Nott, II
Theodore's mouth felt dry as he turned to face the white haired member of the Wizengamot. Mastermind was a deadly word, and Theodore intended to put that line of thought right, no matter how tired he was.
"I would not call myself a mastermind, sir. I simply passed along information." The 'admission' made him angry and ill, and once again he felt as if he were fighting every instinct of self-preservation that he possessed. This was not right.