Harry's Housekeeping

It was a simple case of mistaken identity, but Harry had always been good at cleaning, so he didn't really mind. OOC, AU, and I've played around a lot with the timelines.

Note: I have taken many artistic liberties with the characters, setting, timeline, etc, etc. You can feel free to point out inconsistencies with canon, but most likely it's on purpose.

This is a very drabble-y fic, with no real plot line. Just Harry learning to enjoy his life as he slowly gets pulled into the KHR world. Mostly just fun but it'll have its serious moments.

I am OPEN to prompts and scene requests, though I may not write all the ones I receive. Feel free to prompt through a review or a PM. If it does not fit this fic then I may post a oneshot. If I write any lemons, they'll be posted to my AO3. Open to slash and het but this fic has no pairings.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 1

Harry hummed as he wandered the streets of Milan. He didn't really know where he was going, but that was alright. It was always more fun when he let his magic guide him.

Really, he was here because Teddy (Skull now, he scolded himself) had mentioned getting a job in Italy, and Harry loved seeing his shows, even if he nearly had a heart attack whenever he watched the death-defying stunts. But Teddy had not given him any show dates, so here he was, checking out cozy cafes and admiring the vibrant streets.

He turned left, then left again, admiring the way the houses he passed got more and more elaborate the further he walked. Most of them at this point spanned a full block each, with tall, elaborate gates that glinted richly in the sun.

He paused in front of one of the gates crested with two rearing horses. His head tilted to the side, before he noticed his untied shoelace. He stooped down and had only just begun to stand up when someone grabbed his arm.

"Oi, you're late!" The man growled in Italian, tugging him towards a waiting car.

"I'm sorry?" He replied in English automatically, before repeating himself in Italian.

"Damn foreign workers," the man grunted to himself. "I said you're late. I'm docking your pay for making us wait. C'mon, the boss doesn't like to be kept waiting." He shoved Harry into the car and then they were off.

Harry knew he should be concerned. He was essentially being kidnapped, after all. But his magic was drifting gently around him, unconcerned, so he simply stared out the window. Sometimes he wondered if he should be worried about his general lack of strong emotions, but he knew he loved his godson, so really, that was all that mattered.

They drove out of the city until they reached a small country house surrounded by large fields. A few cattle turned to stare as they drove up the long driveway. The house itself was made of stone and looked rather picturesque. They got out and were greeted by a man wearing a black suit.

"You're late," he said, as he motioned the two of them over.

"Newbie here." His kidnapper grunted in reply, jerking his thumb at Harry. "Needs a damn watch."

Harry shrugged. It was true. He'd never actually owned a watch, though now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure he'd seen a pocket watch in the Potter Heirloom vault. Perhaps he'd grab it next time he was there.

"Get to work then," the man in the suit glared at Harry, gesturing him inside, before turning to stand guard.

"I'll take care of the perimeter and remove all traces there. You get to clean up inside," the man grinned rather nastily before he left.

Harry hummed his acquiescence and stepped inside. The decor was quite simple, and there was very little dust even on top of the picture frames that decorated the hallway. He stepped further inside and glanced into the living room.

Ah.

It was splashed a vivid, blood red. A blood red that had already soaked into the carpet. There were three bodies strewn along the floor, eyes wide and staring, throats slashed.

Harry sighed. He thought about just leaving, but his magic was still thrumming cheerfully and really, he had nothing better to do, so he got to work instead. A quick search revealed a small broom closet. He filled a bucket with soap and water and got to work. The garbage bags were a little small, so Harry had to fold the bodies up awkwardly to fit them in. He heard a few bones crack as he shoved the bodies in, but the dead couldn't feel, so he wasn't too bothered by it. It wasn't the first time he'd had to clean up a dead body, after all. Even after the death of their Master, the Death Eaters had been quite ferocious. More than once Harry had found himself fighting for his life. The first few times had been messy, but he'd learned quickly that the cleaner the death, the less work was required afterwards. He'd gotten quite good at cleaning charms, nonetheless. He rather wished that the muggle wasn't standing guard. Cleaning up would be much easier with magic.

Well, he thought as he began to scrub at the carpet, as long as they didn't see what he was doing…

He began to hum a cheerful melody, the notes guided by his magic. The blood staining the carpet was more than happy to comply with is wishes, and leapt to his brush, leaving not a trace left behind.

Pleased, he dumped out the water into the sink, and then flushed it out with some bleach. He glanced at the three bags left with a slight frown. He wasn't too sure what the common procedure was for body disposal, but it didn't seem like the greatest idea to drive around with dead bodies in the car. He glanced at the fireplace and shrugged. It was certainly large enough. And a little bit of extra power behind the fire would ensure that only ashes would remain.

He made a small shield around the body, and then set it on fire. He blinked as it exploded in hungry flames that ate away until, after mere minutes, there was nothing left but ashes floating inside the sphere. A quick evanesco got rid of the evidence, but he used less power with the next two bodies, content to let the fire work away at a more… believable pace.

He was just putting away the cleaning supplies when his kidnapper came striding down the hall.

"Oi, Newbie, how much longer you gonna-" the man stopped as he stared at the spotless room. He narrowed his eyes as he turned to Harry. "What'd you do with the bodies?"

"Burned them," Harry replied, tilting his head. He tapped his lips thoughtfully. "Didn't really know what else to do with them."

The man sniffed the air. "Doesn't smell like it," he said, his hand twitching - likely towards a hidden weapon.

Harry raised his hands slightly. "I was very careful. It's my job to clean up all the evidence." He replied with a slight frown, slightly affronted at the lack of confidence in his skills. While he very much loathed the Dursleys, he had to admit that Aunt Petunia had taught him well. When Harry cleaned, not even the slightest hint of dirt remained. Sterile, he thought rather proudly.

"Flames?" The man eyed him warily.

"Well, yeah."

"What kind?"

"The… strong kind?" Harry pressed his finger to his lips, not willing to break the Statute of Secrecy just for one overly curious muggle.

His kidnapper grunted, staring at him in a new light. "Fine," he grunted. He did a quick scan of the rest of the house before nodding. "Job's done, let's go."

Harry followed obediently, his magic still whistling cheerfully around him. They drove back to the mansion where he had been picked up and walked around the side to a small entrance. It was not as ornate as the main entrance, but it had its own flare, which rather impressed Harry. Most servant entrances were as condescending as the attitude of the masters.

"Paperwork," his kidnapper grunted, plopping down a pile of papers onto the desk in front of Harry. "You passed probation. Congratulations," he drawled, throwing down a pen.

Harry hummed his thanks and glanced down. It was a standard contract, really, though the oath of secrecy was quite strict. He didn't mind, though. It's not like he had any reason to talk about dead bodies. And, he reasoned as he read through the rest, it was not as strict or binding as some of the ones he had sworn during his training during the war.

Harry, he filled out his first name. Black, he filled out for his surname. It was his muggle identity, and it had served him well for many years. He filled out the address of one of his muggle homes - one he'd bought years ago in the Italian countryside during his travels with Teddy - but paused at the next entry. "Ah," he said with slight dismay. "I'm afraid I don't have a phone number."

His kidnapper (potential employer, he corrected himself) stared at him in disbelief. "You don't have - then how the hell did you-" he rubbed his face with a sigh then waved a hand at him. "Just fill out the rest. I'll figure it out." He grumbled something about foreigners, but Harry didn't bother paying attention.

He signed his name at the bottom and presented his kidnap - er - his new boss with his forms. His boss handed him a paycheque. He stared down at the amount. "Wow," he murmured, and received an odd look in return. He hadn't payed much attention to the financial side of the contract because, well, it wasn't like he really needecd the money. His inheritance was making more than enough interest for him to live comfortably for multiple lifetimes, and the Potter and Black investments were even more profitable. So he really didn't need a job, and in all honesty he wasn't too sure why he had taken this one. But his magic had never led him astray before (though Teddy - Skull - would disagree), and he had been getting a little bored. And if he didn't like it, he could always leave. He'd changed his identity before, and he could do it again. It wouldn't be hard.

Besides, the Underworld wasn't entirely new to him, but he had never really explored it, so this was actually rather exciting. Skull would probably scold him if he found out, but his godson looked so cute when he was all puffed up in anger. Ah, especially back when he was just a child, acting so very adult in the face of Harry's frequent bouts of childishness. Harry sighed. And now Skull was off gallivanting on Sirius' old bike, pulling crazy stunts and getting a job like an adult. Such a shame.

Harry left the mansion with orders to return the next day at eight o'clock sharp to start his official training. Not about his cleaning, his boss assured him upon seeing his offended frown, but rather to integrate him into the mafia world. He probably should have been worried, but instead he smiled and wandered the streets until he found an empty alleyway and apparated back home.

He took a nice long shower, ate a quick meal, then sat down at his desk with parchment and a quill. Dear Skull, he write in a cheerful script. I got a new job!