Prologue
In the torch lit corridor of a large manor, two figures draped in dark ruby robes discussed the delightful job they had of torturing prisoners.
"You should have been here last week. Some of the prisoners ended up dead after questioning," the first figure said. "Our Master wasn't pleased. He'll probably say something of you not being there. They were the special ones you were in charge of."
"Did they at least have anything interesting to say before they died?" the second figure asked with a wince.
"Surprisingly, yes. The true name of their so-called Dark Lord."
The second figure halted in surprise and narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "Really? I would have thought his followers too young to know that kind of information."
"This one was an old one. A Nott. Took a lot to get anything out of him, but that's all that slipped," the first figure replied. They continued walking down the corridor "He's dead, now."
"When does Grindelwald plan to act on that lead?"
"He already has. He sent Ritter to dispose of him."
"Wow. That was quick. Exactly how long did it take for Ritter to find him?"
The first figure shrugged. "No idea. He bragged about it when he finished the job. Says the bastard didn't even have time to draw his wand and defend himself." He frowned and scratched at his chin. "Some ugly broad managed to take Ritter down with her a few days afterwards. Pity, but he got the job done and that's all Grindelwald cares about."
They were both silent as they reflected on that last statement.
"What was the bloke's name, anyway?" The second figure asked, awkwardly clearing his throat.
"Tom Riddle."
He scoffed. "Such a plain name. No wonder he changed it to Lord Voldemort. You sure he got the right Tom?"
"Yep, only one Tom Riddle in London. He's dead."