"I think where it's gotten everyone else is more to the point," he said, unable to keep a hint of snappishness out of his voice. Not that it had done him all that badly, either, by some measures: he was the (nominal) head of the seat of some of the greatest magical power in the country, in a position to do a good deal of hurt to his enemies, and, most importantly, still breathing. It annoyed him deeply to think that anyone thought him anything but perfectly content with the life he had made for himself. It always threatened to bring out the familiar old defensiveness that had never served him well (and which always left him with the infuriating suspicion that they were not entirely wrong).
He could see how someone might fail to be impressed, however, by furtive midnight meetings at dingy inns. He let it pass and took his seat, setting his wand on the table. "An answer for an answer, then." He sat straight in his chair. "I want to know what provisions are being made to take the muggleborns out of the castle - and if there are none, there should be. There may not be much I can do to help, but I do need to know what not to hinder. - And whom to warn, assuming I get any warning." And assuming there was anyone else prepared to listen to him at all, of course.