Teddy had been keeping up in the battle, which only reaffirmed his desire to become a hitwizard when her grew up. But he was angry, so angry at everyone and everything-- he was sixteen and had gotten the chance to meet his father and then lost him. He had a lot to be angry about and Voldemort was just a convenient place to let that rage out… except he got sloppy. There was a blasting charm and a large chunk of concrete had smacked him in the head, leaving him knocked out with a large gash over his forehead.
When he did finally come too, some days later, Teddy didn’t know where he was. He roused himself slowly, sitting up a bit faster than maybe he should have when he spotted his father. His father as the older, softly graying man from the pictures, and not the twenty something year old he had come to know. Teddy stared for a moment before letting him fall back unceremoniously onto the medical bed.
“I knew it. I’ve died. I’m dead.” He said to himself, completely ignoring the other man in the room for a moment. Of course, he didn’t think that if he were really dead he would be in as much pain as he was now, but fuck, what else could he do in that moment.