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Derek merely grunted and braced himself, using his tight hold on Caradoc's chains to anchor himself against his captive's inability to walk in a straight line. The beauty of the restrains meant if he tumbled, so did Caradoc, but the point was to not attract attention to themselves and not invite any accidental releasing of the restraints in the event of a nasty spill.

"You're such a brat," he hissed back, tiring of the fifth tripping attempt and jerking the lead in his hand so Caradoc was forced to lean in, where Derek could wrap his sizeable hand around the back of Caradoc's considerably lean neck and squeeze. "Don't make me muzzle you."

Derek had debated that very action, of course, but Caradoc seemed to understand that unless he played his cards exactly right, attracting the attention of fellow party-goers could end a lot worse for him than Derek. Who had to of course be vigilant about any escape attempts, but with the adamantine chains locked around his hands and feet, there was no chance of Caradoc using magic to further complicate the already horribly complicated situation. Though, somehow, simply by virtue of being Caradoc, the restraints hadn't kept him from thoroughly trashing the flat where he was being stowed. Derek was silently grateful that after the girls had moved out, he had seen fit to retain the lease. And change the locks.

There were so many risks associated with moving Caradoc, that if Derek sat and thought about it, he could call himself an idiot for going through with this plan. But it wasn't about reasoning, because he needed—he needed to someone to know, he supposed. Keeping secrets and bottling everything inside was still his inclination, but after what happened with the Order spy, he knew the risks associated with secretive and hermit-like behaviour were just as high if not higher than whatever damage Caradoc saw fit to wreak.

This person… though unconventional, might have been the only one he could rely on. The only one who could suss Caradoc out for what he really was (or was not, as Derek remained cautious) and still lived. And, hopefully, the only one who was in a position to both understand Derek's motivations and assist him. If all went well, Caradoc wouldn't be returning to the formally prettiest flat in London.

Speaking of which, they were quite late, navigating to the meeting point inside this confounded maze.

"Veering left," he said, turning a hard right around a hedge.