From six o'clock on, Theodore had paced back and forth in front of his floo, pausing for no longer than half an hour to sit, attempting to calm his nerves. They would be attacking the Ministry, and he couldn't help but be apprehensive at the idea.
It would be all but abandoned, and Azkaban had worked in their favour. He repeated those two thoughts to himself while Saber battled for his attention. Finally, only ten minutes remained, when he heard the sound of someone apparating in. Hand instinctively on his wand, he turned and saw a man oh-so-familiar to him, yet who he hadn't seen in nearly nine months. His father walked up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder briefly, and then nodded.
There were a million questions he wanted to ask, but Theodore held back. His father seemed to sense it, and told him the name of the place he'd been staying. It sounded familiar. And then he realised it was a property that had been in his mother's family, something he'd only heard mentioned, but not been to.
It was awkward following that, until the time came to floo in. "Fight well," Thomas Nott told his son, stepping into the floo. Pulling down his mask, Theodore followed suit.
The scene was not at all what he expected as he arrived at the DMLE. The battle had clearly started, but they were vastly outnumbered. He spotted his father, who was also masked but instantly recognisable to Theodore by his movements. He knew them well, as his father had at one time attempted to train his son.
Fighting through the masses of people, he realised simply casting the killing curse wouldn't work. There was too much movement. If he killed one of the Death Eaters, he wouldn't just be fighting off the Aurors and the ridiculous army Potter had somehow assembled. How had they known?
So he just fought, cursing and hexing and trying to get an idea of who was winning, when he spotted his father fall. Running to that spot, he dropped to his knees, lifting his father's mask. The older Nott was dead.
Ducking some curse that came flying at him, he tore off his own mask, not thinking, firing an array of hexes and curses blindly into the crowd. He needed to find one of the Carrows, this fight was out of their control.
And then he nearly tripped, his attention drawn to the man whose body had blocked his path. Rabastan Lestrange. Dead.
Abandoning his attempt to find his former professors, he remembered the leader's words. There was a floo that would allow him to exit. He bolted for it, knowing he had to move quickly, clearing a path as he went. Stepping into it, he arrived at an unknown location, but that didn't matter. He apparated directly to his manor, and began gathering enough to live off of. At least he had a place to go.