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The White Elixir

by -> Wizardora
Reviews (52) | Updated : 02/09/09 | Published : 27/03/09 | Drama/Mystery | Rating: PG13
This chapter was posted on: 27/03/09

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A/N: This is an experimental fic, sort of Harry Potter meets 24 (I'm obsessed with 24). It will be a proper H/Hr fic that complies with all the rules. That said, it begins a few months after the end of my removed fic Tapestry and is compliant with the storylines started there. It isn't necessary to be familiar with that fic, though, as this is about Harry and only references elements which came up in Tapestry. If the Mods have any concerns about this story in light of the recent issues with had with a couple of my other stories I will be happy to discuss it with them.

Disclaimers: I do not own either Harry Potter or the structure of the TV series 24.

When a threat faces the worlds of Muggle and Wizard alike, Harry Potter will be pushed to his extremes to save them both. He has just 24 hours to avert disaster

Harry Potter and the White Elixir


The following takes place at around 1:45 am on the day of the Wizengamot Ministerial Election

Two high speed broomsticks shot through the clammy night, cutting through the air with barely a sound. They were chasing a third and gaining fast, twisting and turning past the lamp posts and trees, cutting a bizarre swathe through the otherwise ordinary suburban avenue. They were cloaked in the kind of dark robes associated with their profession, billowing out behind them now as they sped along. Clinging onto their brooms one-handed, they fired jets of different coloured lights towards their target, nearing their mark as they closed in. It wouldn't be much longer now.

Up ahead, the man being pursued was tiring both in body and spirit. The effort of shaking off his hunters was proving too much and he was losing the will to fly any further, knowing full well that their superior brooms would soon be upon him. His tactic now was to find a safe haven and make a fight of it or else make sure his message was passed on. Whatever happened, that one thing was most important. His message, a communication of the greatest magnitude, must reach its destination, even if it cost him his life.

The nightlife of the town was just about starting to filter into the streets. Gaggles of drunken young men and women were falling about laughing or singing, or being helped into taxis or else shunted into the back of numerous police vans dotted around the place. Knowing he must protect Wizarding Secrecy at all costs, the hunted man dismounted his broom and threw it over a bridge into the waters of the canal below, breaking into a run the moment he landed. He then made for the town square to make his stand.

The cloaked pursuers dropped off their brooms with chilling elegance and glanced around the silent back street. They moved forward with controlled menace, scanning the scattered pockets of people mulling around the town square. The men separated, taking a side of the square each, keeping close to the Muggles nearby. Both men knew the weakness of the Aurors - they would never endanger a Muggle and this rogue Auror would be no different. He would sooner die than hurt one of these pathetic drunks. It would be easy to kill him with them around.

The Auror was thinking the same thing himself. His heartbeat rose in his throat and he was sure its heavy pounding would give him away. Sweat dripped from his palms and down his back, though it was little to do with the sticky air of the hot night. He clutched his wand in a shaking hand, aiming it towards first one then the other of his deadly stalkers, knowing full well that he daren't fire off a spell. He wasn't the best shot in ideal circumstances but in this state he was more likely to hit a Muggle than one of his enemies. He decided to switch his targets and realised with a thrill of terror that he'd lost one of them.

It was only a second later that he felt the cold, smooth surface of a wand nestle in the crook of his neck. A bolt of fear surged up his body and he threw up as it reached the top. Shaking and weak he dared not move his eyes from the floor; even so, he could hear a second pair of footsteps moving closer to him and sense the presence of both his pursuers as they loomed over him, ready to finish him.

“Where is the amulet?”

One of the men was speaking into the Auror's ear, his voice gruff and carrying a stale smell, loose spittle flying from his mouth.

“I don't know, I never took the amulet,” replied the Auror.

“You lie!” said the second man. He landed a heavy boot into the Auror's stomach and he doubled up in pain.

Winded and sure he'd heard a rib crack, the Auror looked around in vain for help. A few stragglers were passing by but wore the look of having seen late-night brawls before. They would not be getting involved. The Auror thought this was probably for the best.

“I told you I never took the amulet,” he repeated. “I don't know what you want from me.”

“You saw things you shouldn't have,” said the first man. “You got in with us, made us believe you were one of us, and all the time you were just a filthy spy.”

Another series of boots smashed into the Auror's body, sending him into the foetal position where he tried to protect his head from the battering. All the while the attackers were hissing about the treatment handed out to traitors. After a minute or so, they laid off.

“What we gonna do with him?” asked the second man.

“The Baron said we have to dispose of him,” the gruff-voiced man replied. He knows too much to let him get back to the Ministry.”

“But we've got people in at the Ministry,” said the second man. “Why can't they handle it?”

“Because this is what we're paid to do, moron,” said the other. “We gotta make sure he can't talk….ever.”

“But the Baron said no using the Unforgivables. The Aurors can't be allowed to trace us here.”

“No,” said the gruff man. “We gotta do things the old fashioned way.”

The second man gave a low, barking laugh. “Good. That's my favourite way”.

* * *


With most of the late-night revellers safely away from the town centre Police Constable Karen Rees was looking forward to getting back to Harring Street Station and filling out her paperwork over a nice cup of sweet tea. It had been a fairly quiet night with only a couple of arrests for the usual public order offences. She was just doing a final sweep of the town square when an odd shape lying half in the shadow of the monument there caught her eye. She moved closer and her senses were aroused not only by the sight of a pair of legs grotesquely bent into unnatural angles but also by a trail of something dark running down from the plinth.

PC Rees raced up to the body and felt for a pulse. It was extremely weak and as she radioed for help she surveyed the rest of the body. She could just about tell it was a man; his face had been so smashed in that it was hard to make out a nose or the eye sockets. PC Rees felt a revulsion rise up in her throat and tried to choke it back. She stood up to call for her partner when a faint voice spoke.


The broken man was speaking in barely a whisper. PC Rees knelt down beside him and tried not to look too much at his missing facial features.

“Try not to speak,” she said. “Help is on the way.”

“No time,” the Auror stammered. “I won't make it.”

“Stay with me,” PC Rees implored, though doubting anyone could survive in this state.

“Letter…ins-side pocket.”

PC Rees reached into what looked like a cloak that the man was wearing and found a deep pocket. Inside sat a letter, which felt very damp. PC Rees guessed immediately that it was soaked with blood. She had barely time to register her repugnance when the man spoke again.

“Must get that t-to…Harry Potter…matter of nat-national….security.”

“National Security?” asked PC Rees, suddenly heightened for different reasons. She glanced at the crimson-stained letter. If there had been an address on the envelope it was illegible now. “Who is Harry Potter?”

“You m-must get that to your Pri-Prime…Minister,” the Auror stammered. “Urgent. Do it yourself. Tell no one about it.”

“The Prime Minister? How am I supposed to get a letter to the Prime Minister? It's not possible”

“Find a way…you must,” urged the Auror with all the strength he had left. “Millions will die if H-Harry Potter does not get that lett…er.”

With that, the Auror sighed out the last of his breath and died on the plinth.

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