Harry Potter and His New Standards

Prologue

The Junior Minister paced back and forth, back and forth. Holly watched him, examining the way he knitted his bushy brows and scowled, a fine mist of sweat on his forehead. She smirked at his frustration.

"I've talked to two Weasleys, a Muggle-born named Granger, Harry Potter, and your boss."

He stopped speaking there, but persisted with the incessant pacing. She continued watching him. Back and forth, back and forth.

"Yeah?" she prompted, wishing he would continue with whatever he needed to do. "How are they all? Granger still taking her anxiety potions?"

He threw a steely glance in her direction and she started to smile again, leaning back in the padded chair and relaxing her shoulders. "You're the last one I need to speak with, as far as my sources reveal."

Holly sighed.

He demanded, "How old are you, Miss Black?"

"Twenty." She paused. "Well, roughly."

"I don't care for your vague responses, Miss Black." She rolled her eyes. "Tell me, what is your current age?"

"Why does it matter?" she responded. "And, don't you know?"

Back and forth, back and forth.

Her eyes swept the Junior Minister's office. He hadn't been inaugurated--the various behind-the-scenes committees were most likely searching for a different Minister amongst the masses. She wondered whether she would get to vote on who the next bloke in office would be. Maybe Harry.

Back and forth, back and forth.

She crossed one leg over the other and yawned extravagantly.

"Would you just get on with it?" she grumbled.

The Junior Minister fired her that all-too-familiar "respect your elders, you little wench" look before complying. "You've made quite a name for yourself. In a matter of mere months you've stolen various warlock artifacts, replaced the Ministry's Supantoris and Animagus files on yourself with fakes, and murdered myriad wizards under the Ministry's care."

"Now that's a bit of an overstatement--"

"Half the Malumi population in Britain has fallen dead at your hands."

"Well, good God, what a loss--!"

"You've dabbled in necromancy and successfully risen various dead."

"Hey!" The Junior Minister ceased speaking. "No one seems to be complaining about Dorian Gray, for one, and that was all under orders of a Ministry branch--"

He hissed, "A corrupt Ministry branch that's defied warlock law on more counts than ever previous after a vampire was made its head."

"That 'vampire' isn't even--"

"We at the Ministry have been lead to believe that your position of involvement in the Department of Dark Rationing has been based less on the skills of the contender and more on the friendship between you and the department head."

She knitted her brows and opened her mouth. She began with her retort, "I've proven myself to be--"

"--a thorn in the Ministry's side." He tossed a thick file at her and she caught it with one hand. Holly opened it and examined its contents.

It appeared to be a combined booklet of everything the Ministry had collected on her as a perpetual convict and every scrap of information needed about her as a member of the Department of Dark Rationing. There was a thick stack of photographs revealing each character she'd been forced to portray in hopes of "blending in with the crowd, blackberry," "looking like the professional McGowan wants to hire, darling," and everything in between.

Blonde wigs and white dresses; blue streaks and off the shoulder black ensembles; brunette up-dos and scarlet gowns--she hardly remembered some of those roles. "I see my little leather number is missing," she noted.

"Yes--yes, that photograph was lost somewhere in translation." She smiled up at the Junior Minister again--he was blushing horribly.

She looked at her Department stats, which read something like a condensed chronicle of her life. Full name, date and hour of birth, parents, height, eye color, weight, defining physical markings. Four orphanages, two schools, four residences in Britain, pets, Supantoris, living relations, deceased relations. Potential fears, strengths, weaknesses, and connections. School records, spoken languages, travel dossier, amulets, preferred weapons, and St. Mungo's papers.

"You've worked for so many Underground crews and competing illegal markets that your manners of espionage can't be traced back to a definitive source."

The Junior Minister stopped speaking and Holly looked up from skimming over her dental record.

He continued, "I've had many officials look over this file, and they can't seem to pinpoint your rationale. A fair few have reckoned that you're simply a barking lunatic with Muggle tricks up your sleeves and a wand in your pocket.

"But most can see past that--myself included." Holly stared at him, and he found a cessation in his pacing. "You're angry, Holly Black," he said, "and no one can seem to find the reason as to why."

She sighed and shifted her weight forward whilst turning another page in the file booklet and examining it. Vaguely she stated, "And I suppose you want me to tell you why."

The Junior Minister seated himself in his high-backed chair and leaned over his desk, watching her.

Holly sighed loudly and turned another page in her file. It included details of how her blood, when at least one year in freshness, could be used as an antidote to a certain potion.

"Once upon a time," she drawled, "I was fifteen, an orphan, and perfectly content." The Junior Minister was really listening, so spicing it up with her typical fibs and exaggerations might be pertinent. "Within months I'd been shipped over an ocean to a father I didn't think I had and to a life I wasn't prepared for." Still listening. "The story's not mine, really, but Harry's--" she said truthfully, "and if you want to see this through the eyes of the supporting role, sir, that's your decision."