This is a work of derivative fiction. I do not own the Harry Potter franchise - the canonical characters, locations and events are intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and various licensees.

Harry Potter

Necessary Evil

Amelia Bones looked down on the unconscious form of the world's most powerful wizard, deep in thought. Just hours ago, the young man before her had almost single-handedly won the war when he defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort and several of his most powerful followers in combat. He was a hero - no, the hero - and the public already celebrated him as such.

Amelia sighed unhappily. Unfortunately, things were never as straightforward as she would have liked. Almost everyone believed the Dark Lord and Harry Potter to have been diametrically opposed in practically every way. A villain and a hero. Black and white. She herself had been the driving force behind a propaganda campaign to that end. Faced with the threat of Lord Voldemort, the people had needed someone to rally behind after Albus Dumbledore's death, and Harry Potter had been the only viable candidate.

In truth, her plans had worked out beyond her wildest expectations. Harry had taken up the mantle of leadership with just the right mixture of charisma and humility, and the witches and wizards of Britain loved him for it. Unlike Dumbledore, who had been a fixture in the Magical World for decades, Harry Potter was a breath of fresh air: young, powerful, well-spoken, but still relatable and honest.

His meteoric rise in power was all the more remarkable considering that up until a year ago, Harry Potter had been a complete unknown. True, everyone knew the legend of the Boy-Who-Lived, but Harry - as in the real person, not the legend - had remained out of the public eye for almost twenty years. But in a few short months, he first became the face of the Ministry, then the leader of the war effort. And today, he had become the hero who brought down Voldemort. And it was clear to everyone that he would not stop there. Harry Potter's was the face of the future.

Right now, in the aftermath of his victory, Harry was virtually untouchable, politically speaking. He could declare himself Minister if he wanted to, and no-one would oppose him. Not that Amelia expected him to move quite so overtly, but the underlying issue remained. Even completely disregarding his magical abilities, Harry had just become most powerful wizard in Britain. And try as she might, she just couldn't trust him with that kind of position. Not anymore.

And that was just the political side of the issue. Harry Potter's magical abilities had been suspect to much speculation over the years, but once he took an active role in the war, it became clear that there were very few wizards and witches who could oppose him. Amelia shivered as she recalled the fight that had lead to Lord Voldemort's ultimate defeat. Both Harry and the Dark Lord had wielded high-level magic with an ease that was utterly entrancing and at the same time intensely terrifying. She had thought of herself as an above-average witch, but seeing them had been humbling.

However, witnessing that fight also incited the dilemma Amelia currently found her self in. She knew what she had to do. She had known from the moment she saw Harry get touched by the distinctive emerald light of a Killing Curse and walk away without a mark. She knew that only the most forbidden magic could bequeath one with immortality. Objectively, the decision was an easy one: Allow a potentially immortal dark wizard to assume a position of almost unprecedented power and influence, or prevent his rise while she still could. And yet, she still hesitated.

If only she didn't actually like him.

Initially, Amelia had been disinclined to work together with the young celebrity, fully expecting to be disappointed by the human behind the legend of the Boy-Who-Lived. However, Albus Dumbledore's death had forced her to take action, and she reluctantly reached out to Harry, hoping to prevent the collapse of their society. The world had needed a symbol of hope, and she had known that Harry could provide exactly that. She had been resigned to stand in the back and do most of the work, while he would be their cause's poster boy, credited with their victories.

It had been a pleasant surprise to discover that he was not only everything she needed to rally the fickle and scared public behind her administration, but that he was actually willing to put in the work to earn the position he'd come to hold. She had learned, over months spent working together, that he was just as dedicated to the downfall of the Dark Lord as she was, having worked with Dumbledore to break his seeming immortality for years. She had reluctantly allowed him to join her forces in battle, only to see him subdue his opponents with an almost graceful ease. He was smart, resourceful and humble, and over time, she had come to appreciate and even respect him. Which made what she was about to do all the more difficult.

Amelia sighed again, inwardly wondering whether the resentment she felt for herself was caused by her hesitation or by her betrayal. Was everything she knew about him a lie? She couldn't believe that, and yet, could she take the risk of being wrong? Was it an aspect of him she had ignored, because she saw him as a kindred soul? Was the use of forbidden magic reason enough to justify her betrayal of a close friend? Deep down, she already knew the answer to her questions. The war had taught her to do what was necessary, personal sentiments be damned. This was just another in a long line of such decisions.

Head held high, Amelia Bones walked up the stage that had been erected in front of Gringotts. The news of the Dark Lord's defeat had spread like Fiendfyre, and Diagon Alley was packed with countless witches and wizards in the throes of celebration. It was a stark contrast to the darkest days of the war, when London's magical district had been all but abandoned.

She reached the front of the stage, and took her position behind a lectern. Letting her eyes wander over the crowd in front of her, she recognized various local and international journalists, as well as some of her former friends and colleagues from the DMLE. Amelia raised her hand in greeting. Cheers reverberated through the Alley, punctuated by the characteristic whine and cracks of magical fireworks. After a few moments, she motioned for the crowd to quiet down.

Steeling herself, she spoke. "Witches and Wizards of Britain. It is an distinct honour to stand before you here today, on the day that concludes an era of terror, fear and uncertainty, and to inform you that the threat to our community posed by the Dark Lord Voldemort and his followers has been averted."

The assembled witches and wizards broke out into applause and cheering at her words, despite the news already being well-known.

"Just hours ago, the forces of the Ministry engaged in a final battle against the Death Eaters and their allies, a battle from which they emerged victorious. The Dark Lord himself was defeated in combat by none other than Harry Potter, who went to truly tremendous lengths to ensure our victory today."

When Amelia mentioned Harry, the crowd virtually exploded, the noise almost drowning out her magically amplified voice. Groups began chanting his name, and stylized lighting-bolts were drawn into to sky by admirers. It took almost a minute for everyone calm down again.

Her voice turned sombre as she went on. "And yet, it is with a heavy heart that I returned from the field of battle. Too many brave witches and wizards gave their life today. Too many of us will never see their friends and loved ones, their brothers and sisters again. The price we paid is far too high, and though today will go down in history as the day of our ultimate victory, for many, like myself, it will remain a day of great loss."

Her statement was met with silence. Amelia could see the unease spread through the audience. Taking a deep breath, and burying her guilt, she continued. "I would like to specifically speak out in remembrance of Harry Potter—" A collective intake of breath could be heard from the congregation before her. "—who sacrificed his own life to ensure the fall of the Dark Lord."

The shock was almost palpable. This was supposed to be Harry's moment of triumph, she knew, the beginning of his era, even if no-one said it out loud. From the moment he stepped into the spotlight, he had built himself an image of a legend in the making, a wizard with a larger-than-life destiny. He had appeared unstoppable, and now he was gone. Dead. Slowly, people broke out of their daze. The alley filled with subdued whispers, interspersed with sounds of despair and muffled crying.

As she looked out over the crowd, careful not to meet anyone's eyes, Amelia couldn't help but resent herself. With a single lie, she'd destroyed these people's dream for a different, a better world. The world that Harry was going to build. She wondered what they would do, were they aware of the truth. Burn down her office? Crucify her? Start another war? She shivered at the thought. Had someone told her a day ago that she would be part of a conspiracy to kill Harry, she would have thought them insane. And yet, here she was.

Pushing her feelings to the back of her mind, she spoke up again, her words firm, but solemn. "Despite our Healers' best efforts, Harry Potter succumbed to the wounds he sustained when he issued the killing blow on Lord Voldemort. He stood as a shining beacon of light against the forces of darkness that threatened to overwhelm us. Without him, the Dark Lord would have stood unopposed, his resistance scattered and his reign absolute. Harry Potter was a great wizard, and a dear friend."

Her speech went back on track after that, and Amelia spoke of peace, rebuilding and reconciliation, of tributes and monuments to the fallen, but she was just going through the motions now. Everything of importance had already been said. The audiences response was lacklustre, not that she had expected otherwise. She left immediately after her parting words.

Saul Croaker, the director of the Department of Mysteries, fell in step beside Amelia as soon as she stepped out of the lift on level nine. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the oppressive silence that seemed to hang over the Ministry building tonight. The concrete hallways down here were a far cry from the casual opulence of the upper levels, but for once, she found the desolation and gloom appropriate. As she followed the Unspeakable to the ritual chamber, she tried once again justify to herself what she was about to do, with little success.

Saul, seemingly able to read her mind, broke the silence between them. "You are doing the right thing."

Was she? She didn't know anymore, not since the final battle. With a heavy sigh, she shook her head. "I am not." Her voice was weak, no more than a whisper. "But what else can I do?"

Saul didn't comment on her admission. Suddenly very uncomfortable with the silence, she spoke up again. "The people who saw him at the hospital have been Oblivated?"

The unspeakable nodded, then elucidated. "The records have been altered, and his death has been officially registered. There is a body in the morgue that for all intents and purposes belongs to Harry Potter. Right now, the two of us are the only ones aware of his continued survival. I intend to keep it that way."

Amelia wondered whether she would still remember this come tomorrow. Between Saul's penchant to leave no loose ends and her own conflicted feelings about the whole affair, she wouldn't put it past him to Oblivate her as well. True, it would give her plausible deniability, and more importantly, peace of mind. But it would also remove any semblance of accountability from their actions. Deep down, she knew that she needed to remember this— Harry deserved that much, at least.

She shook herself out of her thoughts as they arrived at the entrance to the ritual chamber. She couldn't think about this, not now. A shiver ran down her spine as she passed the threshold, and she let out an involuntary gasp at the sight in front of her. The vast circular room was ancient, predating even the Ministry that had been build above it. It's existence and continued use was a carefully kept secret that even Amelia had not been privy to prior to her election as Minister. The chamber's vaulted ceiling was shrouded in darkness, held up by six equidistant obsidian pillars. On a raised platform in the centre of the room, illuminated by flickering candlelight, laid the naked form of Harry Potter, still unconscious.

Stepping closer, Amelia took note of the various geometric shapes and runes that had been meticulously drawn onto the polished black stone. Small bowls, filled with potions of unknown make and purpose were positioned on the vertices of the primary pentagon. The white chalk lines looked innocent on first glance, but upon a closer look, she could almost see an inkling of otherworldly power they contained, visible just beyond the edge of her perception.

She looked up to see Saul Croaker standing beside her, holding an antique magical staff, a golden eagle affixed on its top. Seeing her frown, he explained. "Millennia ago, Roman sorcerers encountered a demon in the course of their conquests. Unable to kill it, they assumed it to be immortal and devised a means to capture and banish it from this world instead." He gestured to the set-up before them. "This is the ritual they created. If Potter is truly immortal, attempting to kill him could have disastrous consequences. Banishing, on the other hand, is a tried and proven method for removing seemingly immortal beings."

The Unspeakable tilted his head, as if in contemplation. "Of course, such a ritual must be carried out with the proper tools. Modern wands, for all their usefulness, are not meant to wield such magic." He indicated the staff he was holding. "This is a Roman Aquilia, a staff used by the Roman sorcerers. It was created about 100 A.D., at the height of the their civilization, and saw several wars before it was lost upon the Roman Empire's collapse. The predecessor to the Department recovered it in 1408."

Amelia stared at the ritual set-up, her eyes resolutely avoiding the body laying at its centre. She let out a laugh that sounded fake even to herself and shook her head. "I don't even want to know what else you have stored away in your Department that you are able to set up that kind of ritual in just a few short hours."

"Actually, the ritual was intended as a backup plan to remove Voldemort, should Potter have been wrong about his path to immortality. It has been prepared for weeks now. Faced with our current dilemma, I thought it prudent to repurpose it."

She grimaced, forcefully clamping down on the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Her voice sounded hollow when she spoke again. "Right. Let's get started then. I assume you will be the one to carry out the ritual?"

"Astute as always. You, on the other hand, will be there to intervene should anything go wrong. It's not likely, but I'd rather be safe."

Amelia took a few steps back, while the Unspeakable climbed up on the platform. Finally, she let her eyes wander to Harry, who was lying unconscious in the centre of the set-up. She couldn't think about this, she reminded herself. Not now, not while she still had the illusion of a choice. But the memories came anyway.

She remembered the afternoon sun on her face, as they sat together, celebrating her birthday. There had been a party, later on, but it had been mired with politics and formalities, and she never quite enjoyed those. Her position in the Ministry had created an invisible barrier between herself and her former colleagues, and in the end it had been just Harry and herself, in a café in Paris. A brief respite from the war that had coloured every aspect of her life. She had never quite realized up until then how much she craved a moment of normalcy, without the looming threat of death and destruction around every corner.

She recalled how they had sat together after a particularly brutal mission, taking shots of Firewiskey in a futile attempt to drown out the guilt they felt. It didn't work, of course, and she still remembered the sticky feeling of half-dried blood on her hands, the look of terror in the face of the man she had just killed, the conjured knife lodged in his throat. She had seen Harry at his most vulnerable that moment. They had held each other, craving contact as to reassure themselves that they were still human despite the everything they had done.

The glimpses of memory were gone as fast as they came, but others replaced them, and Amelia thought back to most meaningful moments between them, even as she desperately tried to reassert control over her traitorous mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn't stop the images that continued to flash through her mind.

She could almost feel the icy wind now, chilling her to the bone, as she thought back to how Harry and herself had lead a group of hit-wizards through the snow-covered mountains where the Death Eaters had set up a safe house. He had tried to convince her to remain at the Ministry, but she had hated the thought of standing by while everyone else risked their lives. So she had been there when the world suddenly caught fire, the ice brought to the boiling point in the fraction of a second. She had seen several of her men disintegrate before her eyes, powerless before the devouring, otherworldly heat of Fiendfyre. She had thought herself dead, then, but Harry had subdued the fire, and she had lived.

Amelia shook her head, the numbness from that moment still lingering on her mind. He had saved her life that day. And here she was, about to repay him by banishing him from this world, while he was still unconscious from the battle he fought to save their community. And she knew that this was so wrong, that she should step forward now, stop Saul before he started the ritual. But she also knew that she wouldn't, and she hated herself for it.

She watched as Saul raised the staff, the golden eagle glinting in the candlelight. She felt a tingle of magic in the air as he swung it downwards. She stood silently as the point of no return passed, and she couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit relieved that the choice had been taken from her, as much as she loathed herself for it.

With a loud crash, the bottom end of the staff connected with the floor, accompanied by an intoxicating rush of magic that made her feel pure euphoria and washed away all other thoughts. Regaining her senses, Amelia hurriedly steadied herself when realized that she had almost been brought to to her knees. Still light-headed, she tried her best to stop her limbs from shivering in the magically charged atmosphere. She looked at Saul, who seemed entirely unaffected. His face set in determination, he began to chant.

"Exaudi Trivia orationem meam et ne despexeris deprecationem mea. Pertenta animam meam et iudica me dignus qui dedit donum magicae. Expellet ab hoc seculo qui obtulit in inanis inritus et ignis entropia."

Amelia felt an almost imperceptible shift in the magic that saturated the air the moment the last word echoed through the chamber. Then, before her eyes, Harry slowly rose into the air, his limbs hanging loosely downwards, before he came to a stop two meters above the ground.

The bowls with the potion started to blaze with a blinding viridian light, drowning out the meagre illumination of the candles and touching the entire chamber into a otherworldly blue hue. Flowing upwards through invisible pathways, the potion divided into thin strands of glowing liquid and drew the edges of a spherical shape into the air - a Dodecahedron, if Amelia's memory of half-forgotten Arithmancy lessons was to be believed - with Harry's unconscious body at its centre.

Faster than Amelia could comprehend, the magic that had filled the chamber suddenly contracted onto the levitating body. For a brief moment, the surface of the Dodecahedron coalesced, breaking reality, refracting space and time in impossible configurations. Then the light extinguished.

It was over.

Amelia let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. In the darkness, vivid after-images burned into her cornea were the only thing visible. The sudden withdrawal of magic left her feeling oddly empty, her mind still numb from what she just witnessed.

Slowly, her eyes readjusted to the dim candlelight. Harry was gone. The only thing left from the ritual were empty bowls and the smell of ozone. Saul sat on the edge of the platform, the Roman Aquilia held loosely in his hands, his face lined with exhaustion. Amelia stumbled over and sat down beside him. It was only then that it hit her. Harry was gone.

All at once, the grief, guilt and self-loathing came crushing down on her, and for once, she didn't have the strength to hold it in. She felt a phantom weight crushing her chest as she broke out in muffled sobs. Saul held her tightly in a gesture of comfort, empty though it was. She barely noticed when he brought up the wand to her face, speaking the incantation with a weary voice and a hint of regret.

"Oblivate."