Nick Cleveland and the Order of the Phoenix

Nick Cleveland and the Order of the Phoenix

by Technomad

"She killed Sirius!" screamed Harry Potter. "She killed Sirius---I'll kill her!" Wrenching free from Remus Lupin's grip, he tore out of the room, chasing the fleeing Death Eater.

"Oh, bugger!" snarled Nick Cleveland. "Mr. Lupin! You keep these other idiots in play! I'll go get Harry!" Not looking to see if Lupin had heard, he ran after Harry, swearing to himself in Norwegian. A couple of badly-aimed jinxes splashed off the sides of the door as he threw himself through.

Out in the corridor, Nick could hear Harry running toward the elevators. Of course---the lobby! With an Anti-Apparition Jinx in place, Bellatrix Lestrange couldn't just Apparate out of the Ministry; she'd have to get out into the street, or at least up to the lobby to Floo out.

Throwing himself into the first elevator he came to, he shouted: "Lobby---fast!" The car jerked upward, nearly knocking him to his knees; he hadn't realized just how tired he really was. All this running around, and banging, and shouting---this is for Gryffindors, not Ravenclaws, he thought ruefully as the elevator shuddered to a stop, and the pleasant voice informed him that he was now in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic.

Looking around as the doors opened, Nick ducked just in time as a curse blasted the elevator. Casting a quick Protego to shield himself, he threw himself out of the elevator, hitting the ground rolling in approved Army fashion, and coming to rest behind the wreckage of the Fountain of Magical Brethren, right beside Harry.

Harry stared at him, wild-eyed and feral-looking. "Cleveland! What are you doing here?" He would have said more, but Nick clapped his hand over Harry's mouth and threw himself over the younger boy as Bellatrix sent a Reductor Curse in their direction.

"Harry, I want the prophecy!" shouted Bellatrix. "Give it to me---roll it out now---and I may spare your life!"

Harry squirmed free for a second, snarling: "Well, you'll just have to kill me, then, because it's gone!"

Nick clapped his hand back over Harry's mouth, and then used his other hand to shush him, as he shouted back: "You're wasting your time on him! I've got the prophecy!" Harry squirmed frantically until Nick snarled in his ear: "Hold still, you damned fool, or I swear I'll Stun you stupid!" At that, he froze.

"Give me the prophecy, whoever you are!" shouted Bellatrix. Nick cautiously raised himself up just enough to cast a Stunning Spell in her general direction. "Give it to me!"

"Will you let us go if I do?" Nick called back. Harry's eyes went wide---and wider still when he saw what Nick pulled out of his robes. It was a Muggle fragmentation grenade. A quick tap of Nick's wand turned it milky-white, the same color as the prophecies. Nick grinned ferociously, and Harry grinned right back.

"I just want the prophecy!" yelled Bellatrix. "I want it for my master!"

"Well---in that case, I'll throw it out to you. I promise I won't try to curse you. Take the stupid thing, and go!" Pulling the pin, Nick counted in a low voice: "One, two, five, three!" Straightening up for a second, he hurled the grenade toward Bellatrix, straight and true.

Bellatrix threw herself on top of the grenade with a shout of triumph. "At last! We have your prophecy, Master! We have---" A deafening bang cut her off in mid-gloat, and when Nick, who had ducked back into cover and put his hands over his ears, peeked out, there was a cloud of smoke and dust in the air, and Bellatrix was lying on the floor in a huge pool of blood.

Straightening up, Nick came to attention and saluted. "I salute you, gallant but stupid enemy," he said, his voice solemn. "She threw herself on a hand grenade for the Dark Lord." He shook his head, mock sorrow coming into his voice as he continued: "Of all the senseless, stupid wastes of human life I have ever seen---aye, well." Striding over to the corpse, he knelt down and began searching for something, heedless of the blood. When he found what he had been looking for, he got back to his feet, reflectively tossing and catching a money pouch heavy with Galleons. "The laborer, Harry, is worthy of his hire."

"Is he, now?" came a cold high voice. Turning and pocketing the pouch, Nick found himself face-to-face with Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord was looking around, shaking his head. "Muggle methods. How low can a wizard sink?"

Nick shrugged his shoulders, grateful for his robes---he was shaking, but he did not want to show fear before this person. "What works, works. Some little girls seem to have cheated their way through Muggle Studies, don't they?"

For some reason, that comment seemed to infuriate Voldemort. "You---you---you're despicable!" he hissed. "I mean you're really, totally---despicable! And what's more, I have to say that you're---despicable!" Changing his tone, he went on: "Tell me---have you ever considered changing sides? I could use someone like you!"

"Who, me? Join you?" Nick looked thoughtful. "No---I don't think so. Even the highest position serving you is still too low for me. You might as well take me off the 'evil' mailing list. Besides, my wife would never, ever approve, and her temper's something I'd just as soon not set off." He went on, slowly sliding his wand out of its arm-sheath, "Did you see her article in last month's Journal of Arcane Studies? I'd be curious to hear what you thought of it."

Voldemort looked thoughtful. "You mean the one about comparing-and-contrasting Chinese and European magic? Yes, I did---it was quite interesting. However, I had to disagree with a few of her conclusions---" At that moment, Nick raised his wand and screamed a curse. Caught off-guard, Voldemort reeled back, and Nick ducked back for cover, throwing another grenade. It went off with a loud bang, but Voldemort was under cover just in time, hiding in the security wizard's booth.

Voldemort screamed, his voice shaking with rage: "I've no time to palter with the likes of you! Avada Kedavra!" Much to Nick's surprise, the statue of the goblin leaped in front of the spell, shielding him from its deadly effects.

"How---Dumbledore!" gasped Nick, as Dumbledore strode into the room, and Voldemort turned to deal with him. Nick tried to help, but Voldemort managed to spare just enough attention from defending himself to hit him with a Petrificus Totalus, freezing him helplessly in place.

After the Dark Lord had Disapparated, Dumbledore came over and removed the spell. By that time, the lobby was full of wizards and witches, and more were coming in via Floo every minute. As Nick rolled over, groaning (he'd been lying right on a shard from the smashed Fountain, and it hurt) Cornelius Fudge was examining the remains of Bellatrix Lestrange, his eyes wide.

"I---I can't believe it! This is Bellatrix Lestrange---dead! How---what kind of spell did you use, Potter?" Harry came forward, shaking and pale with reaction.

"Mr. Potter did not kill Bellatrix Lestrange," said Professor Dumbledore. "I believe that honor belongs to Mr. Cleveland here." He quirked up one white eyebrow. "I must say, I can't quite figure out how he did it. I've never seen a spell that worked that way before."

"He threw a grenade," said Harry, his eyes on the floor. "I saw him. He had a hand grenade and made it white. He told Lestrange that he had the prophecy, and tricked her into letting him throw it to her. It blew her right up." Harry looked up, and there was a strange glint in his green eyes. "It served her right, too!"

"A hand grenade?" Minister Fudge was puzzled, along with most of the Ministry witches and wizards; the Muggle-borns could be distinguished among them by the way they were suppressing their grins. "What's a hand grenade?"

"An explosive device used by Muggles to wage war with. They aren't supposed to be in the hands of private individuals---such as Mr. Cleveland. I would be curious to hear his explanation of just how he came by one." Professor Dumbledore was giving Nick a very searching look. "Do you wish to explain, Mr. Cleveland?"

Nick spread his hands, an expression of utter innocence and candor on his face. "Well, I was walking by a Muggle armory, and a lorry came out---a big, self-propelled wagon. It went over a bump in the road, and a carton of grenades bounced out right at my feet. It was a good thing I was there, because otherwise someone irresponsible could have got hold of them..." His voice trailed off under Professor Dumbledore's stern stare. "You aren't buying a word of this, are you?" He grinned a rueful grin. "Aye, well...I suppose that telling you that my fairy godmother, Amy Surplus, gave them to me won't work either."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Pull the other one, Cleveland---it's got bells on it." He picked up a fragment from the Fountain and pointed his wand at it. "Take this Portkey. I'll first get Mr. Potter and his friends out of here, then after I've dealt with them, I want to have a long, long talk with you."

Nick raised one eyebrow. "Fine with me. I finished my seventh year at Hogwarts last year, remember? I don't come under your authority any more, but you know I'm always eager to catch up. I've been hearing the oddest rumors---I had to quiet Melinda down. She's expecting, you know, and temper fits are not good for her."

"Mr. Cleveland---before you go?" Minister Fudge was pulling at one of Nick's sleeves, and Nick turned, polite as always, to see what he wanted. "I think you deserve some reward for taking care of Bellatrix Lestrange. Would you be interested in the Order of Merlin?"

Nick smiled slightly. "I'd be fascinated, but my old teacher wants to talk to me first. I think that if I were still at Hogwarts, I'd be in for detentions for about the next hundred years." Triggering the Portkey, he felt the familiar pull deep in his midsection, and when he knew where he was, he was back in Hogwarts.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Mr. Nicholas Cleveland," came a familiar drawling voice, and Nick turned to find himself facing Professor Snape. "I had thought you had left Hogwarts. Is the pull of the old school tie strong on you?"

Nick shrugged. "Professor Dumbledore sent me back here, Professor Snape. I rather think he wants to talk to me." He looked around for a chair, found one, and settled into it without waiting for an invitation. "Tell me---is there something to eat around here? I'm famished!"

Professor Snape raised an arch eyebrow, but tapped a small bell, and a house-elf came in. "Ah, Mister Nicholas Cleveland!" the little creature squeaked. "Dobby is happy to see you, sir! And how is Miss Melinda Yang?"

"She's Mrs. Melinda Cleveland now, Dobby. How's about something to eat? I could go for a big, thick ham sandwich, some chips and a butterbeer." With a bow, the elf disappeared, returning in a minute with a tray. Salivating, Nick fell on the food. As he ate, he talked to Dobby: "We got married about the minute our seventh year was over, Dobby. Soon's we were out of here, we were at a registry office. Later, we had an Asatru service of joining for my family, and a Chinese service for her." He pulled out a wizard photograph. Peering over Nick's shoulder, Snape's eyes opened wide. It was of Melinda, wearing a beautiful red silk Chinese robe, smiling an incandescent smile.

"That's a pretty picture, Mr. Cleveland. You're lucky." Snape hoped that his envy didn't show through in his voice.

Nick grinned. "All brides are beautiful, but I must say I hit the lottery with her, didn't I?" He finished his meal. "Thank you, Dobby. That was very good. I may want more later, but that took the edge off."

As Dobby vanished with the plates, Snape grinned rather snarkily. "Did anybody ever tell you you eat like a starving wolf?"

Nick gave his old teacher back stare for stare. "I was hungry. I hadn't expected to be called out, or sent off to Hogwarts. I'd not mind going home---Melinda'll be going spare wondering where I am; she has the idea that without a woman around to do my thinking for me, I'll get lost or fall in a hole or something---but I imagine that Professor Dumbledore sent me here for good reasons." He looked around. "Got anything here to read?"

Snape smiled. "You can take the boy out of Ravenclaw, but never Ravenclaw out of the Old Boy." He pulled out a copy of the Journal of Arcane Studies. "I was looking at your wife's article here--where she's comparing Chinese and European magical systems. With her background---a daughter of one of the very oldest Chinese magical families, but educated at, if I do say so myself, the finest centre for the study of European magic---she's well-placed to compare them."

"That's about what I thought. She'll be chuffed to hear that you liked her article. She really worked on it."

When Dumbledore walked in, Nick had settled in, working his way through a pile of books while munching a big stack of sandwiches and taking sips from a bottle of butterbeer. Snape was quietly working his way through a pile of papers that needed grading.

"Oh, hello, Professor Dumbledore---urrrk!" With a flip of his wand, Dumbledore had levitated him out of his chair and was holding him upside down in the air. A twitch of the wand, and Nick found himself being shaken up and down---and things began falling out of his robes. First a grenade, then another couple of grenades landed on the floor with a clatter, and then more implements of destruction followed them. By the time Dumbledore let Nick back down, there was a small pile of weapons and explosives under where he had been suspended.

Snape watched the whole thing, wide-eyed with shock---he hadn't seen Dumbledore so angry in a long time, and hadn't expected him back at Hogwarts. "Uh, Albus---aren't you supposed to be on the run?"

Dumbledore gave the Potions Master a quelling stare. "That's been taken care of. Dolores Umbridge is out, and I'm back in. The Death Eaters managed to lure Harry Potter, and several of his friends, to the Department of Mysteries. It seems that Lord Voldemort wanted to know what Sybill Trelawney prophesied, and he needed Harry Potter to take the prophecy. He had been invading Harry's dreams for some time, and managed to manipulate him into believing that Sirius Black was being held captive at the Ministry."

"Sirius Black? Is he---?"

"He's dead," put in Nick, brushing himself off and straightening his robes, while glaring at Dumbledore. "Bellatrix Lestrange blasted him through the Veil." Nick looked very grim. "I don't know how Harry is going to take it---he really thought the world of the guy. I could take him or leave him alone, but he was sort of a combination Dad and big-brother figure for Harry."

Snape looked down, surprised at the sudden tightness in his throat. He'd hated Sirius Black, as well as all the other Marauders---why would he be sad that the man was dead? As he looked down, he saw, in the pile of things that had fallen out of Nick's robes, a familiar money pouch. Crouching, he picked it up. "B.L.? This is Bellatrix Lestrange's money pouch!" He gave Nick a very stern stare. "How did you get that?"

Nick grinned. "Well, in the big fight, I was there with the Order. I saw Lestrange blast Sirius, and when she tore out of there, Harry went after her, and I went after Harry. They were fighting in the lobby---I got in on the fight, and told Lestrange that I had the prophecy. That way, I was able to trick her into letting me throw a grenade straight at her, and it blew her right to hell-and-gone." Stepping forward, he snagged the pouch. "I found this on her. Like I told Harry, 'the laborer is worthy of his hire.'"

"Is this a grenade?" Snape stooped, picking an object out of the pile of weapons. Nick took one look, blenched and grabbed it.

"Yes---and don't pick it up that way! If you pull that pin out, three seconds later they'll be scraping you off the walls!" He twisted the fuse mechanism out and handed the pieces of the grenade to Snape. "If you want to analyze the fulminants in this, be my guest---but, for the gods' sake, be careful! Some grenades' explosives are unstable at best."

"Those grenades are why I wanted you back here, Mr. Cleveland," said Dumbledore. "I should like to know where you came by them."

Nick sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "Guess I can't bullshuck you, can I, Professor? All right. I was travelling in the Russian Republic, and what the Russians call the 'near abroad,' and soldiers were willing to sell their weapons for food or money. I could never resist a bargain, and getting them back past HM Customs is no problem for me, since I can Apparate."

"But why Muggle weapons? You're checked out on all of the Unforgivable Curses, as well as getting very high N.E.W.T.s in the areas a combat wizard needs to know. Why grenades?" Dumbledore shook his head. "And you're exactly right about Harry Potter's reaction to his godfather's death. I have just had a terribly painful interview with him."

Nick gave Dumbledore a long stare---and the old man dropped his eyes. "Considering how much of a puppet-master you've been, Professor, I would have to say, with all respect---" Nick's voice suddenly rose to a shout, startling both teachers----"you had it coming, and a lot more!" Snape and Dumbledore both stared at Nick in utter shock. In seven years at Hogwarts, they had never seen Nick so openly angry. Normally, when he was angry, his voice became very calm, even and controlled; this was unprecedented.

After his shout, Nick's voice dropped to the register he usually used when he was very angry---deadly calm and even, not raised a bit; only his very precise diction, and of course, his words themselves, indicated that he was in a rare temper. "You utter, stupid, too-clever-by-half old Machiavelli---did it ever occur to you that telling Harry the truth years ago was not only a good idea, but something Harry had a right to expect from you? He trusted you---trusted you implicitly!"

"How did you know?" asked Dumbledore. Nick gave him a bitter grin.

"I'm a Ravenclaw. Remember? The Hat nearly put me in Slytherin, but I'm too lazy to be ambitious. I'd pieced things together this last year from the books in the library at Unseen University. There are clues scattered around, here and there---and I've been keeping up on events here through my friends who're still here." He leaned back against a table and crossed one moccasined foot over the other. "Luna Lovegood's a lovely correspondent, bless her. She will be all right, I take it?"

Dumbledore nodded. Nick looked satisfied. "Good. When I tell Melinda she was in that fight, I'll have to sit on her to keep her from charging out, red in tooth and claw, looking to tear Death Eaters to shreds---or Transfigure them all into slugs and salt them good." Both teachers shuddered. Melinda Cleveland was capable of that, and a great deal more, when she was riled---and she was known to think the world of Luna Lovegood, whom she had semi-adopted as a little sister/daughter figure in Luna's second year.

"But why a grenade?" asked Dumbledore. Snape looked up from the device he was dissecting, curious as well to hear the answer to the question.

"Well---if you read Muggle science fiction, you might have come across the story 'Johnny Mnemonic,' by William Gibson. In the story, it says 'If they think you're technical, go crude. If they think you're crude, go technical.' I, like Gibson's hero, am very technical---or magical, in my case---so I went as crude as possible. The point is to attack in a way that your enemies aren't suspecting. Their snobby attitude toward anything 'Muggle' helped, of course---a Muggle would have probably recognized a grenade in time to duck away, and a Muggle-born witch would also have. Too bad for the purebloods." Nick suddenly gave the two teachers an evil smile. "I have also always said 'there is no problem so complicated, no human situation so complex, that it cannot be resolved with the proper application of high explosives.' I just put my words into practice tonight."

Snape shook his head. "When you came up with that scheme to discredit Gilderoy Lockhart, back in your fifth year, I said that it was a shame that the Hat hadn't put you in Slytherin. I still think you'd have made a wonderful addition to my house."

Nick nodded. "You and my mum. Mum never, ever quite forgave me for being Ravenclaw---I got a Howler from home when the news of how I'd Sorted got there. She did eventually calm down, and now she's focussed on her grandbaby-to-be. Speaking of which---I do need to get home. May I borrow some Floo powder?"

When he had a handful of Floo powder, Nick pointed his wand at the nearest fireplace, causing a fire to spring to life. He threw some Floo powder in, and when the Floo sprang to life, he stepped into the flames, with "Forrest Guesthouse, Whitehaven!"