Note: What's this? An update after only a week's wait? I must be getting back in the groove. There is a tiny, tiny flashback but this is a linear chapter. Oh, and moredancing, there's a special reference for you in there.

Chapter Forty-Six

In the Midst of Chaos

Walden opened the door of the Manor's drawing room with a shaking hand. If he didn't already know the terrible consequences of deserting the corps, he'd be out of there like a shot, and that was saying something. Walden was from good Scottish stock; it took a lot to faze a Highlands man, but fazed he had indeed been by what he had just witnessed. He had only been able to stand, speechless and staring, as Narcissa had screamed herself out of her hysteria and taken as much control of the situation as she could muster. He had helped her get Lucius out of the cellar and up the stairs, but when good old Cam had come in and taken over proceedings, Walden had taken quiet leave of them and gone to search out nerve-calming liquor, certain that he was going to be of no use whatsoever in his current state. He opened the drinks cabinet and pawed through it, knowing what he was searching for and eventually finding it. His homemade moonshine, stronger and more dangerous than anything money could buy. He pulled the bottle out from the back of the cupboard, uncorked it and took a swig, feeling the burn all the way down his throat into his stomach. He immediately felt better, and he looked down at the bottle. Since he had gifted it to Lucius in the first place, it wasn't really immoral to take it back in a time of great crisis, was it? After all, Lucius was not in any state to drink it himself at that point in time. It had all been so sudden. One minute he and Bellatrix were politely ignoring each other, on the point of leaving the Manor for their respective homes, and the next the Dark Lord had reappeared in a fury that Walden had rarely seen the likes of before and they were all in the cellar, having collected the house owners on their way.

His task had been to keep a hold of Narcissa and force her to watch whilst the other two mauled her husband; at a deeper level it was to stop her doing anything irretrievably stupid that would have brought the Dark Lord's wrath onto her. It was one that he had nominally inherited from Rodolphus after Christmas but had not, until this moment, been required to perform. Simply holding onto someone who was struggling away from you at every movement, even with the aid of magical binds, was a far more difficult duty than it seemed at face value, mainly because Walden himself did not want to have to see what he was making Narcissa witness. He and Lucius were old friends, schoolfriends, they went back a long way and they spent many alcohol-fuelled evenings in fond remembrance of this long acquaintance. He'd known Narcissa almost as long. He could still hear the Dark Lord's voice even after his master had long left the building.

"Look at your husband, Madame Malfoy. Look at the proud lord of Malfoy Manor, begging for mercy from the master at whose right hand he once stood. How the mighty have fallen. LOOK AT ME!"

Narcissa made no move to obey and the Dark Lord's cold eyes alighted on her warder.

Walden raised his eyes to heaven and hoped that he would not be thought less of for what he was about to do.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and he placed his wand under Narcissa's chin to force her head up, to force her to face the scene and her sister's sadistic smile.

In all honesty, Walden was amazed that his hostess had not merely ordered him from her home as soon as Bellatrix and the Dark Lord had decided that an unconscious and silent victim was nowhere near as rewarding as a screaming one, and had left in pursuit of other occupations, but Narcissa had done nothing of that ilk, even going so far as to request his assistance.

"You had to do what you had to do," she'd said quietly as they had waited for Camilla to arrive, doing what they could for their patient. "I would have done the same in your position. There is no point in any more of us suffering than is necessary."

Walden downed another slug of the home-brew and shuddered, unsure whether this was a reaction to the memories or the liquid. He was used to death – he was an executioner by trade for crying out loud – and he was used to torture. But today, a point had come where he had received the briefest glimpses of the futility of it all, and he was terrified, because in all honesty, he knew that nothing would ever change. Even if and when they won this interminable war, he knew that none of this would alter. He knew that Lucius would never regain his previous standing; he knew that Draco would still be a puppet on the Dark Lord's string for this reason. He knew that, even if they besieged Hogwarts and Potter surrendered tomorrow, ten years down the line they'd still be in this same position, if any of them had managed to survive that long. The Dark Lord was in pursuit of power, that much had always been clear and that was the reason that so many had joined him. That was the reason that Walden had joined him, after all, an executioner for the Ministry was never going to achieve greatness. The difference between the Dark Lord and his followers, however, was that the Dark Lord sought the ultimate power over everyone, including his allies. To require followers was one thing; a sign of weakness. To merely have followers, followers whose function was solely to be dominated rather than to stand on any sort of equal footing with their director, was another thing entirely. That was the ultimate power. It was telling, therefore, that they had always referred to him as their master, rather than their leader. It had been set in stone from the moment that he had brought them together: the relationship between the Dark Lord and his subordinates that was destined never to change. He had never intended for any of them to share in his glory, and it pained Walden to know that he had been so blind as to have ignored this fact before.

All that, all of these regretful thoughts, they meant nothing and could do nothing. Walden had taken the Mark and there was now nothing he could do but stand back and go along with all that he had let himself in for when he had joined up. He had never really regretted anything until comparatively recently; he had even accepted his time in Azkaban as a necessary setback on the path to greatness, however much he'd had to endure Carmen's ire on his return. But it was only now that he realised after decades of blindness that the promised greatness would never come, no matter whose side won the inevitable battle.

He brought the bottle to his lips for a third time but before he could drink, he heard the Manor doors flung open and a panicked voice ringing through the halls.

"Mum! Dad!"

Walden set off at a run to intercept Draco before he could reach the master room from which Camilla and Narcissa had still not emerged. The last thing he wanted was for Draco to burst into the middle of that dire scene unannounced, and he cursed the fact that not being a member of the blood family, he could not apparate within the confines of the house. Thankfully he managed to get a line of sight on the young wizard as he flew up the stairs past him and held him still on the landing, feet from his goal. Walden followed him up at a slightly more sedate pace, wand in one hand and bottle in the other.

"Do you have a death wish, boy?" he asked as he neared.

"Let me go," growled Draco, struggling against the invisible hold of the spell. "I know he's been tortured Walden; I want to see my father!"

"No you don't," said Walden bluntly, "not when Cam and your mother are still sorting him out. And I ask you again, do you have a death wish, boy?"

Draco sagged visibly; he had obviously been running for a long time prior to his appearance at the house and the exertion was now beginning to catch up with him.

"What if the Dark Lord had still been here? Did you want to make matters worse for yourself and your family?"

The younger man shook his head.

"I thought not. The safest place for you, young man, is the one you've just left, so next time think twice before you come charging away from it." He softened slightly, hoping that Draco had taken in his words. "I'm not a father, Draco, and my own passed over a long time ago so I cannot hope to know what you're feeling, but believe me. Your parents would say exactly the same thing."

"I know. It's just, it's my fault that this is happening."

"Don't be stupid," said Walden automatically, his tone closed and permitting no further argument. There were many people who were culpable for the situation that they had all found themselves in, all with varying degrees of guilt by action and omission, and to get into an in-depth and convoluted discussion of where the blame could be laid was not what Walden wanted to do, not when the effects of his illegal whiskey were beginning to make themselves known at the back of his skull. Instead, he took in Draco's dishevelled appearance and bleeding nose properly for the first time.

"What did you do, get into a fight with a door?"

"No," said Draco through gritted teeth, "I got into a fight with Harry Potter."

Walden took a step back, astonished and a tiny bit impressed at this unexpected declaration. Like his father, Draco had always had a tendency to hide behind words, and something spectacular must have happened to have caused him to resort to physical blows. Like Walden's had been a moment before, though, his voice was clipped and unwilling to allow more discussion of the undoubtedly fascinating subject, so he did not pry, and instead sat down on the rug outside the master room before the world starting spinning and he fell onto it. He released the hex that had held Draco and the student lowered himself onto the floor beside him, unsurely.

"What are you drinking?" he asked cautiously.

"You don't want to know," said Walden cheerfully. "Want a wee drop?"

Draco declined.

"Probably wise for someone still in your prime. But speaking of such, you might want to clean yourself up a bit or else Cam'll come at you with her brews."

The younger wizard remembered his nose and quickly cast a spell to clear up the blood, but Walden could tell that he'd have a shiner in the morning. After about a minute of not-uncomfortable silence, the door they were unconsciously watching opened and Camilla came out.

"Ok pet, you can go in now," she said, nodding Draco towards the room she had just exited. Draco murmured his thanks and closed the door behind him.

"I should thank you for keeping him out," said Camilla, flopping onto the rug next to Walden in the spot that Draco had just vacated. She looked exhausted but ultimately satisfied. Wordlessly, Walden offered her the bottle of moonshine , and she shook her head in response with a smile.

"It was the least I could do. Everything alright now?" he asked. She nodded.

"He's alive and awake, that's all we can hope for." Camilla yawned. "Walden, I've come to the conclusion that I'm getting far too old to be doing this. I'm nearly a sort of grandmother for crying out loud; sooner or later I'm going to have to call it a day."

"Cam, you're only…"

"I'm nearer sixty than fifty, Walden," the older witch interrupted, "and don't try to deny it or say that I'm wearing well because I know I'm not." She leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. "I don't want to do this anymore. I just want life to be simple again. Is that really too much to ask? Just me in my little house. Alone. Alexandra happily married off, Finn and Mareike back in Germany, and just me. No-one else to worry about."

"Cam," Walden began unsurely, not quite sure how he should comfort a woman who was, albeit slowly and in a very dignified manner, breaking down completely. "Cam, you must know how much we need you."

"That's the whole point, Walden. I don't want to be needed in this way. Needed as a mother, a grandmother, a godmother, yes. But needed in this way, to protect you all from the man who, all things said and done, made me a widow?" Camilla pressed her hands over her face and Walden guessed that she was crying. He put an arm around her quivering shoulders.

"You are a wonderful witch, and never let it be said otherwise. And I'll tell you more; your Evan would be so proud of you, doing what you do. He always took good care of us, just like you do. If we were out on a job with Evan, then we never held any fear that we might not come home again."

Camilla gave a weak laugh.

"That's where I get it from, I suppose. He was always a mother hen type, worse than me even. I used to joke that even in the height of battle he'd stop and take a headcount to make sure you were all there. And after he died, I was so determined that no-one else should suffer the same fate. Cissy, Carmen, Mareike, Marlena – they're all on the same spiral as I am and I'm damned if my misery's going to have any company." She sighed, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand and regaining her stately composure as quickly as it had left her. She had stayed silent for a good ten minutes and Walden was beginning to think that she had fallen asleep against him before she spoke again. "I'll never stop caring Walden, but at the moment I'm too shattered to move. Could you do me a huge favour?"

Walden nodded.

"Get in touch with home and tell them I won't be back for a while. If you can find me something a little less dangerous than what you're drinking, that would also be appreciated."

Walden laughed and levered himself off the floor, making his way into the drawing room and moving the bottles around until he found something that looked suitable. He poured a generous measure of gin into a glass and topped it off with tonic, setting it on the side as he threw some powder into the fireplace and stuck his head into the flames.

"Cam!"

The exclamation was partly blessed relief and partly a plea for help.

"No, Cam's not…" Walden's eyes grew accustomed to the scene that confronted him and he felt the colour drain from his face. Mareike was curled up on the sofa, her face a grim mask of pain and her hands clasped over her swollen stomach. Walden had no firsthand experience of such matters, but he'd bet his life that the young witch was in labour.

"Oh crumbs," he said faintly. "Hang on, I'll get Cam… Erm, breathe deeply and eat towels, or something…"

Mareike yelled something in her native tongue as he pulled out of the fireplace, and Walden was glad he couldn't understand her. Leaving the gin forgotten on the mantelpiece, he ran through the house to where he had left Camilla sitting on the floor. She had not moved from her spot, her head still drooped on one side where she had been leaning on him.

"Cam, it's Mareike, I think she's having the baby," he panted.

Camilla looked up at him, confused, then she suddenly burst into alert life, springing off the ground as if she'd been shocked and pushing past him in the direction of the drawing room. Considering that she had just been complaining of her age, she could move damned fast when she wanted to. Walden followed her at a jog.

"Damnit damnit damnit damnit!" she exclaimed. "Why today? Oh, it doesn't matter. I'm coming Mareike, hold on. Where in Merlin's name is Finn; he was there when I left…" She broke off her patter and turned to Walden. "If anything else goes wrong here, get Severus. If he's not available, your best bet's Cornwall." She paused. "I'm leaving you to hold the fort here, Walden."

With that she disappeared, and Walden only hoped that she heard his unsure shout of 'good luck' through the flames. He thought about the ominous task that had been placed on his shoulders, that mysterious idea of 'holding the fort'. Walden had never really been put in charge of anything except the execution of dangerous creatures before, and he did not like the sensation of having everything resting upon him, however little he expected anything to go wrong at this stage. He meandered back through the house to where Camilla's patient was recuperating, staring at the bedroom door for a long time before deciding that he had nothing to lose, taking a swig of the moonshine that he had left on the floor and knocking timidly, nudging the rug with his foot to cover the burn mark where a drip of the liquor had splashed onto the priceless flooring. The door opened and Narcissa nodded to him.

"Go on in Walden, I daresay Lucius is sick of Camilla's, Draco's and my mother hen impressions." She looked at the bottle in his hand and raised an eyebrow but said nothing, leaving the two men alone in the room. Lucius was not looking his best, Walden would admit that, but he was at least sitting up and that was significantly better than he had been an hour ago.

"How are you feeling?" he asked brightly, perching on the end of the bed at a respectful distance.

"Unfortunately not dead," replied Lucius grimly. "Is it a law that all medicinal potions have to taste so indescribably vile?"

Walden held up the bottle he was holding.

"Compensation?"

Lucius did not look at all convinced.

"Why do I get the impression that taking you up on the offer might make me infinitely worse?"

"Whiskey is the life of man, Lucius."

"Yes, but your moonshine might well be the death of wizard." Lucius sighed. "Oh, screw it." He took a sip from the bottle and grimaced. "Did you remember to empty the bathtub before you started distilling this batch in it?" he asked.

"I knew there was something. It does taste a wee bit soapy…" He caught Lucius's expression and laughed. "No, there's no soap in it. And I do not make whiskey in a bathtub; magical distilling methods have moved on since those times."

"Yes…"

"Lucius, you are the only man I know who can express so much disbelief and contempt in a single word." Walden took a swig himself. He had to admit, it did taste of soap now that he thought about it. Perhaps Carmen had sabotaged this batch in an attempt to stop his illicit business once and for all. He put the bottle down just in case and returned his attention to Lucius.

"You're not wearing fishnets then?"

"No."

"And you've still…"

"Yes, all my essential body parts are still attached, Walden. I'd half come round by the time Cam arrived, technically I wasn't unconscious."

"Good to hear." They lapsed into silence, neither really knowing what to say to the other in light of everything that had happened in the past few hours, in the past few months even. It was simply nice to have companionship, to know that one was not facing the tortures of the world alone.

"Walden," began Lucius presently, "if, with hindsight, you could go back and do things differently, would you?"

Walden thought for a long time, mulling over everything that he had realised and contemplated in his brooding time alone after Camilla's arrival, and finally evaded the question to garner more thinking time.

"Would you?" he asked.

Lucius nodded but offered no further explanation.

"Then I think I would too. But that's the problem. We can't go back and change the past now. We could never have known what was coming and so we would always have chosen this path."

"We might have guessed," muttered Lucius. "Anyone promising power beyond measure and claiming mastery over death has to be slightly suspicious."

"But to our foolish young minds… Oh, none of it matters now."

"What's done is done," Lucius agreed, and with that firm statement they left the topic by mutual consent. It was undeniably true though, and Walden continued to think about it for a long time after. In the midst of all this terror, they had made their own beds, and no matter how uncomfortable they were, they now had to lie in them. Foreseen or not, they had brought this chaos upon themselves.

Note2: And, as I always do with DE chapters, I ended up making this one about twice as long as usual. It's not my fault, I swear, I just naturally find these ones easier to write for some reason!

Coming up on C&I: Kimmeth attempts to do something she has done but once in the past and not at all during C&I: writing properly from Voldemort's point of view. None of this Harry/Voldy dream mullarkey. Wish me luck. I am going to need it.