"Well, they are Russian." Caractacus pointed out mildly, "An agreeable character has never been part of their makeup. And I have little to no interest in Muggle history, excepting its affect on our own." Those animals had killed Yvonne. What was a historical triviality to most was a sharp pain in Caractacus. The woman that he had seen a scarcely more than a month ago with her family, alive and preparing her daughter for Hogwarts, had died confused, helpless, and in pain.
"You are most likely correct." He nodded and turned to look at Andromeda, searching her face for a few moments, "And I know there is nothing I, now, can do to change matters in the past. But it does not feel like the past. I'm certain you understand, Dromeda. Things from decades past feel recent enough to leave an ache in one's chest. We see and know the outcomes of the struggles of our times, yet have no power to affect them."