"You mistake nausea for nostalgia," he replied, his words a little clipped. It was bad enough that he should have to recall the misery Black and his gang had inflicted on him; the thought that other people remembered as well was decidedly unpleasant. He glanced up at the papers crumpling in the fire. Why was he here?
"Black was Potter's godfather," he said, with a shrug. They were perfect for each other, as far as he was concerned. "I thought I might as well spend my interminable hours here sifting through for something helpful, doubtful as it may be. The man's papers are pure nonsense, and mostly from before the boy was born." He dropped another sheet onto the floor. "All the same, do look at things before you burn them, won't you? I wouldn't like to do anything we'd have cause to regret."