Nott, I
Theodore awaited the call of his name without trepidation. Having already made a decision, having signed his papers, there was nothing to do now but wait and go through the motions of the 'trial'. According to wizarding law, deals were less often made behind the scenes as they were in the courtroom, but he was reasonably assured that he'd only get a few months in Azkaban. Still, he wasn't looking forward to the questioning process. He already felt ashamed and hollow inside. He didn't know what else they could dredge out to humiliate him with. Perhaps nothing.
But optimism had never gotten him anywhere.
His name was called, and he hesitated before taking a step forward, largely not under his own volition. People everywhere, and he flushed. For someone as intensely private as Theodore, this was literally hell. He caught glimpses of people he knew in the crowd, but sunk into himself as he was lead into the accused's chair, hoping to hide the bruises and cuts that still marred his face. People would talk. Though he supposed they would anyway.
He was burning. Ashamed. But he knew what he had to do.