Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not, and never will own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling and company own him and all of the characters in the HP universe. I make NO money writing this, if I did, well, lets just say I'd spend more time writing!

A special thanks to my beta, Saeadame.

Asylum

Chapter 1: Prologue

It was a beautiful night, not too hot and not too cold. The stars twinkled in the endless dark blue sky and the moon was full and shining happily in the distance. The houses of Little Whinging Surrey lined up all looking exactly the same on Private Drive. All were painted in the same colors, all the hedges trimmed to perfection, the lawns mowed, and the flowers growing beautifully in the early August weather. No one would ever guess that in one of the houses on the perfectly normal street had a little secret.

A boy, Harry Potter, was currently sitting on his small cot in a cupboard underneath the house's staircase. His form was smaller than every other nine-year-old boy on the street, his overly large clothes making his body seem even tinier. You could see tear marks down his bruised and bloodied face, though he had stopped crying nearly in hour before. His jaw swollen, mostly likely from a break, his left hand facing the same predicament. His breathing came out slightly unnatural. Other than that the boy didn't make a sound. No one heard him as he made his way up the stairs at nearly one in the morning, skipping over the creaking step. The door to the master bedroom opened silently as he stepped into his aunt and uncles room. The door to the closet opened just a silently. It wouldn't have mattered if had made some noise though. His uncle was in a drunken sleep, and if his aunt could hear anything beyond his uncle's snoring, it would be a miracle. Harry grabbed the long shotgun from its place in the closet, not even hidden from view. After all, his own uncle had used it to threaten him not even three hours beforehand. He checked to see if it was loaded, and saw only one round.

He would have to change that.

He searched the bottom of the closet and found the stash full of the bullets he needed and put in three more rounds. It was enough to do the job, plus one extra in case he missed. Harry pointed the gun at his drunken uncle sleeping in the bed with a crazed glint in his eye, knowing he would have to be the first to go. The boy moved as close to the bed as he could, though far enough away from the sleeping occupants that he couldn't be grabbed by surprise. He didn't even bother to hesitate or close his eyes as he pulled the trigger.

BANG. Scream.

Petunia Dursley awoke screaming as she went nearly deaf from a loud gun going off near her head. Her husband's blood was all over her, his head almost completely gone from his body. She went to dive off the bed away from the attacker who she didn't turn to look at, but it was already too late. The gun went off a second time.

BANG.

The bullet hit her right in the chest as she jumped from the bed, making her fall dead in a heap halfway on the floor, one leg tangled up in a sheet on the bed.Harry Potter turned away from the bloody scene and went to the last bedroom in the hallway. He opened the door and looked at the bed. No Dudley. He heard a noise in the large closet on the right. Dudley obviously heard the gunshot from his room. But to hide in the closet?

Pathetic.

Harry walked over to the closet and pulled the door open. Dudley was curled into a big fat ball with tears running down his face. His voice letting out a high pitched whining noise, like a pig about to be slaughtered.Harry lifted the gun one last time and aimed it at the pathetic excuse for a human being and fired it at the pig-boy in front of him.

BANG.

And so doth parish the Dursleys.

Harry then put the gun on Dudley's bed and went downstairs to his bedroom--the cupboard. He then sat on his cot and rocked himself back and forth, the crazed glint never leaving his eyes. Sirens blared up and down Private Drive; neighbors' eyes peeking out the curtains of their windows to see what the commotion at the Dursley residence was.

2 years later, Hogwarts

Albus Dumbledore sighed and ran his hands over his face. Things have not gone as planned. Tonight should have been Harry Potter's sorting ceremony, but he never showed. Ever since Hagrid went to go find Harry at Private Drive things have gotten worse and worse. Albus had of course investigated Harry's disappearance, but so far the search had been fruitless.

Flashback, one month ago

Hagrid rushed into the Headmaster's office.

"Professor Dumbledore. I went lookin' for Harry at Private Drive, but the Dursleys weren't there." Hagrid said in a rush.

Dumbledore frowned. "Thank you Hagrid. Why don't you go get Professors McGonagall and Snape and we'll go talk to Arabella Figg."

All three of them flooed over to Private Drive to talk to the old squib woman, what they found there surprised them. "I'm sorry, but I don't know an Arabella Figg." The lovely lady in her mid-twenties said in what used to be Arabella Figg's home.

"Arabella Figg, she used to live here. Did you just move in? Do you know where the old resident of this house went?" Albus asked in slight distress. Why would Arabella move? She knew she had to keep her eye on Harry, and if they left she was to inform him. He had checked number 4 himself, no one had been in that house for years. It was strange that though it had new furniture and carpet, the house was selling for really cheap on the muggle market.

The girl shook her head. "We, my husband and I," The girl smiled at saying my husband, they must be newly weds, "moved in about six months ago. We got the house for a good deal too. For some reason everyone decided to move away from Little Whinging and have been selling their houses for rock bottom prices. This house was on the market for about a year and a half before we bought it though." The woman said.

"Everyone moved?" McGonagall said curiously. What would make a whole town pack up and move as quickly as possible?

The girl nodded. At this point a young man, also in his mid-twenties came up behind her. "Yeah, the realtor said that the house was up for market not that long before that too. I think this Mrs. Figg you're looking for passed away before everyone moved. The guy that bought the house said he just wanted to fix it up because the whole placed smelled like cats." The young man said apologetically.

The headmaster's face saddened. Mrs. Figg died? That would explain why she never informed him of Harry's absence.

The man sympathized with him. "Look, here's my realtor's name, she would know more about it then I do. All I know is that for some reason Little Whinging just packed up and left. I don't know why, my realtor never said." Dumbledore nodded.

"Thank you for your time."

End Flashback

He had talked to the realtor and all she said was that something happened in one of the neighbor's homes that frightened everyone in town away, saying they no longer wished to live there. It must have been pretty bad though, if it could scare people like the Dursley's away from their normal life.

If he only knew.

A/N: Wow, fanfiction is finally letting me post. I have tried countless times since I've started writing to post here, but for some reason the documents wouldn't upload. If you want to read anything else of mine you'll have to go to my other site on a d u l t f a n f i c t i o n . n e t. (remove the spaces, obviously). I refuse to post my other stories here due to all because they both VERY sexual in nature and it would be way to much trouble fleshing out all the lemons and such. I only write slash, so I hope you like my work!

Please review!