Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling! However awesome she may be, these characters are hers.

Note: In this story, small spells (i.e. Incendio, Lumos, Engorgio, etc) don't attract Ministry attention.

Harry stared, for the smallest of a second, at his uncle, who face veins were bulging out of his forehead in anger. He, and his warthog of a cousin Dudley, had just been attacked by a pair of dementors, only to come home to find himself being nearly attacked by his disgruntled uncle. Harry was utterly confused. In one hand, he held the letters from Sirius and Mr. Weasley telling him not to leave the house. In the other, he held the expulsion letter from Hogwarts. Dumbledore would sort it out all out, would he now? Suddenly Harry wasn't so sure. He resisted the urge to run from the house, and instead rushed upstairs, where he locked his door.

He walked up to his bedside table and picked up the picture of his parents. They looked so happy in that picture, waltzing around the fountain and smiling for Sirius, who snapped the photo, so long ago. So much had changed. Just a couple months later, his parents were killed in Godric's Hollow, and Sirius had been sent to Azkaban, the wizard prison. He, Harry, had been sent to live in this house, dragged up by his mother's sister, and her insufferable family. For the first 10 years of his life, Harry endured the cruelest of upbringings, but then, his eleventh birthday arrived, and his whole life changed. He now had friends, a family, and a surrogate father, also known as Sirius Black. However, as Harry pondered this, he found that he was more angry with his friends and family than he felt comfortable with. At the end of his last term, Ron had promised him that he wouldn't be at the Dursley's for long. He was dead wrong. It had now been a month and some days and Harry was still stuck with his aunt's family.

As he thought about this, he began throwing his personal belongings (which weren't much) into his school trunk. By the time he was finished, his room looked completely bare, save the furniture. He was going to run for it, despite what he was told to do. He was done waiting for a rescue that was biding its time. He would bide his time until morning, when his uncle would go to work, his aunt would be busy cleaning her already spotless kitchen, and his cousin would be busy bully the neighborhood children. No one would notice. They never did. He absentmindedly dropped the letters in his hand into the dustbin, muttered "Incendio", and watched the flames devour the paper.

Morning found Harry James Potter putting on his comfiest trousers, sneakers, shirt, and jacket. If he wanted to run, he would need to carry his trunk, broomstick, and Hedwig's cage easily. Secretly thanking Hermione for teaching him the spell, Harry cast a reducing charm on all three items and zipped them tightly into one of his trouser pockets. Taking one fleeting look around the room, Harry opened the door and walked downstairs.

Surprisingly, the Dursleys were not in the living room watching the morning news as they usually did before breakfast. Rather, Aunt Petunia was unusually cheery and Dudley was quietly drinking some tea, an unusual smirk on his face. Perhaps the most strange thing of all, was the odd grin on Uncle Vernon's face. He was fixing Harry a look that said that he was up to something evil. Bewildered, Harry warily ate his breakfast, which consisted of dry bread with water. Then, the doorbell rang, and, doing his duty, Harry rose to get it. Expecting to see one of his cousin's dimwitted gang members, Harry opened his mouth to tell them to go away only to stop midsentence when a man in a dark suit asked for his uncle.

Harry showed the man to his uncle, and pretended to go upstairs, but instead listened in behind the wall of the first landing.

"Yes, well, he does look a bit scraggly, Mr. Dursley, but I expect we will find work for him at the center," the stranger said.

"And my payment?" Mr. Dursley answered.

"Ah, well, you will receive that when we have the boy safe inside our walls. But I suppose this will be all," the stranger said, in a finalistic tone.

And with a snap of his fingers, three men came in, all armed with sticks that looked like they were stolen from police officers.

"He's in his room," said Uncle Vernon, evilly.

Harry stomach turned to lead. Uncle Vernon had not planned on keeping him the house after all. Wherever they were taking him, he had no way of escape. Hedwig had gone out hunting, so he had no way of letting Ron and Hermione know that they would never see him again. Surely, they would shoot Hedwig on sight if appearances could be trusted. These men look like brutes. Harry looked at the sticks. Did they intend to drag him from the house, screaming? His answer came in the form of the men rushing up the stairs to get him. In a panic, he ran to his room and locked his door with a locking charm. It wouldn't hold for long, but it would buy him time to pry open the window. As he ran to the window, he read the name on the van, and his insides melted. The side of the white van read- St. Brutus' Center for Incurable Criminal Boys.

He was dead meat.