An immense forest covers the island the was once the nation of Great Britain. The country had fallen long ago, all its citizen fled. The darkest part of the woods rests to the north. There in eternal dusk lives the impossible, the most benign being ordinary animals grown to unordinary sizes, scavenger birds larger than houses, spiders bigger than an elephant, and snakes enormous enough to swallow a whale whole.
However, the truly terrifying part were the monsters, horrible creatures born from the unnatural melding of various species, even mankind. These were the things whimsically mentioned in fairytales and described in hushed whispers in the dark of the night.
And in the epicenter of this devilish forest was a small sea of shadows, a blackened lake still as an unbeating heart and on that rock-strewn shore lay the sprawling ruins of a great castle, once an almost white now a murky grey. Some of the structure remained recognizable or halfway standing, this included the wall baring the ancient engraving the used to be in the center of this grand fortress.
Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus
Beneath this cautionary words sat a throne, but to call it a throne would be like calling a wolf a dog. This as innately different as was the figure in it, who lay still, lungs unmoving, heart frozen in his chest. The man's hair was long shadowy strands, his skin pale unacquainted with the sun, nails long and overgrown, but if his eyes were open they would have been his most startling feature. Ebony chains covered the man locking him to his seat, for he was the most cruel and terrible monster in the forest. This being was the reason they fled, he was the reason the forest was born and he was the sleeping dragon they feared so much.
He was the Lord of the Dark Forest, Practitioner of Forbidden Art, and Master of Death, Harry James Potter and he was about to be woken up.