"Vrrm~~"
When Voldemort emerged from the Portkey's passage, the ringing in his ears made him very uncomfortable.
He wanted to shake his head to make the sound disappear faster.
But the stranger standing before him made him stop and warily draw his wand.
"I mean no harm."
The other man held up his hands and spoke in fluent English with a London accent.
"Who are you?"
Voldemort kept his wand raised, sparing only a glance at Bellatrix beside him.
She seemed to be in good shape, and had already taken out her wand.
"You may call me Ragdeff II."
As he spoke, the man raised both hands to show he meant no harm.
"That doesn't sound much like a name."
Voldemort looked around. Once he was sure there was no one else across the vast expanse of land, he put his wand away.
With Bellatrix pointing her wand at the man, he felt perfectly safe.
"That is how the Ragdeff family has done things for generations, Mr. Sylvester."
Ragdeff II explained, "In each generation, the one chosen is addressed by a number. The current highest-ranking one is called the First, and the rest follow in order."
"So your father was called Ragdeff I?"
Voldemort asked, but couldn't help examining the man's clothes. They were extremely old-fashioned, as though they had been torn straight from an Egyptian mural.
His glittering golden ornaments, in particular, had a distinctly prehistoric style.
"No, sir. My grandfather was Ragdeff I. My father unfortunately died during a magical experiment, so I inherited his name," Ragdeff II said.
Voldemort rolled his eyes and said nothing.
He wasn't in the habit of comforting people, especially not someone he'd just met.
He had rolled his eyes entirely because of how the man's father had died. He'd heard of people