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ACT4CH24 - Conspiracies in Action Part 4
🕑 Added 2024-06-09 15:56:46 +0000 UTC“Auror Squad One, to the fourteenth street,” cried Proudfoot. “I need the entire area vacated. We cannot let the Obscurus escape out of it. I need a mage blockade formation three blocks from ground zero.”
The Obscurus, now unleashed in the form of a titanic, smoky cloud with flaky tendrils of deceptive strength despite its etherealness, shrugged its way through the front of Zonko’s, and pulled out from the other side, taking the entirety of the building’s frontage with it. It ignored the litany of spells thrown its way, and swooped down, smashing against the roof of Abbott’s Eatery, making the rest of the building explode from the sheer impact.
“Gargoyles,” muttered Newt Scamander, standing atop an overlooking building. “Why Abbott’s Eatery? Dougal loves the muffins he makes.”
“Dougal?” asked Albus Dumbledore.
“My demiguise.”
The conversation died there, as the Obscurus steered right, and crashed into one side of Gringotts, before digging deep into the ground, only to pull off several hundred feet away, and shooting towards the heavens.
Newt took a deep breath, the evening air chilling his lungs. “Well? What do you think?”
Albus Dumbledore considered his options, even as the spell he was morphing with both hands altered itself subtly, taking an egg-like shape. In front of them stood a devastated Diagon Alley, and an Obscurus rampaging through it, shattering through walls and roofs and windows and streets, leaving rampant chaos and destruction in its wake. Following its trail, trying to valiantly subdue it were scores of Aurors and Hit-wizards, hitting it with their most powerful spells in an attempt to subdue it, only to apparate out of its way lest they face its overwhelming physical wrath.
“You know as well as I that a direct assault will do nothing,” said Albus softly. “An Obscurus is wrath made manifest. Attacking only empowers it. As it stands right now, we have two options. The first is to let its wrath run its course, in which case we must do nothing and allow the poor boy to regain his sanity. The other option is to fight him and lure it away from Diagon Alley into empty areas, where I can attempt to trap it in the same way I trapped Credence and hopefully restrain it to the point where some degree of his sanity returns. Unfortunately, attempting to subdue him with raw power — that’s what the hit-wizards and aurors are trying to do, and failing horribly I might add, will only make it stronger with every passing minute, and making it prone to losing itself to its bestial instincts.”
“Either doesn’t sound good.”
Albus chuckled. “Never said it was a good plan. Either would cause it to rampage and cause even more destruction and potential deaths, which would inadvertently be blamed on him. Azkaban was not built to hold back an Obscurial, and neither can magic-suppressing bracelets, in which case the Ministry policy would be to…”
“Fling him through the veil,” Newt murmured, looking aghast. “But Dumbledore, you fought Credence. And won. Surely —”
Albus looked at him, ashen. “I cannot, Newt. Credence… Aurelius was a special case. His sufferings at the hands of that muggle woman might have caused him to develop an Obscurus within, but by revealing his true heritage as a Dumbledore, he unwittingly gave him a way to find closure. Getting a wand and unleashing his magic as a wizard also strengthened him while weakening his Obscurus. Most importantly, Aurelius wanted closure, and was aggressively searching for it. That he thought of himself as my brother… that even in his blind hatred, he wanted to listen, to know, to hear me speak… it helped me subdue him.”
“And Longbottom?”
Albus shook his head. “Neville’s situation is worse. Far more than you and I can imagine, Newt. I obviously kept tabs on the boy as an alternative Prophecy candidate, but the school reports indicated a below average student with a green thumb. I had believed he would perhaps grow up to become a herbologist, perhaps apprenticing under Pomona during his NEWT years. But this….”
He looked in the direction of the setting sun where the Obscurus was currently spread out. Like a titanic spider web, its smoky tendrils were clutching the walls of multiple buildings, as scores of hiit-wizards were hitting it with high-powered curses. The web snapped empty chasms within it, allowing the spells to pass through fruitlessly, before it sent a physical shock through one of the buildings that five Aurors had roosted on, causing it to crumble and fall below. With a roar, the Obscurus exploded outward, hitting multiple hit-wizards and hurling them off, before zooming upwards towards the stratosphere, probably for a downward strike this time around.
“Unlike Aurelius, Neville has lived in a wizarding home, Newt. He has always known himself to be a wizard, and his inability to cast magic properly, being called a squib, must have severely affected the boy. Augusta Longbottom’s grand hopes didn’t help matters either. No, what I am wondering is if Neville had access to such tremendous reserves of power, why was his performance so….”
“Subpar? The boy barely manages to cast a first-year spell with ease.”
Albus frowned. Something didn’t add up. “Unfortunately for us, the answers shall have to wait. Both Augusta Longbottom, and Neville’s parents are currently trapped inside that barrier. Until young Harry is able to diffuse that barrier from within, I’m afraid little can be done to pacify him.”
“The Obscurus will cause irreparable damage until then,” warned Newt.
“I know,” said Albus, finishing his spell alteration as he absorbed it into his deluminator. “Which is why I will attempt to trap him in another dimension with me. I am no Death’s Vessel, but I am confident the Deathstick can uneven the odds for me, at least for a while. Once I trap Neville with me, you must ensure that Harry, and Neville’s family is within reach. I’m afraid only his ailing parents can control poor Neville now.”
With that, Albus Dumbledore disappeared.
“It would be a nice change, Newt,” muttered Newt sarcastically. “All those decades living in the States, teaching at Hogwarts will be a nice relaxing break for you. Relaxing breaks, my arse!”
....
....
....
Given the size of his contingent, Lucius Malfoy had honestly believed he was safe.
Fenrir Greyback was a monster in human flesh, even when he was normal. Transformed, he was a demon. Transformed while keeping his mind intact, he was a disaster. Lucius had seen him single-handedly crush multiple werewolves. Impossibly quick, he moved like the swift wind. His fangs were like swords, his claws, spears. Even Bellatrix Lestrange in her prime would have had problems facing Greyback in a fight and that woman terrified him. Magic or no magic, no spell could put your head back in place if those sharp claws sent it hurling off your neck.
There was a reason why Greyback was the undisputed leader among wolf packs all across Britain with significant influence abroad.
Lucius had truly believed that single handedly, Greyback was a beast. Together with his army of werewolves, with those three recruits and Lucius himself, he was unstoppable.
Harry Potter corrected his ignorance.
There had been words of wit. No meeting of eyes, no formal stances or signs of mutual acknowledgement. Absolutely nothing that Lucius as a wizard believed was part of the decorum, but necessary being a wizard. One moment the werewolves were surrounding Potter, and the next moment, Potter brazenly clashed with Greyback in a seemingly mindless rampage.
If Greyback was like the swift wind, then Potter was like a bolt of black lightning.
The leader of the werewolves looped his right arm, claws bared in an overhead chop, while lunging for Potter’s throat at the same time. He spun around as a black bolt of Death erupted from the boy’s wand, and slashed at his legs, only to clash against those hardened scales, kicking up sparks. Both leapt backwards to break the lock, and Greyback snarled, no doubt he had been expecting to cut the boy to pieces in the very first blow.
“I didn’t know Dumbledore’s poster child was a beast,” said Greyback, his shark-like smile so wide that it almost tore his face in half.
“I don’t know why they keep calling me that,” grumbled Potter. “I haven’t seen any posters of mine except during the Triwizard Tournament.”
And then they clashed again, increasing in aggressiveness. One strike became three. A missed kick created a small crater in the ground. Greyback suckerpunched Potter, launching him back over twenty feet, and two of the other werewolves leapt at his falling form, ready to tear him to pieces and —
Lucius clenched his teeth as Potter hissed something loud in Parseltongue, and a wave of intense power exploded all around the boy’s body, charring one of the wolves, and hurling the other away like a ragdoll. Upon a closer look, the spell had incinerated the latter’s right arm.
“DO NOTHING!” snarled Greyback. “The brat is mine!”
“Really now,” said Potter, standing up and panting. “They were just trying to help.”
“I have to ask, Potter,” said Greyback hungrily. “What is that power? No schoolboy should be able to fight me like that.”
“Eh, I don’t know what to tell you,” said Potter with a shrug, as if he was having a tea party instead of being surrounded by werewolves with himself clad in dark scales. “Call it instinct. No goals, just a monster that wants to feed, to hunt and sees you as prey. I could just kill all of you right here, but it wants to face down, defeat and devour you all one by one.”
His voice grew more excited with each breath. “That’s all it wants to do, and all it wants me to do. And I can do it however I want, and with you lot being monsters, I don’t have to hold back.”
And with a roar of purest joy and bloodlust, Potter charged.
Greyback met his lunge in earnest this time, slamming home with enough force to raise a gale around them in shock. He had to dig his feet in to hold back Potter’s charge. Potter grinned, a malicious glint of crimson appearing at the tip of his wand, aimed at Greyback’s face. With a burst of strength, he swatted the brat aside, only for a shaft of dark crimson erupting out of Potter’s wand to strike at one of his kind.
The other werewolf was dead and in two pieces before his body hit the floor.
“Two down,” said Potter, grinning. “Rest, soon to follow.”
Lucius tried his hardest to keep from staring in open amazement. He couldn’t afford the lapse in judgement.
As hard as it was for him to admit it, Harry Potter… frightened him. He had always known that the boy would be trouble — no one-year-old that could survive the killing curse could be ordinary. The pragmatic part of him knew that the mudblood Lily Evans must have prepared something nasty, invoking some major Abstract magic to protect her offspring from the Dark Lord, and while Lucius was no expert on the realms of the Abstract, he knew enough that dealing with that sort of magic was never a straight-forward deal. The more you dealt with them, the more you got entangled until you ended up entrapped by the illusions and aftereffects of dabbing with the Abstract. It said something about the realms of Abstract magic that Lucius’s own father Abraxas, a true Master of the Dark Arts, said that a child playing with Fiendfyre was safer than a grown-up dabbing with the Anima and the powers that lay beyond.
Potter’s defiance against the Dark Lord, his survival and eventual triumph against Slytherin’s basilisk, and his fighting back an entire horde of dementors all spoke of a power unclassified by the Ministry of Magic. For years, Lucius had truly believed that whatever had saved him from the killing curse back in 1981 had twisted, mutated him into something else capable of performing such miraculous acts.
His theories had been proved true in the most horrific way that night at the graveyard, when Potter had transformed into that thing. It was simply something that he couldn’t comprehend, a thing that screamed to the core of his being that he couldn’t defeat it, couldn’t fight it, couldn’t even touch it, and to do so would mean his end, or worse.
It was why he had been the first to escape that graveyard that night.
If not for the fact that he knew that the Dark Lord would positively murder him, his wife, son and erase the Malfoy name from existence for that transgression, he would have even considered the idea of using his old-time connections with Joshua Greengrass to settle for a non-aggression pact with House Potter and its allies.
It was also why he had pushed for isolating Potter away from Hogwarts. That it worked perfectly in tune with his dislike for Potter and Black was merely serendipitous at best. It might have appeared that he was simply trying to stir up trouble, but only one that had witnessed that thing could stand in his shoes and exclaim loudly what Death felt like without even dying in the process. The sheer idea of Harry Potter, the vessel of that thing, stalking through the halls of Hogwarts where his own beloved son lived for the better part of the year terrified him far more than the Dark Lord did.
As Fate would have it, his fears had indeed come true. More than once, his son Draco had come close to being exposed to that wrongness that festered within Harry Potter. Lucius had stopped just short of cruciating his son when he had realised the kind of foolishness Draco had involved himself in.
It hadn’t stopped Draco. Instead, his wayward idiot son had formed a temporary alliance with that slag Chang in some harebrained, imbecilic scheme that had not only ended up shaming House Malfoy on the international stage, it had cost him nearly everything he and his father had achieved with decades of effort — their name, their fortune, their command over the traditionalists and the Dark Alliance. Worse, Draco’s actions had all but forced his own allies — the Nott heir, the Rosiers, the Greengrasses, and so many more, into Potter’s side. Lucius blamed the part of him that the Sorting Hat had called ‘Hufflepuff’ before placing him in Slytherin, as the one keeping him from killing his son outright.
But drastic situations called for drastic measures. And when the Dark Lord offered him a chance to atone for his faults, he had quickly offered his services. That the crazy conspiracy-theorist daughter of a squib was practically eating out of his hands only added to the mix. Honestly, Lucius couldn’t help but marvel at the way the stupid bint could play at Cornelius’s deepest, darkest insecurities.
But as he now watched Potter fight, Lucius seriously considered just running away. There was nothing wrong with fighting an opponent you couldn’t beat, but one you couldn’t understand, that was another matter. With Death flowing through his veins, Potter was an abomination. Every instinct in his body told him that Potter should be dead or worse, and yet, he fought, vibrant and very much alive. And then there were those fumes arising out of his mutated scale-like form, arising whispers at the back of his mind, telling Lucius that what awaited him was far, far worse than death…
This… this was a mistake. Coming here.
“ATTACK!” yelled Lucius. “All of you! Kill that boy!”
Four killing curses streak at Potter, who blurred into motion, evading the crisscrossing jets of death as if he knew where they were coming from and had arranged to be elsewhere. He twisted through the air, a sinuous dance, all the while grinning like a maniac, as five jets of putrid yellow escaped his wand, two of which hit Murk in the knee and abdomen, while Pucey got hit in the groin, and Urquhart in the chest. All three dropped instantly, with Urquhart falling instantly unconscious, while Pucey was clutching his family jewels and screaming in pain. Murk had the worst of it, and had dropped like a marionette, his lower part unmoving as he screamed and screamed.
Lucius was able to lift a shield at the last moment, but the spell ignored it and hit him in the ankle,
“Ossio Dispersimus, the bone removal spell,” said Potter, as if teaching in a classroom. “Nasty thing isn’t it? And to think Lockhart cast it on me by mistake.”
Lucius’s mind was red in pain and fury, the spike of agony on his shattered, or rather, vanished ankle hurting far less than his wounded pride as Harry Potter continued to toy with him and everyone else. From the right, Greyback lunged at him, only for the boy to hiss something, and a ribbon of golden flame erupted out of his wand like a lasso and grabbed Greyback by the leg, and swung him over, crushing him against the walls and into the paved floor with bone-crushing force.
Potter’s mocking laughter rang in Lucius’s ears.
“Starting to wear out?” He taunted Greyback. “Guess old age is really taking it out on you.”
“Shut the fuck up, brat!” Greyback spat. All his prior confidence and bravado had been drained away into utter disbelief, then shock and then absolute rage. “Your fancy tricks won’t save you forever!”
“Ah, now we come to the condescension part,” said Potter, smiling like a cat that caught the canary. “What’s with you evil monster types? The moment your pride gets hurt, you start throwing condescension like candies. I wonder how many times Tom Riddle snapped your bones to pieces before you bent backwards and called him Master.”
Fenrir just spat in rage, his warped bestial features on full display. As did Lucius.
“Oh don’t be like that,” said Potter. “I know that guy can be as stubborn as I am. I swear. No matter how many times I destroy that guy, he just won’t die.”
“The Dark Lord will cut you down like a dog, Potter,” snarled Lucius. Even to his own ears, it sounded like empty boasts, a pathetic attempt at bluffing his way out. Most of the werewolves were incapacitated, and even Greyback was short of breath. Lucius himself was injured, and Potter was untouched and stalking them.
Being on the prey side of the table wasn’t something Lucius had experience with. Combined feelings of rage and shame roared through him, to be outmatched like this, to be made to stay on the defensive struck his heart as a pureblood. He was Lucius Malfoy, the Dark Lord’s Left Hand… for him to be played with like that, to be made felt so helpless, so furious… it was more than his pride could bear.
“Dog?” asked Potter, tilting his head. “You’re behind the times, Lucius. The Dog is elsewhere, shattering anchors as we speak.”
His putrid yellow eyes glinted, and Lucius flinched. Dog? Did that mean —
“Oh yes,” said Potter. “I swear, dogs are always up to no good. They piss all over the place, slobber you all over, and if you aren’t careful, can rip your throat out.”
“KILL HIM, GREYBACK!”
Greyback obliged. As did the remaining wolves, and Lucius found, to his great irritation, that they had found themselves on the defensive. Rather than overwhelming him by attacking from all directions, they were strained in protecting themselves as Potter struck with all the force he could bring to bear, and it was a lot. Just one hit left one of the wolves missing the top half of his body, while Greyback was knocked off-balance by the sheer force threatening to dislocate his arms. The elder werewolf staggered, and a blasting curse flung him across the floor, right at Lucius’s feet. Enraged and terrified, Lucius cast his strongest shield as Potter lunged at him.
Someone should’ve told Potter he was supposed to be blocked, though.
The shield shattered like glass and dispersed, and Lucius barely managed to roll away as Potter came through, firing a single spell as Greyback’s entire body exploded, blood and tissue gushing and splattering all over the floor.
Fenrir Greyback, the Dark Wolf of Britain, was dead, killed in the same barbaric way he left his victims.
“Mo…. monster!” spluttered Lucius.
Potter slowly sauntered towards the ward anchor next to Lucius, utterly nonchalant. He truly believed he was in no danger. With a stomp of his feet, he shattered the runic anchor, dispersing it into motes of magic, as the runic circle above flickered again.
This couldn’t go on! His Master, the Dark Lord, had made arrangements! With Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter engaged and under bureaucratic pressure thanks to that Umbridge woman, the Dark Lord would be free to take Narcissa to the Prophecy Hall and extract the Prophecy Orb, while also guaranteeing a perfect alibi for Lucius, while he waited there inside the Hospital, ready with the werewolves to attack Potter once he came in.
Meanwhile the rest of the troops would attack Azkaban, and with the dementors at their side, and the Aurors understaffed and unavailable thanks to Umbridge and Fudge, the DMLE would be weakened and fail to resist. In one single swoop, the Dark Lord would have everything he wanted, and also deal immense damage to his enemies and Wizarding Britain.
The only problem was, as always, Harry Potter.
Potter had already partially neutered the runic circle by destroying multiple anchors, and as the holder of the wards, Lucius could feel his connection growing dimmer. And with the way he was stalking towards him, no doubt the insane brat had something similar aimed for him.
This was no Gryffindor Golden Boy. This was a killer. Much like the Dark Lord, this was a monster among monsters.
And Lucius had no way to stop him. No way except…
He looked up.
The Runic Circle was still active, drawing impossible amounts of power from the Other World. Limitless power. Vessels like Potter that had access to just a pinch of that could accomplish impossible things, like Potter was doing. The Dark Lord was another person that was capable of drawing power directly from the Abstract without losing himself. It was why he was the most feared Dark Lord in the history of Wizarding Britain.
But what if Lucius took that power for himself? He doubted Potter would follow Dumbledore’s policy of forgiveness or care for the DMLE to take him into custody. No, Potter wanted to kill him, and to fight him, something equally gargantuan was needed. Quite conveniently perhaps, Lucius was holding the key to something exactly like that.
The Almighty power of the Anima itself.
Desperate situations called for desperate measures. And Lucius had never been this more desperate.
I refuse. I refuse. I absolutely will not die like this.
He dug into the wards, and power answered, power that was tripling in both power and potency, flooding through Lucius’s body, empowering him, poisoning him. It was more power than Lucius knew could exist, insane, incalculable, and in the face of inhuman monstrosities like Potter, this was what could grant him victory. A single attack would end Potter for good, and then…
And then…
And then I will be God.
He lashed with his wand, shouting a Greek incantation and the very floor rippled up in a wave that flew towards Potter with incredible speed. The Malfoys had druids in their ancestry, and Lucius had always been a natural at Earth-magic. It was only in his later years that he had ignored his innate talent to shift towards the darker aspects of magic.
Unseen force lashed out at Potter, who leaped into the air, as if weightless, letting the wave of power course below him harmlessly.
Deeper, thought Lucius. More. I want to make him suffer. Kill that bastard and flay him apart for challenging the pride of a Malfoy.
The power within him grew, shining with a malicious dark aura, covering his entire body like armour. He was no longer a wizard, but an omnipotent deity with all the power of the universe rushing through him. He would rain judgement upon anyone that would dare oppose him. Potter, Dumbledore, even the Dark Lord….
He would destroy them all, utterly. Make them suffer for every indignity he had suffered.
More. More. MORE.
“Oh,” said Potter, tilting his head slightly. “So that is what it was. I knew that something on the inside was holding the runic circle together, but was misled to think it was those anchors. To think that you would be so stupid to hold the wards to that Circle…. Then again, you Malfoys never know how to hedge your bets properly, do you?”
“Bark what you will, Potter!” said Lucius, his voice magnified, as if his words were declarations that the world itself would pay heed to. “I am omnipotent. Inside this Circle, I am God.”
“God?” asked Potter, curious. “Do you even know the meaning of that word, Lucius? You and Voldemort and every dark wizard out there, pretending to be Gods in your little sandboxes, ignoring the vast universe out there. No Lucius, you are merely in control of this Circle, and gained access to more power than you can control. It might seem impressive to the average wizard, but to my eyes…”
The yellow gaze shone maliciously.
“Not so much.”
He dropped into a ready stance, as if he was finally taking him seriously.
“But fine. Come on. Let’s see which of us is the better killer.”
Bellowing in rage, Lucius began firing curses after curses in a motion of focus and power he very rarely needed in years.
A dark malicious shadow formed on Lucius’s features, and he snarled.
“DIE, YOU SON OF A MUDBLOOD!”
Curses erupted out of his wand, a storm of blue and black flame that nearly took over the entire area, shattering everything upon impact. If he let Potter get any closer, it would definitely mean certain death. He had known the boy enough to know that he was no Albus Dumbledore. The boy was a killer, and he needed to be put down, whatever the cost. The dark flames reduced the floor and walls to molten slag, each crater merely inches away from the other. To the naked eye, there was no visible means of escape.
So it was somewhat shocking, to Lucius, when Harry Potter escaped.
If Lucius’s spell was a storm of flames of Dark Magic, then Potter was a single mote of dust in that wind, tiny in comparison perhaps, but fluid and untouchable. He dove through spaces, weaving sinuously among the explosions as though the heat was no more uncomfortable than a summer breeze. it wasn’t Greyback’s piercing speed, or the Dark Lord’s hurricane-like charge of pure power, but a shocking, graceful beauty, flowing through them all unseen and uncaring.
And Harry Potter stood, grinning like a loon, untouched and ready to curse, his wand ready and pointed at him. On some primal level, Lucius couldn’t fight down the notion that he was staring at a venomous predator about to strike.
He shook his head, throwing aside that ridiculous notion. As the holder of the wards inside the barrier, Lucius had access to infinitely more magic, and a power source that tapped directly into the Abstract. Even with Potter’s unique powers, surely he wouldn’t be able to face the unstoppable? After all, Death powers or not, he was still a teenager!
Then…
“....HOW?”
The question rose unbidden.
“No clue, really,” the boy admitted freely. “I suppose some of my abilities took rather well to Death, and became deadlier. I have to say I didn’t see this coming, but I can’t disapprove. Oh, this is going to be so much fun! Who knows what other tricks I’ve picked up! I bet you’re as excited as I am!”
“Now then,” said Potter. “Why don’t you put that wand down and stop embarrassing yourself? We both know you cannot win.”
“...”
“Stop this right now, Lucius,” he said, his voice calm and serene, reminding him of the blasting Headmaster, which grated on his nerves even more. “You know as well as I that the power is burning you. Death can negate every magic you can throw at me, but tell me, can your body handle all that power influx? Do you not feel it burning you from within, poisoning your veins? Stop this right now, give up, and maybe the healers can heal you.”
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut! Up!”
“Or you can keep this up. In which case, I’ll tell you I can do it all day. Or rather, until Sirius dispels the Circle. And then, there’ll be nothing keeping me from killing you horribly.”
Lucius hesitated.
Potter took a step forward. “You will incinerate yourself if you keep channelling that power.
Lucius raised his wand. “You think you can — INCEN—”
“Expelliarmus!”
His wand, now snatched from his hands. Potter grabbed it with the unerring skill of a Seeker and pocketed it, his body shimmering as he returned to his normal human form.
“Right, so that’s that. Tell me, how about you and I strike a deal? It isn’t like there’s anyone here to rat on you, Malfoy.”
Lucius’s eyes flickered towards Pucey, and Murk lay, groaning.
“Ah, my apologies,” said Potter, and lazily lifted his left hand, as a burst of grey erupted from them. It hit both of them and they lay still.
More than the deed itself, it was the ease with which Potter had done it that sent a chill down Lucius’s spine. “Did you…. Did you…”
“Kill them?” asked the demon in front of him. “No, they’re just comatose. It’s a nice little spell of my own devising, depletes the magic in the victim’s body. The shock is too much for the body and shuts it down. Though, being unable to cast magic for the rest of their lives is probably a greater shock to them. Hmmm,” he cupped his chin. “Well, you reap what you sow.”
Potter looked Lucius in the eyes. “Now then. What say you and I have a deal where you grant me control of those wards, and tell me exactly what is going on? Every single thing. And in return, I let you run away, alive?”
