Nott, II
Weariness had made him vulnerable -- Theodore realised this a second too late as he drew back against his chair, expression immediately pained and then closed off. No one spoke of his mother, not ever, and now she was being dragged up in front of strangers and friends alike. It hurt him more deeply than this entire trial, the memory of his mother, the half-straying thought that she would be disappointed in him.
"Six years old, sir." Theodore studied the podium, but his voice was not as distant as he'd have liked.