Young Theodore still sensed no danger. He even shrugged.
"It was him. A Hufflepuff. Absurd, right?"
But the smile vanished from Old Nott's face.
After decades in politics, he was an old fox. And he suddenly caught a sharp whiff of danger in Rookwood's rigid expression.
Rookwood stared at Old Nott, his voice unsteady.
"That business at the Black Lake in late April... The ones who sent the message and lured people to Hogwarts... were your family?"
Old Nott's heart lurched, but he tried to maintain the easy manner of an old acquaintance. He even reached out to pat Rookwood's shoulder.
"Augustus, we only passed along a few words. Back when you were in the Department of Mysteries, it's not as if we never—"
Smack!
Rookwood slapped Old Nott's hand away as though startled by a Killing Curse.
Then he leaped backward so violently that he knocked over a wooden stool behind him.
"Who's 'we'? Don't pretend we're friends!" Rookwood's voice cracked with barely contained terror.
The hardened criminals on both sides of the long table were watching him with chilling intensity.
Rookwood swept a quick glance around.
He cleared his throat sharply, forced his trembling hands to smooth his tattered prison uniform, and fought down the fear on his face. When he spoke again, his tone was unnaturally cold.
"Mind your words, Mr. Nott."
Rookwood raised his voice to ensure every prisoner at the table could hear.
"I must make this perfectly clear. Back at the Ministry, you and I were no more than passing acquaintances. I can't even remember your full name."
Seeing the prisoners' expressions ease, Rookwood breathed a little easier. He did not dare stop talking.
"As for handing you that bowl of gruel, it was entirely part of the standard intake procedure for new arrivals