Disclaimer; not mine, no surprise...
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"Hey you, boy!" A voice called out to Harry as he was weeding his aunt's garden. Looking up he saw a big bruiser of a man in a dark suit standing next to a black Bentley. The man waved to him and called again, "Come here, I want to talk with you."
Harry brushed the dirt from his knees and walked over to the car, "Can I help you?"
"You Harry Potter?" The man asked.
"Yeah, that's me," Harry said cautiously.
The man looked him over appraisingly, "Not what I'd expect from your reputation but then again that just means you probably got tricks I never thought of," he shrugged as if it didn't matter, "You do all the gardening here yourself?"
"Yes sir."
"Good, are you interested in a job?"
This was definitely not where Harry thought the conversation was going, "What kind of job?"
The big man gestured towards his relatives' home, "For the past three years running this house has won England's Best Kept Lawn at the end of every summer. We know that the others rarely do any manual labor themselves so that means there's only one other person who could be responsible."
"So you just want me to take care of your lawn?" Harry asked in shock. "Um, I'm flattered but I don't think I'll be allowed."
"Not my yard, my Boss's," The man made a noncommittal noise, "We've been asking around about you. You seem to have built up something of a reputation in this neighborhood. That have anything to do with why you wouldn't be allowed to have a job?"
"It's kinda hard to explain," Harry started.
"No need," the man said, "if you want to work for us, we'll pull some strings and I think you'll find the constabulary a bit more permissive. We'll put you to work and finally these folks will show you a bit of respect, eh? You interested?"
"So it's just gardening and a bit of lawn work?"
"And maybe running a few packages about," The man added, "you do well there and who knows where you might end up."
"Alright I'll do it. Where do I need to be and when?"
The man pulled an envelope from his breast pocket, "There's a rail pass and your first week's pay. You're to arrive at Basingstoke station every morning Monday through Saturday on the seven o'clock train. We'll arrange transportation from there."
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Working for Mr. Oglivy was far from difficult Harry soon learned. At first he assumed it would be back breaking work to justify the three hundred pounds he'd discovered in his envelope, but once he arrived he was assigned only four rose beds and a small garden path to oversee. Taking care of them only required a few hours each morning and then he spent most of the day waiting with several others in case some other task came up. Often he'd run a message or package into town for the Boss but some days he just had to stand around and ignore any visitors that might arrive.
That was the one thing that worried Harry about his new job. People were always coming and going from the estate, and not all of them of the proper and upright sort that Mr. Oglivy preferred people to believe. He'd asked once who these others were, but one of the other gardeners hushed him quickly. It was not his business to know who came or went, nor what was in any package that might arrive. Between the non-existent visitors and the hesitant respect he was soon accorded while running errands, it wasn't hard for Harry to realize that either his Boss was as crooked as Malfoy or twice as influential.
One morning as he was tending his roses, Harry heard simultaneous cracks behind him from apparating wizards and he instinctively dove for the closest thing he had to a weapon. As he spun about with the garden spade in his hands he saw four cloaked Death Eaters.
His spade came around as hard as he could swing it and he heard a wet popping sound as the Death Eater's head was wrenched sideways from the blow. He went down with like a puppet with it's strings cut. Harry plowed bodily into a second as he dodged their spells and brought the shovel down with a horrid clang that reverberated up the handle into his hands as the wizard's forehead met the flat of the spade.
Harry could hear the shouts as one of the others heard the fight and sounded an alarm but he couldn't afford to wait for help. He kept close in to his attackers so that he could attack them physically and throw off their casting. A flash of green whistled past his ear and the third Death Eater fell.
A laugh that haunted his dreams escaped the last Death Eater and Bellatrix started to taunt him in her baby voice, "Oopsy! Looks like he needed to pay more attention. Well, well, well, what do we have here? Poor little Potter all alone without even his wand."
Harry had to step fast to avoid the hail of unspoken curses that flowed from her wand as he tried to get closer. He heard the first half of another killing curse and rushed forward, swinging the shovel at her hand to knock it away or break her wand. She finished the curse just as the flat of the spade impacted the tip of her wand.
There was a horrendous explosion like a clap of thunder striking directly next to them and the wand exploded, punching a hole clear through the metal head of the shovel and pulping Bellatrix's right hand. All the men that had started to pour out of the house dropped to the ground or dove for cover at the noise. As she grabbed what was left of her hand, screaming in pain, Harry brought the shovel around one last time and knocked Bellatrix unconscious.
Suddenly the area was swamped with others and questions were fired so rapidly he could not respond to any of them when they blurred together.
"What is going on here?" Mr. Oglivy's voice silenced all others and the crowd parted to give Harry his employer's full attention.
"Four intruders, sir," One of the men supplied. "Three dead, one maimed and unconscious."
"Thank you William," Mr. Oglivy said, "Now who can tell me why?"
"They came to kill me, sir," Harry spoke up, drawing every eye to him. "I didn't want to be killed, pretty simple really."
He was answered with a raised eyebrow, "Again, I have to ask why someone would want to kill my gardener. Granted, my roses look fabulous but I've never heard of someone sending out four hitters over a flower competition."
"The usual reasons, power, wealth, and world domination," Harry shrugged helplessly. "The short story is that these four want me dead because I'm an annoying loose end. Fifteen years ago a man and his thugs came after my family. Some died, some went to prison but in the end the man murdered both my parents. But I got away you see. We've been fighting ever since. Last month she," Harry kicked Bellatrix, "killed my Godfather and the Head of the Family on the orders of the man who killed my parents. Aside from the satisfaction of seeing her master's long time rival dead, she stands to inherit all the Family assets and wealth if I die."
Harry could see a cold, calculating look in his employer's eyes. Then he nodded, "Your Godfather, the Head, which Family was he from?"
"He was Sirius Black, Head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black."
Oglivy's eyes widened in shock and there were a few sounds of surprise from the crowd, "The same Sirius Black who escaped from prison two years ago, wanted for mass murder and other charges too numerous to name?"
"Yes, sir."
"Curiouser and curiouser, Potter, so you were his heir?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well," Oglivy turned to two of the other gardeners. "I need four holes somewhere to dispose of some trash. I don't care and I don't want to know, just make sure they'll be undetectable once they're covered."
"Four, sir?" One of them asked. "But she's not dead. Shouldn't we call the police?"
"Yet, she's not dead yet," Oglivy's eyes glinted, "They attacked him while he was in my home. Such an insult cannot go unanswered. Perhaps if they tried to kill him somewhere else I might be persuaded to mercy but to come into my home to do violence is an insult I cannot ignore. Any man who needs to call the police when he's attacked is either a weakling or a coward. A man who can't protect himself is both. It is cowardly to betray an offender, even when his offences are against yourself, more so to allow his actions to go un-repaid. If you survive, you kill them. If you die, forgive them." He snapped his fingers and gestured that Bellatrix should be taken up to the house. "Come Harry, you and I have much to discuss."
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"Sir?" One of the muscle boys knocked on the door a few hours later, "She refuses to talk. We've tried all the usual methods, even ripped out a few fingernails but she just laughs at us and promises that her Lord will kill us all."
"Impossible, no one is unbreakable," Oglivy said sternly. "You'll just have to find something else."
"Sir," Harry put in, "if I could have a few minutes with her I promise she'll be a bit more cooperative. I know how to make her scream, make her beg."
"Some of that," Oglivy wiggled his fingers dramatically, "you were telling me about?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good enough, let me know when she's ready to talk or when you give up." Oglivy looked back down at his new plans as Harry left the room. "Oh, and tell Stephen to bring the tailor around. Potter will need a proper suit befitting his new status."
Harry followed the bodyguard down the hall and soon found himself in a windowless room with bare brick walls. Bellatrix was tied to a chair in the center and she had clearly been worked over pretty hard, but looking into her eyes Harry couldn't bring himself to feel even the slightest bit of pity. Instead all the hatred and anger he'd ever felt seemed to well up within him. He went over to the body of the Death Eater who had died before even firing a shot and pulled the wand from his wrist holster then he turned to the guard. "Leave us, I think it's time to see how much of her last lesson I remember."
Then the screams began.
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A large van pulled up outside an abandoned home in Little Hangleton late that night. Four men sat inside watching the house while they continued their discussion.
"I'm telling you the kid creeps me out!" The driver insisted.
"Oh come on, he's a sixteen year old gardener," his passenger protested.
"Who kills three people without breaking a sweat," came from the rear.
"And let's not forget the screams," the last man added. "I've never heard anything scream that loud. It's like he was killing her one bit at a time, then she walks out without a scratch that wasn't there before he arrived."
"That's exactly my point," The driver told the one who hadn't seen, "She walks out with this glazed look in her eye, tell us this Tom Riddle chap sent her to kill the boy, and then..." He shuddered dramatically. "Potter told her to die and she just stopped breathing. That's not normal."
"Look," the passenger said hotly, "let's just torch the place and get out of here. There's obviously nobody here, there's not even another car for miles, and if anyone does show up... Well that's why we brought the Sterlings."