears this, it remembers the pain. Now, let's proceed and retrieve what Mrs. Lestrange desires."
Still shaking the clankers, Bogrod stepped forward, his excitement evident.
The sound grew louder, amplified by the cavern's acoustics.
Ethan winced—his heightened Witcher senses made the shrill noise almost unbearable.
He clenched his jaw, trying to endure it.
As they moved closer, Ethan studied the dragon again.
Its entire body trembled violently.
Its skin was marred with deep, horrific scars—some fresh, others old—evidence of years, possibly decades, of brutal mistreatment.
Ethan's expression darkened.
Now he understood.
This dragon wasn't just afraid of the clankers—it had been tortured into submission.