"How is your mother, Theodore?"
Like Lockhart, Old Nott immediately noticed his son walking over with a hoe in hand.
The tearful reunion the young wizards had expected between father and son never happened.
The Nott father and son merely stood in the field, looking at each other.
They had been apart for only a little over two months, yet everything seemed different.
Looking at the dark-faced little old man before him, panting for breath, Theodore could hardly connect him with the dignified head of the Nott Family he had once known.
His father's first question also surprised Theodore. He had thought his father would ask about the Dark Lord's movements—whether they had achieved any encouraging results after their defeat in the Battle of Diagon Alley, and whether they had learned of any plan the Dark Lord had to rescue him from prison.
But none of that was mentioned. His father only asked after his mother.
"She's well—"
His father's aged appearance made Theodore's nose sting. He hesitated before answering hoarsely, but beneath his father's still-shrewd gaze, Theodore lowered his head.
"It's just that the family business has run into some trouble lately, and Mother has been worrying about it—"
Old Nott chuckled and resumed swinging his hoe.
Theodore had not noticed before, but now that he was closer, he was surprised to find that his father had become quite adept at this coarse, menial farm labor.
"I can guess. The Plaza Accord, right?"
"How did you know, Father?"
Theodore asked in surprise.
That had happened after his father was arrested.
"Oh, we're allowed to read newspapers here, Theodore—"
There was a strange, incomprehensible sense of satisfaction on Old Nott's dark face.
"The guards update the newspapers in the library once a week. They don't let us read every issue,