Work Text:
Theodore Nott was only seventeen when Death came to him, reclaiming his soul.
The boy had a quick death, so quick he didn't even have the time to think of his last words. He wasn't graced with a calm and peaceful death, he didn't die surrounded by the ones he loved, he didn't get to say goodbye.
He died on a merciless battlefield, surrounded by the people that disgusted him the most, wearing the symbol that had been haunting him in his sleep his whole life.
The last thing his blue eyes got to see wasn't the face of a loved one, but a cold and awfully bright green light.
The last thing his heart got to feel wasn't comfort and contempt, but fear and anger.
Death extended their left hand to the boy who was standing before them, still trying to understand what had just happened, still trying to find a way out of it.
"Come, Theo. You did well." Their voice was warm and comforting, calm.
It reminded him of the time he had spent with his mother, especially of when they used to admire how thunderstorms raged outside their house as they had a few cups of hot chocolate.
It reminded him of Pansy's cheek kisses, of the way they knew how that gesture was so important for both of them without the need of words.
It reminded him of Neville's proud smile, of the way his eyes lit up when he managed to get Theo to understand a concept, or when he managed to understand the theory behind the making of a potion.
It reminded him of Harry's trust and forgiveness, of the way he never doubted Theo and Theo's words, of the way he didn't look at him differently when he took the Dark Mark.
It reminded him of Hermione's capacity to understand him with one look, of the way they both admired each other for their knowledge.
It reminded him of Ron's logical skills, of the way they managed to bond through the chess board while eating all sorts of candies.
It reminded him of Draco, of the way they used to fall asleep in each other's arms as the world around them was falling apart, of the way they kept each other going for so long, of the way they kept each other human in a place where any strand of humanity was long gone. It reminded him of the sense of calm and security they both felt when their eyes met through the Great Hall.
Draco, the boy who he now considered to be his brother.
And lastly, but not leastly, it reminded him of Blaise. It reminded him of the way that boy used to catch his eye for such a long time, of the way he used to wrap his arm around Theo's shoulders as they sat together in front of the fireplace to keep him warm, of the way they used to exchange books, notes and even clothes, at some point. It reminded Theo of the way he shamelessly held him close through his worst nights, of their late night tea meetings in his kitchen during Christmas, of the way he smiled when he saw Theo arrive, of the way he got under Theo's skin in such a little time, of the way he fought for a place in Theo's life and of how, unknowingly, he became the center of it.
Blaise, the boy who made him think that maybe he could have a future, that maybe Death wasn't the core of all things.
But, apparently, Theo was wrong.
Because now Death stood right before him and Theo could do nothing but follow them with a dark and heavy knowledge:
Death always was and always will be the departure, the journey and the destination for Theodore Nott.