chapter twenty three

                                    

                                          
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Clara looked back at Travers, who was still rooted to the spot looking abnormally vacant, and with a flick of her wand she made Travers come with them, walking meekly in their wake as they reached the door and passed into the rough stone passageway beyond, which was lit with flaming torches. "We're in trouble; they suspect," said Harry as the door slammed behind them and he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak. Griphook jumped down from his shoulders and Clara sped up to take the lead with Ron: neither Travers nor Bogrod showed the slightest surprise at the sudden appearance of Harry Potter in their midst. "They're Imperiused," he added, in response to Hermione and Ron's confused queries about Travers and Bogrod, who were both now standing there looking blank. "It was Clara who did it, ask her, I don't know . . ."
"What do we do?" asked Ron. "Shall we get out now, while we can?" 
"If we can," said Hermione, looking back toward the door into the main hall, beyond which who knew what was happening. 
"We've got this far, I say we go on," said Harry.
"Good!" said Griphook. "So, we need Bogrod to control the cart; I no longer have the authority. But there will not be room for the extra wizard." 
The group turned and stared at Travers, then at Clara expectantly. "One of you do it!" she cried, "I've already had to do it twice now!" Silence followed her words as the group all avoided her gaze. "Oh, honestly," she said, and pointed her wand at Travers. "Imperio!"
The wizard turned and set off along the dark track at a smart pace. "You guys are such babies," said Clara as she pointed her wand at Bogrod, who whistled to summon a little cart that came trundling along the tracks toward them out of the darkness. They all climbed into the cart; Bogrod in front of Griphook, Harry, Clara, Ron, and Hermione crammed together in the back. With a jerk the cart moved off, gathering speed: They hurried past Travers, who was wriggling into a crack in the wall, then the cart began twisting and turning through the labyrinthine passages, sloping downward all the time. They might as well have left enormous footprints behind them; the more she thought about it, the more foolish it seemed to have disguised Hermione as Bellatrix, to have brought along Bellatrix's wand, when the Death Eaters knew who had stolen it.
Soon they saw a waterfall pounding over the track. Griphook shouted, "No!" but there was no braking. They zoomed through it. Water filled Clara's eyes and mouth: She could not see or breathe and the water's salty bitterness flooded her lungs. Then, with an awful lurch, the cart flipped over and they were all thrown out of it. Clara braced herself for impact, gritting her teeth and squeezing her muscles, but instead felt herself glide back toward the ground as though weightless, landing painlessly on the rocky passage floor. "C–Cushioning Charm," Hermione spluttered, as Ron pulled her to her feet, but to everyone's horror she was no longer Bellatrix; instead she stood there in overlarge robes, sopping wet and completely herself; Ron was red-haired and beardless again. They were realizing it as they looked at each other, feeling their own faces. 
"The Thief's Downfall!" said Griphook, clambering to his feet and looking back at the deluge onto the tracks, which, Harry knew now, had been more than water. "It washes away all enchantment, all magical concealment! They know there are imposters in Gringotts, they have set off defenses against us!" 
Bogrod shook his head in bewilderment: The Thief's Downfall seemed to have lifted his Imperius Curse. 
"We need him," said Griphook, "we cannot enter the vault without a Gringotts goblin. And we need the clankers!"
"Imperio!" Clara said again; her voice echoed through the stone passage as she felt again the sense of heady control that flowed from brain to wand. Clara could feel her blood pumping, warm and thick, as Bogrod submitted once more to her will, his befuddled expression changing to one of polite indifference, as Ron hurried to pick up the leather bag of metal tools.