As time went on, the various fiefdoms were conquered by other Lords of Magic and added to the conqueror's own lands. This time is known for frequent magical clashes of epic proportions, reshaping the land as Lord fought Lord, only one walking away from each clash, bloodied but triumphant.
The situation came to the point that only two Lords remained. One holding all of Britain above Hadrian's Wall, or present-day Scotland, the other ruling over all land south of the mighty edifice, namely England and Wales, although their names remain shrouded in mystery to this day. For a couple of decades, the two ruled their lands in harmony, each choosing not to engage the other for fear that the resulting clash would shatter the land once and for all.
Then, for an unknown reason, the two met in the wizarding village of Turup's Grove and began the duel to determine who would be the sole ruler of the land. From all accounts, the duel was long and drawn out, lasting for three days and nights and utterly destroying the village in which the clash began.
When the dust settled, the Northern Lord of Magic had fallen, leaving the Southern Lord as the victor, although he was heavily wounded and had lost an arm.
The years carried on and the Lord carried out research on the magic that bound him to the entirety of Britain. He discovered that, when he died, all of that magic would die with him, no other Lords having risen taking with it a great deal of the magical potential of the land, which would cause the potential for life to wither until the magic regenerated itself, meaning the crops that fed the people would die, as would a fair few animals, wild and domesticated, mundane and magical.
The Lord called together some of the brightest minds of the time and they worked tirelessly to create a solution to prevent this. The Lord despised Dark Magic, so any immortality solution was dismissed, as most attempts at such a violation of the natural order are classed as Dark.
Eventually, the conclave created a solution. Using a powerful ritual, they would anchor the Lord's magic, and the magical connection inherently a part of it, to the very land of Britain itself at the moment of his death, ensuring that as long as the land survived, so too would the connection.
Rather than wait for his death to occur naturally, the Lord bade the conclave to prepare the ritual at once, for he knew that every day that he waited was one more day that another Lord could rise up and challenge him, and there was no telling if a new Lord would even care about the future of Britain.
It is unknown, even to this day, what the ritual was or how it was performed, but the facts remain: the Lord died, the land was preserved and magic was eternally bound to the country of Britain.
In honour of his sacrifice, the Lord was given the title of 'Sovereign' by the Conclave, soon to become the first incarnation of the Wizard's Council, and the magic that binds and preserves the land was named after his title, becoming known as the Sovereignty Magic of Magical Britain.
After this time, there were relatively few Lords of Magic and they were significantly weaker than their predecessors as they were not Lords of something as solid as land anymore, but of obscure concepts and causes that required a great deal of personal belief as well as innate magical power, although the exact perquisites to becoming a Lord of Magic are, to this day, still unknown.
At the time this book was written and published, there are currently two Lords of Magic in existence. The first is known and feared as the Dark Lord He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Lord of Magical Darkness.
The second is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the Lord of Magical Light. Both of these wizards are known for their extreme prowess in the magical arts and are widely regarded to be the strongest wizards since Merlin Himself."
"Bloody hell." Harry muttered as he closed the book. This explained why destroying the Sovereignty Magic was such a bad idea, if it was even possible, as no one knew how it had been created in the first place.
"Harry!" a female voice called from the door of his dormitory. Harry poked his head out of his curtains to see his female best friend, Hermione Granger, standing at the door, her hands on her hips and a determined look in her eyes.
"Hey 'Mione." Harry said as he climbed out of bed and put the book into his trunk, "What's up?"
"'What's up'? You only have ten minutes of breakfast left, that's what!" Hermione said with an eye roll, "Ronald sent me up to get you as he was too busy eating half of the contents of the kitchen to come himself. And what was that book?"
She seemed suspicious, which was quite natural as Harry rarely read anything but textbooks and the occasional foray into 'Quidditch Through The Ages'.
"You do know Ron hates being called by his full name, 'Mione." Harry replied as he walked over to her, attempting to divert her from asking about the book.
She sniffed before answering, "Well if he'd stop calling me 'Mione all the time, I would stop addressing him as Ronald."
"I call you 'Mione as well." Harry pointed out as they walked down to the Common Room, "Should I stop?"
"EH?!" Hermione seemed taken aback, "No, I don't mind you calling me that, it's just that Ron calling me that is…irritating. I don't want him to take me for granted, even to do with names."
Harry glanced at Hermione as they walked to the Great Hall and said, "'Mione, he doesn't take you for granted. You should have seen him when we saw you lying petrified in the Hospital Wing. He took it really hard."
She smiled at him at his words and asked, "And you?"
"I felt like I'd just been hit in the head with a Bludger." Harry replied instantly, shivering as he remembered Hermione's petrified form lying in the bed, unmoving and unresponsive, "I was numb, because I…kind of blamed myself for you getting attacked."