Absolute Zero by the Sin of Existance

All those reading, be afraid. For I have brought a hurricane with me, and it's rarin' to go.

And for all those asking if I own Harry Potter, then, OMG, how have you even survived long enough to learn how to read at that level of intelligence? For all those horribly impaired mentally, I'll repeat it. I. Don't. Own. Harry Potter. This is the only time I'll say it, mmkay?

"Magic is infinite. With magic, the impossible is made possible, and dreams, made reality. All you must do is reach out and grasp it."

-Merlin, Father of Magic.

The magical world was brisk with the winds of dissent and coming battle. Every person, every wizard or witch, could feel it. The nagging sense in the back of their mind. The glance behind them, when no one was there. Each could sense it, yet none could place it.

If they had been able to place where it started, where it originated, where it all centered upon, they would have been pointing to France.

In France, lay a small, yet extravagant manor. It was somewhat odd, in design, considering it the center of the manor, lay a tall, immaculate white tower, reaching up unto the heavens.

A tall white wall rose around the manor, strong and unyielding. The black porticullis stood firm and proud, easily opened when needed by the two trolls trained and paid for the task.

Around the manor, lay sprawling forest, green like a sea, and when the winds blew, the sea of leaves rippled like water and played a soft symphony of rustling.

Near the manor, lay a lake, a rather large one, crescent shaped. It curled against a mountain like a protective blanket, stemming from several waterfalls on the mountain, and tapering to a river, that went all the way out of sight, even when one looked from the tower itself.

The manor lay nestled in a small valley, against a hard ridge of mountains, which sloped up gracefully from the manor's view, but on the other side, turned harsh and steep, completely unpassable by foot, as if someone had sliced off half the mountain roughly and stolen it.

The manor was small, but inviting. There were three stories in sight, the third only a single room leading to the tower. There were clear glass windows, giving light to a rather large study and library. There were emblems on tapestries hanging from a single balcony on top of the large mahogany entrance, each detailing a white heron, which clutched a scale, the symbol of justice and honor, in one claw, a sword in the other, and a bag, clutched in it's beak, which sagged open slightly, reveiling gold, which dropped and fell onto a field of green.

There were several smaller buildings inside the walls, such as a wide white hut, which bellowed smoke from a overly large chimney. Another was a large greenhouse, rectangular and sectioned. There was also a large, roofed stable, which held creatures of many variaties, only the very least of which was horses.

And finally, if one looked hard enough, they would see a good sized beaten ring, fenced and surrounded by many barrels, holding swords, spears, and other weapons who's names would most likely escape the vocabularies of most average viewers.

And from within that ring, rang and flashed the signs of combat.