The cloaked figure moved slowly over the hills leading up to the towering stones. The monument was from the times where those without magic and those with it had worked together and riased a kingdom of unchallenged strength and beauty. But Camelot had long since faded into myth for muggles and wizard kind along with it.
Scoffing to himself, the figure continued his casual pace, now moving around the edges of stone henge inspecting the ritual site. It would serve now, not not for the purpose Merlin had once intended. No, muggles had had their time. There numbers grew unrestrained, though they now culled themselves by the millions in their great war, wizards were not faring much better. Their efforts to hide themselves from the muggles and their existence on the fringes of this world contributed to their decline. They once grew in Camelot and achieved great things. Now they remained stagnant. How could something grow strong whilst striving to keep itself hidden after all? The muggles had proven that with space and freedom, growth and glorious things could be achieved. He did not deny their achievements after all. No, he was jealous of their chance to achieve them.
Muggles had their time to rule and now magical kind needed their turn - the opportunity provided by Grindenwald's recent, violent visit to Great Britain and the ever raging war of the muggles along side it was the perfect back drop for his plan. The scapegoats already in place. A slight quirk appeared on the mans face now as he remembered, couldn't have the muggles in the know blaming magicals for what was to occur tonight after all. It had been simple really, sneaking into the besieged camps and facilities in Germany. Planting snipits of reports, false memories in its leaders and growing the knowledge of a weapon and a plan. Scapegoats needed to believe their own complicity afterall for the trials that surely would follow. The evidence was set, concerned with the course of the war and their lack of progress with their atomic weapons, they had moved to something that suited their talents - human experimentation and germ warfare. Afterall, biological weapons were the latest trend. Reports had been filed and spelled to not be discovered until the time was right, no doubt the muggle Prime Minister was flying into a panic as intercepted enigma code messages would reveal a last ditched plan that was already underway and sealed. Weapons snuck into the country would be detinated tonight, leaving all life and buildings untouched. All life but human.
It was all a lie of course, the experiments faked, evidence and scraps planted that provided proof but would not lead to muggle developments. Cannot risk them getting inspiration after all... it mattered not what desperate plans the muggles enacted. The cold truth was no one would save them, tonight Great Britain returned to the magicals. Tonight their own kingdom was born on the corpses of theirs through means inspired by their own but taken far further then mundanely possible. Grindelwald would take the blame from the wizards if it came to that, but all signs pointed to the soon defeated Germany and their last ditch effort to win. Alchemy, blood magic, ritual, soul magic and enchantments all worked together tonight to free the magical people.
He raised his hand and a soft shimmering aura briefly glisened before a brass windowed tube decended from it to float above his hand. Runes marked the brass channels, carved with a careful eye for exacting detail. A crimson light flowed on transparent fog within the glass chamber, the only object in its confines was a blood red coin marked with a tree. With a barest gesture, the device moved to the centre of stone henge. A humming of muffled choirs rang in the background, barely audible but earily omnipresent. It was time, the moon at its peak and the conditions set.
"I will show them the truth beneath the peeled skin of this world..." muttered against the musical chorus of promised destruction and rebirth as he began his work. No spell was needed, no foolish waving of his wand or prayers offered. The work had all been done in preparation. The artifact crafted with singular purpose, to act as a disease. To spread to all those without magic within the land and use their life as fuel. Scripts of runes, channeled intent and sacrifice offered layed the instructions. The rules carved for the magic to follow. Magic would preserve its own. Leaving those with its gift or the promise thereof within a generation or two untouched. And all others extinguish. The ward lines of the country forming its limits, a new shield forged to prevent any muggle lines from finding purchase here for generations to come.
Reality seemed to crack in monochromatic glass fissures as the magic rose and a tree grew from the canister. An unnatural thing, twisted and cruel in its birth, knarled with the malice and hatred its maker poured into its crafting. The thrum of magic grew and no one appeared to stop it. How could they after all, their attention drawn elsewhere by the duel of the century. Dumbledore vs Grindelwald in anyother time would be the focus of every magical community. But in this one overshadowed. After all, not everday did 50 million people die. But their sacrifice gave magic its country, their souls channeled and used to power the spell. A country no line bereft magic would be able to set foot in for some years to come. Time would be needed after all, time to mould and craft this new country. A magical nation. With a final chorus the magic reached is peak and the spell done, winding its way across the land, its grim mission issued. Death had come for the muggles of this land, their bells tolled and bellowed from the henge. The figure apparated away, satisfied the magic was set. By morning only those of magical blood or potential could call this land home.