My Dark Lord

Chapter One: The Weight of a Name

Hey, Grace here.
All the characters except my main OC belong to J.K. Rowling. 
Love you all and hope you enjoy my lil story!!! ;)
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My name is Layla Grindelwald.

Yes, that Grindelwald.

In certain circles, the name is even spoken in an apprehensive hush, laced with reverence or dread--sometimes both. To others, it's still a relic of a war long lost, a whisper of a tragic ambition that once nearly shrouded the wizarding world in shadow. But to me, it is blood. It is legacy. It is truth.

My father is Gellert Grindelwald-- the man who once held to Elder Wnd in his grasp and the fragile hearts of an entire generation of witches and wizards in his thrall.  Feared, brilliant, and unrepentant, he carved his vision of magical supremacy into the bones of Europe. Even now, locked away in the icy tomb of Nurmengard, his influence endures in hidden corridors and closed-door conversations. 

He is the architect of a new future denied.

And I am his only heir. 

I may only be eleven years of age, but I have seen more than most wizards twice my age-- felt more. When your name carries such infamy, the world watches you through narrowed eyes. Some expect you to fall. Others expect you to rise and outshine even the shadow that bore you. I have no intention of disappointing either. 

I'm not naive. The world is a truly treacherous place, especially for those born into power. The old pureblood families whisper behind silk curtains about preserving tradition, while clutching their fortunes with trembling hands, afeared of a world that is shifting beneath their feet. My family never trembled. We strove to reshape the world instead. 

Though Father once called Durmstrang his home, I will attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry-- by choice, not necessity. Durmstrang still murmurs his name with a mixture of awe and shame, and while I admire the rigour of their curriculum and enthusiasm for the dark arts, Hogwarts offers something rarer: eyes. A place where the old world meets the new, where legacies are both challenged and reborn. My father allowed it, begrudgingly. The Ministry would never allow him to accompany me to retrieve my school supplies from Diagon Alley, not that he could, given the hunt that still follows him like a curse. But I must go. And I will be seen. 

Fortunately, I won't be alone. 

Eileen Prince, my oldest and dearest companion, will join me. Eileen is sharp-- brilliant, really-- and utterly disillusioned with the Ministry's hollow virtues. Her mother's pride and father's bitterness live in her bones, but she chooses her own path. That's why we understand each other. That's why she is the closest I can come to trust. 

This trip is more than a rite of passage. It is a declaration.

The wand will choose me, of course. I will not settle for anything less than a match worthy of the blood that runs in my veins. I expect the process will be... illuminating.

I have no delusions of the ease of my journey to greatness. Hogwarts will not welcome me with open arms. The moment my name is read aloud in the Great Hall, I will feel the weight of every stare, every whisper, every inherited judgment. Let them come. Let them wonder if I am him reborn-- or something worse.

I know what I am.

I am Layla Grindelwald.

And the world will remember me-- not as a footnote in his legend, but as the witch who finished what he began.