"A pleasure," Gellert said, extending his hand as well to take Tom's own, shaking it firmly. The name did not resonate with him; Tom must be from after his time, either someone unimportant (which Gellert was beginning to doubt), or his name had yet to be in any of the books Gellert had read of the future.
He did not hesitate before speaking his own name, though he had considered many times before the wisdom of identifying himself too easily in this place. After learning more about his future, Gellert had also learned that there were those who would despise him for what he went on to do. And yet there were those who did not know his name (which invariably allowed Gellert some objective measure of their intelligence; he was under the impression that his surname was a bit of a household byword).
"Gellert Grindelwald," he said, releasing Tom's hand and letting his own fall back to his quill, curling around its shaft.