Hello to the 3 people who read this! This story has been on my to-do list for YEARS now, but School and work exist so…yeah. I am finally getting free time so I'll hopefully be able to pump some content out to the few who still read FanFiction. Enjoy, leave constructive criticism, and maybe drop a like!

Prologue: The Heir

1980, Nurmengard Prison

A very soft crack pierced the air, the sound echoing throughout the cold prison walls. Two bursts of red flashed through the dark, followed by two thuds. A woman, the one responsible for all of what had just occurred, walked silently past the unconscious guards, wand in one hand while her other gently clutched a small bundle to her chest. As she moved through the narrow corridor, her long, deep red hair flowed behind her, and her striking green eyes seemed to cut through the shadows.

The stench of damp stone and decay clung to the air, but she paid it no mind. She had grown accustomed to dark places and secrets long buried. Her footsteps were measured, unhurried, yet laced with a sense of urgency. She had little time before her absence was noted.

Reaching a particular cell, she stopped. The iron bars were rusted, but the lock was still sturdy. Lifting her wand, she made a firm slicing motion through the air, and with a sharp metallic snap, the lock shattered. The heavy door creaked open, revealing the dim confines within.

"Lumos Maxima," the woman muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. A sphere of brilliant white light surged to the ceiling, illuminating the room with an ethereal glow.

A soft yet commanding voice spoke from the corner. "It has been some time, my dear."

As the light revealed the cell's lone occupant, an old man came into view. He sat on the cold stone floor with one leg extended, the other bent at the knee. His skin was pale, nearly translucent in the dim light, his hair reduced to wisps of silver that clung to his scalp. Yet, despite his frail appearance, his mismatched eyes—one a piercing silver-gray, the other an ice-blue—remained as sharp as ever.

The woman inclined her head slightly, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. "I apologize. The war has been consuming, and my… condition made it difficult to slip away unnoticed."

His eyes flickered to the bundle in her arms, and for the first time, genuine curiosity softened his expression. "Ah," he murmured, a hint of anticipation creeping into his voice. "So that is him, then? Let me see my great-grandson."

With great care, the woman shifted the blankets, revealing the tiny, sleeping face of an infant. His small features were peaceful, undisturbed by the cold or the oppressive weight of history that loomed over him.

"James wanted to name him Harry," she whispered, as if the very name left a bitter taste on her tongue. "But I convinced him to change it to Hadrian."

The old man exhaled, a ghost of a chuckle escaping his lips. "A wise choice. 'Harry' is hardly fitting for one of his stature. Hadrian… yes, that name will serve him well."

Lily hesitated, her grip on her son tightening ever so slightly. "I… I know why I am here, why we must do this," she admitted, voice laced with doubt. "But does it have to be him?"

The old man regarded her for a long moment before inclining his head. "We have discussed this many times, my dear. He is the only one who can carry forth my legacy—our legacy. You must trust me."

She swallowed, nodding slowly. "I do trust you, Grandfather… it's just—mother's instinct."

A rare, almost affectionate smile ghosted across the old man's face. "As expected." Then, his gaze grew intense, calculating. "Shall we begin?"

Lily hesitated only a moment before handing over her child. The old man cradled the infant with surprising gentleness, his long fingers brushing lightly over the dark tuft of hair atop the baby's head. His mismatched eyes softened.

"Young Hadrian," he murmured, almost reverently. "One day, you will be known as the greatest wizard since Merlin himself. I only regret what you will have to endure…"

His thumb pressed gently against the infant's forehead, and he began to chant. His voice, though weary, carried the weight of ancient power.

"Ultima mea magia," he intoned, the words wrapping around the room like an incantation of fate. "Tibi totum me donabo. Vim meam, facultates, intelligentiam, charisma, et artes. Dum crescis, novos vires attingas."

A brilliant blue light surged from his fingers and into the child, sinking into his very core. The baby stirred but did not cry, as though some part of him recognized the gift being bestowed upon him.

Lily reached forward instinctively, her hands trembling as she reclaimed her son. Her eyes darted back to her grandfather, who had slumped slightly, his breathing shallow.

"Grandfather?" she asked, voice tight with concern.

He raised a hand, waving off her worry. "It is done," he murmured. Then, with an amused huff, he flicked his wrist toward the stale bread roll he had been given the night before. "Accio," he muttered.

Nothing happened. The bread remained where it was, undisturbed.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I will admit, I wasn't entirely certain that would work."

Lily's breath hitched. "What… what now?"

The old man's smile returned, sharper this time. "Now, the world waits. Their future leader grows, learns, and trains." His gaze darkened. "You remember what I have told you about his development?"

Lily nodded, though her expression remained troubled. "And… when do you think it will happen?"

He considered for a moment before answering. "Most likely when he comes of age. Though, if his magic develops quickly, it could be much sooner."

Lily's grip on Hadrian tightened. "Are you certain?" she pressed. "I've seen what this power can do. Mother showed me a memory of you… in Paris." She shuddered at the thought.

The old man met her gaze, understanding but unwavering. "I know what you fear, but rest assured, granddaughter. When the time comes, Hadrian will master the Flames of purgatory. He will wield them far greater than I ever could."

A heavy silence filled the room, the weight of their shared secret pressing upon them.

Lily took a shaky breath and held her son close. "Then… I suppose we wait."

The old man smiled, "Yes. Patience is key. But one day, my name will be know again, the name...of Grindelwald"

And in the dim light of Nurmengard, the future was set in motion.

Unfortunately for Lily, she would never get to see that future. Because one year later, she would be struck down in her home by the second most powerful dark wizard, Voldemort.