This document beta'd by the generous LadyDisdain2014

Harry Potter and the Iron Lady

Prologue: The Iron Lady

It had been another long day and was looking to be a long night. The Prime Minister sighed and rubbed her forehead, at an utter loss as to what to do. For the past ten years, Britain had been at war. Not with the Soviet Union, not a Cold War; but a hot one, a Civil War the likes of which was recorded by no history book the Prime Minister had ever read. You wouldn't know it from the news. Strange deaths and murders were reported, as were bizarre natural events, but no war. That was because it was a war that was fought not with guns, planes, missiles and tanks; but with magic.

Magic. Margaret Thatcher loathed magic. As a child she had been fascinated by fairy tales, and had dreamed of finding fairies or enchanted rings. But when she'd become PM, she'd found out that magic was very real. And rather nasty.

Her predecessor had been powerless to stop the war that had been going on since 1970, a war waged by a dark wizard named Voldemort, but whom the so called "Minister for Magic" insisted on referring to as "you-know-who." So far, Thatcher had been equally powerless to end the war. She was determined to do better, but had no idea how to do so. Most technology was ruined by even close proximity to magic, and wizards seemed impervious to all laws of nature. Thatcher was frustrated by her powerlessness. She was the most powerful woman in all of Britain, save for perhaps Her Majesty, and yet she could do nothing to prevent the hundreds of deaths that she knew about which had resulted from the magic war.

There was a loud pop, and the source of most of Thatcher's irritation herself appeared. Minister for Magic Millicent Bagnold. The woman was even more disheveled than usual, but after a moment's examination, Thatcher realized the woman was clearly drunk and beaming with happiness.

"Oh Margaret, we've won! It's over, this bloody awful war is finally over!" the woman nearly shouted, stumbling over and giving Thatcher a clumsy embrace over her desk.

Stiffening, Thatcher stood and set the witch on her feet. "What do you mean, we've won? Are you saying you've finally defeated Voldemort? How? What forces were involved? Can you finally give me a dispensation of your forces and capabilities? What resistance will linger?"

A look of sadness came over the Minister's face, and she slumped uninvited into a chair that she flicked over with a wave of her wand. "You-know-who attempted to murder a family early this evening. Lily and James Potter, two of our best. They resisted, but he overcame them. When he got to their child, a boy of only one, somehow his spell rebounded. He defeated himself, in the end, though we still don't know how."

Taking a moment to think, Thatcher carefully sat back in her own chair. "I see. And the rest of his forces? I was led to believe they were quite extensive, and powerful."

"Oh we're sorting it out now," Bagnold declared, waving a hand with a dismissive air. "Without the Dark lord they've scattered. They are no threat now."

That's what many a woman has thought after cutting off an adder's head, only for the severed thing to bite fatally even in it's death throes. Thatcher thought, but outwardly she smiled. She was relieved, perhaps this nightmare was finally over.

It wasn't. A few nights later, Bagnold was back to discuss the capture of Sirius Black, a terrorist in the service of the Dark Lord who hadn't given up the fight. He'd assassinated a wizard, and twelve civilians who the Minister gave the disparaging label of "muggle," a word that always irked Thatcher. Bagnold admitted that more attacks would likely follow, but that "the Auror's would soon have things sorted out."

As Thatcher climbed the stairs to her bedchamber, she noticed a new young man with red hair on guard duty in the uniform of the SAS. Though normally metro police handled the guarding of the MP, with the "terrorist threat" SAS had stepped in to bolster her protection.

"Bloody wizards and their bloody magic," Thatcher snarled, thinking it was under her breath. It was, out of all the other universes, just a tad louder than she'd intended. And out of all the universes, someone's second cousin, instead of becoming an accountant, had become a soldier instead.

"Magic, ma'am?" The soldier said, somewhat shocked. "You don't mean the, sorry. Forget I said anything ma'am. First day on duty and all that."

Thatcher read his name tag, Corporal Prewett. "Corporal, what do you know about magic?" she demanded.

"Oh, nothing ma'am. Just children's fancy, stuff and nonsense really," Prewett answered nervously. The man was obviously lying.

Thatcher's eyes narrowed. "You mentioned the "terrorist" attack today. But it wasn't a terrorist attack, was it?"

"Er, then what was it ma'am?"

"Magic. Tell me truthfully, yes or no. Do you know about magic?"

Ten minutes later, Corporal Prewett and Thatcher were alone in her office, having a whispered conversation over gin and tonic.

"I"m a squib ma'am. That's the offspring of a normally magic family that hasn't any. Magic, I mean. It's rare, in the blood you know." Prewett was gazing into his still untouched drink, a sour expression on his face. "I know about the war. Plenty of squibs killed by that right old bastard. I can at least defend myself, went into the paratroopers for a reason I did. A gun can kill a wizard dead, same as any man. True, if they know what they're doing and you don't get the drop on them it can be a devil of a thing, but a bullet's a bullet."

"Really?" Thatcher asked. "A bullet can kill a wizard? How hard would it be for someone without magic to kill a wizard?"

"Not that hard, actually. That's why they went into hiding, us 'muggles,' the non-magical folk that is, were wiping them out in the medieval times. Bows and arrows, swords, fire, all that can kill a wizard or witch, especially if they haven't a wand. Guns would give them even more trouble I should think."

"Then why haven't they involved us against these dark wizards!?" Thatcher demanded. "A few people with the right know-how could have saved the lives of thousands over the last ten years. We could have developed countermeasures, protected our civilians."

"Truth be told, I think the wizards still think we're in medieval times. They don't know anything about modern weaponry or electricity in general. Most can't even drive a car or operate any sort of machinery. The really complex stuff shorts out when wizards are around it too much, but most if it still works. I don't know why really, I grew up around magic, but when it became clear I was never going to be a wizard I was disowned. Sent off to a private school. I was so bitter about it I nearly became an accountant of all things. But well, there was this girl, and she was sweet on soldier boys, so here I am. Married her three months ago actually."

"Indeed. This bears further investigation. Corporal, I want you to find more of these 'squibs' and any other open minded sorts who would be interested in a new magical task force. If there is another wizard war, I don't want us unprepared for it."

For a moment, Corporal Prewett hesitated. This went against everything he had been raised to believe. But then he remembered all the Christmases spent alone, the cold reception from his family, and the way everyone he had once loved looked at him now. Like an animal. Prewett the accountant would have taken it. Prewett the soldier was ready to stand up for himself.

"I'll do it ma'am."

AN: Corporal Prewett is being overly generous in his estimates of why wizards went underground, but the fact remains that quantity has a quality all its own, and even wizards can be overrun. This brings us to this story's theme:

Muggles: Hell yeah.