Judgment of the Queen

a Harry Potter yarn by Alex Woodville

Margaret Thatcher, or "the iron lady" as the press had dubbed her, sat rubbing her eyes tiredly behind her desk in #10 downing st.

with the economy barely moving, and the 13th confirmed murdered of the "Yorkshire ripper" things were not headed the was she had hoped they would when she took office. Her political enemies were nipping at her heels, and to top it off that morning Nov.1st 1981, the government had just announced further public spending cuts and taxation raises. In short, things were totally bollixed up.

Despite it not even being lunchtime, she was considering a stiff belt just to sooth her nerves. After all, the sun must be over the yard arm somewhere, she mused. Then the ugliest painting in her office of a man in a green hat spoke! "Good morning madam prime minister. The minister of magic will be arriving shortly to speak to you." Damn and blast! She thought, as her eyes swiveled to pin the painting with a glare that should have begun stripping the paint. She had found out about the separation of the Magical world and the mundane when she took office. To say she was surprised and displeased was an understatement.

Personally, She refused to use the word muggle. It was insulting, demeaning, and in a nutshell displayed what was wrong with magical's and their society.

In that case, she thought, standing. She moved around her desk to a large wooden globe set on a sideboard. She opened it to show a cleverly concealed bar. 2 fingers of scotch and a splash of soda later, she schooled her features and drew her "iron lady" persona about her like a cloak.

The fireplace ignited suddenly, as she moved back to her desk and sat. the flames suddenly turned green, and the grate expanded, becoming almost 6 feet tall. Out stepped what could only be described as a witch. Black cloths, black pointy hat, all she needed was the wart, which the prime minister noted with some relief was absent. What she wasn't expecting was for her counterpart to be intoxicated this early, or the ear to ear smile.

"Wonderful news, minister, just wonderful. Harry Potter has defeated the dark lord! He's gone, finally gone, thank Merlin!" The prime ministers eyes narrowed slightly.

"Really, she drawled, do tell." Over the next hour or so minister Bagnold spilled her guts to Margaret thatcher, telling her how this "dark lord" had terrorized the people of Britain, both magical and non. His crimes were as atrocious as they were legendary. He and his followers "death eaters, stupid name" had never-the-less brought an thoroughly corrupt and incompetently lead ministery to its knees.

That a toddler had defeated someone skilled arrors couldn't was totally ridiculous. "Did he use the magic power of his poo?" she wondered disbelievingly.

When the inebriated minister left in a swirl of green fire in the fireplace, Margret thatcher sat writing furiously everything Bagnold had said. " Sarah!" she called, and a moment later her personal assistant walked into the office.

"Yes mam, she said."

"I need MI-5in my office right now and get me an audience with the queen, the sooner the better." It was going to be a long week, she mused.

Balmoral castle is in the Scottish highlands, about 500 miles from London. 4 days after her conversation with minister Bagnold, the prime minister found herself flying to Leeds. From there she would take a military helicopter to Balmoral to meet with the Queen.
It had been an interesting 4 days. After summoning the home secretary, Lord Whitelaw, (head of MI5) the two of them had begun an investigation the size of which had not been seen since "the war." Information was starting to come in, and it was already troubling. This ministery had apparently separated from the rest of the British government back in 1275, for goodness sake's. It ran unchecked, unchallenged. It contributed nothing to the economy, in fact it seemed wholly separate.
There were only 2 ways to communicate with them. Through that horrid little painting, and the queen herself. The queen was maintained as the head of their parliament, called the wizengott. Although her seat was normally run by the head of that parliamentary body. In fact the queen hadn't attended a session of the wizengott in almost 200 years.
Files were being made, dossiers created for people who's identity was currently unknown . CCTV had been catching oddly dressed individuals coming and going for years, but now they knew who and what they were.
Something Bagnold had said about warded areas had lead the prime minister to request new photos of London, taken by satellite. As a result she now knew where this "diagon alley" was located, if not how to enter. They were in the process of satellite mapping the entire British isles, looking for more of these blank spots.
The 1 area things were moving was actually with young harry potter. They had been able to match his mothers school records with a Lilly Evans who quit school at age 11. while her parents were decease, she had a sister, one Petunia Dursely, nee Evans. Surveillance and background checks of the Dursely's were on-going.
In fact, a massive search was going on with school records as a primary focus. The hunt for children who dropped out at 11, and then reappeared in collage as adults was quickly bearing fruit. In 3 days they already had a list of 50+candidates. Home office was already dispatching teams to talk with them, but with little success. Turns out that people were more afraid of the ministry's "statute of secrecy" than they were of MI5.
Never the less, some of them had talked. They talked of a world trapped somewhere between medieval and Victorian times.
They told tales of children thrown from the home for "not having magic", and left to fend for themselves. Of families able to trace there founders back to before the Romans came. Of lords and ladies. Of new wizards, seduced into attending a school for magical children. Only to find upon graduation, that the only job a "mud-blood" could hope for was a shop assistant, or arm candy to some "Lord." How their "education" left them so far behind the real world that often their choices were to emigrate to the Americas or Australia, or join the military. Trapped between 2 worlds, 2 cultures.
Worst of all, of a terrorist named Voldemort, who claimed to hate all mud-bloods, but killed indiscriminately anyone around him, be it normal's, wizards or even the highborn who's views he was suppose to espouse.
As the prime ministers party left the government jet in Leeds and strapped into a military helicopter for the last leg to Balmoral, madam thatcher found her mood becoming darker. All of this, coming now, at a time when the average Britt was struggling to make ends meet, it was disturbing, to say the least. And now she had to tell the queen.

"Good evening prime minister." said the queen from her desk in Balmoral's living room. The light coming from the windows was fading into a cold rainy evening. Inside the room was warmly lit , and her majesty's desk was piled high with all manner of government papers and reports. "Good evening your majesty" Margaret replied, preforming a small curtsy for her monarch. Her majesty gave her a small smile, then indicated a chair near by. "please, sit, and tell me whats so urgent you needed to interrupt the family's holiday."
Sitting on the edge of her chair, the prime minister replied, "Your majesty, on this Sunday night last I received a report from a minister Bagnold in my office. She told me that a toddler named Harry Potter had somehow defeated a "dark lord named Voldemort." Minister Bagnold arrived in my office not through the door, but in a swirl of green flame in my fireplace. She also claimed to be a witch." "I see..." her majesty stated, motioning her to continue. "Your majesty, why wasn't I or the public ever told about this wizard society existing right next to ours?"
"My dear, you are the first prime minister to know about the wizarding world since the war. It is a secret, and rightly so." "you knew?" She said, dumbfounded. That's when the queen gave her the look. She paused for a moment before stating, "The Windsors infrequently produce wizards, but it does happen. Has been since before the sons of York were kings. Although The girls seem to have more access to this...skill, if you will." Here the queen opened her purse, which had been sitting on her lap and produced a 6 inch length of wood. She smiled kindly. "Nevertheless, the Windsors are a cadet line from a very old line of wizards named Plantagenet." As the prime minister struggled to put the pieces together, her majesty reached over and pulled a silk rope, summoning a butler. When the door opened, she said, drinks, please Thomas, and then see were not disturbed until I call."

"Yes, your majesty." Moments later, Glass in hand, the queen waited until the door closed. "Prime minister, we too have been watching events unfold in the wizarding world. We've grown quite concerned regarding events as they have unfolded. However, there has been little we could do thanks to the treaty of 1275. That treaty separated the two worlds, and rightfully so. It would have been disastrous if the world had learned of magically even a hundred years ago." The prime minister looked at the queen. Something...

" And now?"she questioned.

"Now things are different. I think the public would be more excepting, and would welcome them, don't you?" The Queen swirled her glass. "The simple fact is that we are surpassing the magical's, whether they like it or not. And then there's this." The Queen touched a rather large book on her desk. "This is the original copy of the treaty of 1275. when you asked for this meeting I though it might be helpful. I had it brought here from the British museum. The provisions for the separation are quite strict, and enforced through magic. As are the consequences if the treaty is broken. By either side."

Then the Queen smiled, but it wasn't the smile of a genial grandmother. It was a monarchs smile, a smile that sends chills up your back. Then she reached over and gave two tug's on the pull. The door opened, but it wasn't the butler who walked in, but a rather frumpy gentleman.

"Prime minister, allow me to introduce sir Winston Spencer-Churchill, the grandson of Winston, and the head of MI6 ½.