Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related everything doesn't belong to me. Not at all. Not even a little bit. This plot, however, does kind of belong to me.

Author's Notes: I was reading some "super!Harry" fics, of the variety where the Wizarding world betrays him and he gets sent to Azkaban, where he rots for several years before people realize he was innocent and set him free, but low and behold, he's super-powerful all of the sudden and PISSED OFF. Well, so yeah, I was reading those, and I started to get mad that everyone (in the stories) believed he commited whatever crimes he was falsely accused of. So, naturally, I write one of my own, lol.

o.o.o.o

Vernon Dursley, of number four Privet Drive, snapped open his morning paper and glared angrily at the words before him. Not that he cared who won some special award for kindness to people who didn't deserve it, oh no.

It was that boy again.

The little whelp had had the nerve to come down for breakfast actually smiling. Which meant he was happy. Vernon did not like to see his nephew happy. For the past month, he'd been able to enjoy watching the freak sulk (when the boy thought no-one was watching, of course). And now he was happy.

Vernon thought he knew why, too. And that made it worse.

It was the freak's birthday -- his 16th, to be exact, but Vernon never counted -- and those freak friends of his must have sent him presents. As if the wretch deserved them.

He'd grabbed a piece of toast and then gone prancing back to Dudley's second bedroom, looking far too happy. Vernon had been grouchy for all twenty minutes since. That whelp was more trouble than he was worth, Marge was right. Why he didn't just get rid of the boy...

The doorbell rang. Glowering, Vernon rose to answer it, almost tripping over his large son on the way to the door. Petunia was dutifully following him.

He was furious when he saw the robed figures standing on his walk. Dudley looked over his shoulder, squeaked, and ran back upstairs. Vernon growled.

Tempted to slam the door in their faces, he instead demanded, "Well?"

The freak closest to him, a shiny and official looking badge pinned to the front of his neatly pressed robes, raised his chin pompously. Arrogantly, he responded, "We're from the Ministry of Magic. We've been ordered here for Harry Potter. You are his guardian?"

"Yes..." Vernon narrowed his eyes. He didn't need Petunia's urgent whisper from behind him to remind him that those other freaks had made it clear that no-one was to see his worthless nephew. "Why do you want to see the boy?"

"We've come to collect him," was the smug reply. "Get him, please."

Petunia hissed, and Vernon tightened his grip on the front door. They'd been warned... "Collect him?"

"Yes." The freak was starting to sound annoyed. Vernon raised his eyebrows, clearly conveying his confusion. The freak sighed and stated succinctly,

"He's under arrest."

o.o.o.o

"BOY!" Harry heard his uncle bellow, apparently furious. Harry sighed.

He was in the middle of writing a letter to Ron, Hermione and Ginny, thanking them for his wonderful birthday gift. He didn't really feel like finding out what his uncle wanted, but it would be better than to ignore him.

Contrary to what his uncle thought, Harry was not happy. Far from it, in fact. He was as depressed as he'd ever been, probably more so, the loss of his godfather weighing heavily on him. Being away from the only people that cared for him made it worse.

Wearily, he stood up and trudged out of his room. Down the steps, he thought he heard voices. Then he saw his aunt and uncle clustered together anxiously at the front door. Petunia was glaring at nothing in particular, an extremely sour look on her face.

The thought that perhaps the Order had sent someone for him, maybe as a birthday present, flitted through his head. He felt a moment of hope, and quickly finished his descent.

Then he heard what his uncle was saying, and his heart stopped.

"... est him for?"

A strange voice from his uncle's other side said imperiously, "Slander of the Minister, obstruction of justice, crimes against the Wizarding public, and... murder!"

Petunia shrieked, and tugged franticly on her husband's arm. Vernon turned to look at his nephew, a malicious gleam in his unfriendly eyes.

"Freaks here for you, boy," he whispered, grinning. "They say... you're under arrest."

Harry went cold all over.

Someone was there to arrest him? But... what? Why? He hadn't done anything... well, not that anyone that wanted to arrest him would know about, so... What had the other voice said? Something, something, something, and someth... murder!

He was being arrested for murder?

He took a step back, which afforded him just a glimpse of whoever was outside.

Aurors. A lot of Aurors.

This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all. Harry's mind was racing.

Dumbledore! He had to tell Dumbledore.

Turning his back on his family, he raced upstairs. The Auror in front noticed.

"Stop!" he barked, taking a half-step closer to the house, but stopping abruptly. Harry ignored him.

As he searched furiously for a blank sheet of parchment and a quill, Harry could hear shouting from downstairs. Why weren't they coming in? Why didn't they just... Harry paused as a thought occurred to him.

The wards!

Of course. The Aurors, come to arrest him, couldn't pass the wards, which meant they couldn't come in the house. So as long as he stayed in the house... He slowed down his search fractionally, feeling he had a bit of time. Haste made waste, after all.

Unless they thought to make the Dursley's bring him out, the Aurors couldn't get to him. And the Dursleys would never help a bunch of strange wizards. So there should be enough time for Dumbledore to get there.

But why were there Aurors here to arrest him, anyway? Arrest him!

A pounding of feet on the stairs, raised voices getting louder, spurred Harry's panic back up. The Dursleys wouldn't turn him over, no matter how much they hated him. They'd never. The Order wouldn't let them.

His door flew open, revealing Vernon, eyes dangerous.

(Where was the Order?)

Harry grabbed for his wand and quickly pointed it at his uncle. But for once the man was faster, lunging across the small room and knocking the length of wood out of his hand.

The Dursleys would never...

"Come on, boy," shouted Vernon, dragging a struggling Harry from the room, away from his wand, his only form of defense. "The freaks are waiting for you!"

(Where was the Order!)

He couldn't let them do this to him. He couldn't... This couldn't happen.

Harry struggled against the grasp his uncle had on him, getting nowhere. He was still trying to figure out how this could be happening. It seemed like a bad dream.

Three steps from the front door, there was a flash of light and Vernon was thrown up against a wall. Harry turned to go back upstairs. He couldn't be down there. He had to stay away from the Aurors, had to stay in the house. He needed his wand.

Where was the Order?

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Harry fell on his face.

"Bring him out here," Harry heard the front Auror -- who seemed to be in charge -- snap gruffly. There was a briefly shuffling noise from Harry's right, off where he thought his uncle was, and then silence.

"Bring him here!" the Auror demanded.

Uncle Vernon grunted. "I'm not touching him again -- you didn't tell me that light thing would happen. Get him yourself!"

"We cannot enter the house, we told you this, Dursley," the Auror sighed. "You have to bring him out to us."

There was a moment of silence. "Fine," Uncle Vernon snapped. Harry heard a sharp intake of breath and his aunt's feet, which he'd been staring at, moved a step closer to him almost convulsively.

"Vernon!" she hissed fearfully. "You can't! Remember-"

"I know!" Uncle Vernon growled. Petunia squeaked and backed up.

Harry felt arms, probably his uncle's, grab his shoulders and begin hauling him slowly toward the door. 'Put me down,' he thought furiously, struggling against the Auror's Full Body Bind. 'Put me down, let me go, put me down, let me go, put me DOWN...'

Suddenly, Vernon dropped Harry and bleated indignantly.

"What? What is it?" someone outside asked worriedly. Harry was dismayed at how close the voice sounded.

"I can't hold the freak," Vernon complained, sounding accusing. "And I'm not trying again."

"Don't worry," the Auror in charge said from almost directly above Harry, "you've brought him far enough." Someone's hand closed around Harry's ankle and tugged roughly.

As he slid out into the yard, Harry realized with relief that he could move again. He kicked in the direction of the hand holding him, trying to roll over at the same time.

"OW!"

Harry's heel connected squarely with the Auror's hand. Two of the nearest Aurors leapt forward immediately--

"Sir!"

Harry lunged blindly back toward the front door. He'd almost made it through--

"GET HIM!"

--one of the Aurors grabbed the back of his robes and yanked him halfway across the lawn, Harry fighting all the way.

Harry ended sprawled on his back, with somewhere near a dozen Aurors sitting, kneeling, standing on, or in some other way preventing him from moving, while the Auror in charge stalked over, glowering.

"Merlin's beard," Harry heard him muttering, "When Minister Fudge said it might be difficult, he sure didn't say that Potter was this -- Ah. Get out of that one, I'd like to see you try. You lot there, get away so I can see him."

"Sir," a female Auror whispered, clearing her throat softly. "Perhaps you'd better get his wand from him first?"

"Hm. Right you are then." A wand poked through a gape between two of the Aurors. "Accio!"

Absolutely nothing happened. Harry sat tensely; only bad things could come of these hostile Aurors getting hold of his wand.

"Hmph." The head Auror shouldered aside a couple of the others and glared down at Harry, wand still fixed on the grounded boy. "I'll try again. ACCIO!"

There was quite a bit of muttering from the surrounding Aurors. The one in charge looked highly displeased. Harry almost laughed.

"Maybe it's still in the house?" suggested the same female Auror weakly. The Auror in charge turned his glare on her, but acknowledged the suggestion.

"It's possible. I guess I'd better..." He pointed his wand at the house. "Accio wand!"

'Don't come, don't come don't come don't come don'tcomedon'tcomedon't...' Harry thought, eyes anxiously fixed on number four, like everyone else's.

After several minutes, when nothing happened, the Auror in charge huffed. "Ridiculous!" he exclaimed, lowering his wand. "What's the boy done with it?" Nobody said anything. "Oh well, get out that Portkey, Smythe."

For a moment, Harry was insanely relieved -- they hadn't gotten his wand! -- and then someone shoved a small stone into his hand, spoke a word he didn't catch, and he disappeared from Privet Drive.