Disclaimer:

This is my first attempt at writing any form of fan fiction so I apologise for any mistakes I make throughout this story. I have a whole story line written out for this beforehand but I can't promise I'll ever finish this story. I am still situated in school and am an avid participator of sports such as: rugby, athletics, and hockey.

If you hadn't guessed by the sport rugby, I am British for this I apologise, as there may be some words people from other countries might not understand that are native to England. One thing I have always struggled with is quantity so for this I also apologise. However, I'm not saying I won't write a lot just that it may take a while for chapters and such. I'm also hoping for every chapter to be a few thousand words each chapter.

Reviews will be appreciated and I will try to respond to them however as I stated I am new to this so yeah basically, enjoy and I'm terribly sorry if my writing is absolutely abysmal.

I would just like to state that I am making absolutely no proceeds from this story and it is purely for enjoyment. J.K Rowling owns Harry Potter not I.

Also just going to say: I have no idea what that little disclaimer above is however almost every fan fiction I have read put some form of disclaimer stating that J.K Rowling owned Harry Potter. Due to this I figured that there must be some reason for it and didn't want to risk that there might be some difficulty if I did not.

Enjoy:

Harry Potter and the Dance With Crime

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The repetitive sound of the quaffle bouncing off the brick wall would normally off driven any sane person insane. However, as of this moment, this peculiar teen was not feeling very sane.

This peculiar teen was frustrated. He was frustrated at the fact that the accomplice of his parent's murderer (known as one Peter Pettigrew) had escaped. Again. Not only had he escaped (again), it was right from under their noses!

Now we all know everyone is strange and special in his or her own separate way however this one teenage boy –not even 14 years of age- was very special. His name was Harry James Potter and he was a wizard. However unfortunate it was, it was true that he wasn't a very competent wizard, but he was a wizard. However, the fact he was an incompetent wizard wasn't what made him special, it was an event that happened 11 years ago.

Now Harry here doesn't like to think about that night and this strange person that happens to be writing the story is too lazy to put the Halloween night here.

There was no other way to put it Harry was bored. Unfortunately he wasn't just bored he was frustrated, angry and confused. Frustrated at the fact that the small worthless rat had managed to weasel his way out of his impending doom. Angry at the fact his wrongly imprisoned godfather was still on the run. Angry that he had to come back to his hated 'family' and couldn't live with Sirius. Confused as to why Dumbledore had allowed Fudge to get away with such blatant abuse of his powers as minister. Confused as to why Dumbledore wasn't trying his hardest to get Sirius the rightful trial he deserved.

"After all," Harry thought bitterly "If Dumbledore wanted Sirius to get a trail he has enough influence to force it. Yet he sits behind his desk acting like nothings wrong and ponders which muggle sweet to buy next." Harry's eyesight suddenly went blurry, his head spinning, forcing him to quickly sit down lest he accidently fall over. A tired sigh swept throughout the room. If one was to hear said sigh they would swear it had belonged to an elderly man worn from his long life yet one as young as 13 somehow looked more worn then any length of years ever could enforce upon someone.

Deciding for a change of scenery, the weary boy pulled himself up, ignoring the spinning in his head. A pair of two tied shoelaces later Harry was on his way down the stairs. The creaky floor boards alerting his aunt of his presence.

"Where do you think you're going boy?" the banshee screeched.

"Out" the so-called "boy" promptly replied before turning around to slam the door. Just making sure he slammed it hard enough to irritate his aunt but not enough to give cause for an argument lest she appear petty, an art he had perfected throughout his short life.

One could almost mistake Private Drive as peaceful with: the slight breeze; the sun shinning; no noise except for the gentle whirring of the wind; the trees gently waving to any onlookers and each garden full of all kinds of flowers (especially roses for some reason). Yet, something was wrong. There was an undercurrent of something sinister. Something new. So minuscule that one might miss it if you were looking for it though. That was a different story altogether.

There was something else, something more palpable. Private drive was perfect in every way. Each garden groomed to look exactly the same as the neighbours; each individual house an almost exact physical copy of the one opposite. Private drive was too perfect with it's neatly trimmed hedges, the pruned roses letting off their sweet aroma. Harry Potter looked out of place at Private Drive.

He didn't fit in.

This was something that everyone noticed. It was the cause of him being bullied throughout his school before a big friendly giant, known as Hagrid the keeper of keys, thankfully took him away from the abysmal guardianship of his Aunt and Uncle. Although happiness doesn't come for free. Every year Harry had to return to Private Drive for the summer holidays and this year might off been the worst.

The ability to live with his godfather, with someone that cared for him, with someone that loved him was tantalizingly hung right in front of him. It was his. He was going to live a lovely life going to Hogwarts seeing all his friends living with serious but no. It was snatched away from him.

So here he was back for another summer at the Dursleys...

The light footfall of the boy was the only noise that one could hear as he walked along the battered pavement. His head twitched up as he noticed a sound of voices emanating from the alley to his left. What was someone doing down there? No one used that alley except him and that was only for the cut through to the park. Why were people down there? Had something happened? Were they all right?

Harry was a curious teenager and this strange phenomenon had peaked his interest. Cautiously stepping into the alley, he tiredly rubbed his eyes wishing just for this one instance that Aunt Petunia had bothered to have his eyes checked annually. Brick buildings towered upon either side of the alley, litter was spread everywhere. The voices were drawing nearer. One sounded feminine and one masculine. Wait. There were three people her. Harry crept forward hoping to overhear a little of their conversation.

"I'm sorry Boss but we lost another one" the female said. Was that fear in her voice?

"Dammit Iris we needed that one!" A deep male voice boomed. What were they talking about? Did they need help?

Shit.

Harry flinched as the bottle he had kicked rolled along the ground. Rolling to a stop right at the figure of the man called Boss. Their talking stopped. They seemed to be looking around. Looking for him..