2 November 1998
Chudley Cannons Headquarters
Devon, England, UK

Office of the General Manager

Nathan Randall was about to meet his new boss.

The Chudley Cannons, known across Europe as the 'Barely Professional' Doormats of the Quidditch League, had been handed off from owner to owner for the past decade. Each thought they could throw galleons at the organization and win, only to find that they simply couldn't. Bad investment followed bad investment, and eventually the team was owned by a group that included several lords from pureblood families.

Lord Parkinson, Lord Avery, and Lord Nott had gone in together on what had to be a sure bet - for who wouldn't want an all Pureblood quidditch team? They had taken the first step, firing former manager Ragmar Dorkins (who had been secretly grateful, as it let him flee the country and the war). But before they could implement their vision, the season was cancelled due to the ongoing unrest. Then, the three had more pressing issues to deal with, as they were all marked death eaters.

The best possible outcome for the Cannons had been the brutal death of their ownership group on the steps of Hogwarts, shortly before the fall of the Dark Lord.

Now, Gringott's had notified Randall that the new owner was coming today to meet with the existing leadership of the team. At the moment, that was just him, and he only had the job because he had been Dorkins' assistant.

He heard the knock on his door. Straightening his robes, he stood in front of his desk. A deep breath. In, out. I can do this.

"Come."

The door opened, and in walked a young red-haired man in formal robes. His face was vaguely familiar, and had a tired look. Randall couldn't place it, until he saw the next visitor.

It was Harry Potter. And he was looking at him. And grinning.

"You must me Mister Randall, the General Manager?" said Harry. He walked over, offering his hand. Randall took it, hesitantly.

"Er, yes, Lord Potter, I'm the General Manager. Nathan Randall, sir."

"Excellent. This is my friend, Ron Weasley. A lifelong Cannons fan, I should note - but we never really held that against him."

"Oi, really?" asked Ron, fighting to hold back a smirk. He, too, offered his hand for a firm handshake.

Harry's manner was easy going and light, and Randall could see how easy it would be to work with him. But he had also seen the way he glanced around the room as he entered - looking for exits, checking corners. This was indeed the Man-Who-Conquered.

Randall indicated the chairs on one end of the office. "Please, let's sit down. Can I offer you tea?"

Harry shook his head. "No thank you, sir." said Ron.

"Alright, then." Randall took his seat, then nodded to Harry. "I believe this is your meeting, Lord Potter."

Harry nodded in return. "Well, as you know, several dozen of the families of Death Eaters were decimated by the war. In many cases, they had pledged their lives and fortunes to Tom Riddle, so that when I defeated him, I won those fortunes by right of conquest."

"Oh, oh my." said Randall, quietly. Even compared with the Potter and Black fortunes at his disposal, the spoils from the death eaters would be a substantial addition to his holdings.

"Exactly. I neither want nor need their blood money. And some of those families have living children and widows who would be made destitute. I have no interest in that, either." Harry paused. "So I've set up stipends for the surviving families, on the condition that they repudiate the death eater cause and never raise wands or funds in support of a Dark Lord. Most agreed."

Who would decline such mercy? Thought Randall.

"For the extinct lines, we took most of the funds and donated them to Saint Mungo's, or to a wizarding orphanage network we're building." He looked over at Ron. "I grew up wishing for a family. There are quite a few orphans now doing the same. We hoped to help, even if only a little."

Randall nodded. "A worthy goal, sir."

"I hope so." Harry looked around the office, seeking to change the subject. "Some assets, though, did not lend themselves to sale or liquidation."

Ah, here it is. "No one wanted the team, I presume?"

Harry shrugged, apologetically. Ron leaned forward.

"As much as I love the Cannons, Mister Randall, there is a bit of history here. And five different owners who tried - and failed - to fix whatever problems this organization has. It seemed like a losing bet." Ron felt bad about it, but he needed to get through to this man. Randall was going to be the key to this crazy plan of his.

Randall looked at the young man, then back to Lord Potter. "And you two, um, you have a plan?"

Both nodded. "We do," said Ron.

"Mister Weasley here is your new Assistant Manager." Randall's eyes went to Ron, who seemed to be trying hard not to grin at the introduction. "I've asked him to see if he can find some way to get the team to at least be competitive. At a minimum, I'd like him to learn the ins and outs of Professional Quidditch from an experienced manager."

So the young lord needs a job for his friend, then? Hrmph. "Well, then. May I ask, what are Mister Weasley's qualifications?" Randall knew that he had no choice in the matter, but he still needed to know what he was working with.

"Mister Weasley received good scores on his OWLs, scoring seven E's. He is sitting his NEWTs in the core subjects plus Arithmancy at the December sitting, along with myself and several veterans of the war. He has one of the finest strategic minds I've ever known, and his input was largely responsible for the successful defense of Hogwarts in May." Harry never took his eyes off of Randall, but his meaning was clear. This man helped me win the war, ignore him at your peril.

"I see," said Randall. He looked over to Ron, now. "And as for Quidditch?"

"I was keeper for the Gryffindor team in my fifth and sixth years, sir," said Ron. "And I've followed the Cannons since I knew what Quidditch was."

Randall nodded. He almost asked about the boy's seventh year, but stopped himself. The war.

"Well, if you've followed the team, what do you think we need to do?"

Ron and Harry looked at each other. Then Ron turned to the manager and took a deep breath. "I believe we need to focus on young talent who wants a chance to prove themselves. Find a core of good players who genuinely want a shot at the League, and who can work plays together, and we'll start making our way up the division tables." He leaned back. "I'd like to look at your facilities, sir, but my first impulse is to invest in a new state-of-the-art training facility. Make this a team that has something to offer."

"That's… actually, that's not a bad plan." said Randall, thoughtfully.

Ron smiled. "Right now, the Cannons are where careers go to die. You get veteran players for a bargain, because they are coming off injuries or they don't know when to retire. You hire names, when you should be filling roles."

"Who would you hire, then?" asked Randall, on impulse. He pointed at the slate across one wall of his office. He had seven positions and seven reserves, with only three names filling the slots. He had a team to build.

Ron was grinning now. They had him. "Who ya got?"

oOoOoOoOo

Harry Potter was not surprised when Ron floo'ed over to Potter Manor the next week. The stack of scouting reports Randall had handed over was nothing if not a time consuming read. Harry suspected that Randall figured that Ron would give up halfway through.

Randall didn't know Ron Weasley, however.

When Foecleaver had shown Harry the list of unsold assets, and he had seen the Cannons on the list, there had never been a question that he would get Ron involved somehow. But it couldn't be a case of a rich young lord handing off a job as a favor to a friend. He had made clear to Ron, from the beginning, that this was a real gig - but one that he could handle. Ron hadn't wanted it any other way - if nothing else, he reasoned, it was a chance to learn the business. And to do so with his favorite squad? He'd never say no.

Harry had been a bit surprised when Ron didn't ask to be Keeper. Ron set him straight - "Mate," he had said, "I loved playing, but most of it was playing on the same team as you and Ginny." he had smiled, then. "You're not taking the Seeker spot, are you? Then I'm not taking the Keeper spot either."

It was not the grinning Ron Weasley of that afternoon who walked into the Lord's study. No, this was exhausted Ron. He plopped down on the leather couch, putting an arm over his face and groaning.

Harry leaned back in his chair, amused. "'Morning, my lad."

"You," Ron said. "You did this to me."

"What did I do, exactly?" Harry said. Mipsy had appeared in the doorway, her eyes meeting her master's. Harry nodded to her, signalling for tea.

"Do you want to know what I dreamed about last night, Harry?" Ron looked over at his friend. "I lined up every available seeker between the ages of 22 and 40, in order of their average catches per season." He threw his hands up in the air, in frustration. "Then I sorted them by height!"

"In…. in your dreams?" Harry was worried now.

"Exactly! I've been looking at player profiles for a week now, and I've lost the plot." Ron shook his head. "Maybe I'm not cut out for this."

"So If Mister Randall, sir, can't figure something out, what does he do? Guess?" Harry asked.

"Nah, mate, he'd hire someone who knew what the hell they were doing."

"Right. So if you're the manager, and you need someone to figure the numbers out for you, who would you call?" Harry asked.

Ron thought for a moment. Then his eyes grew wide. "She wouldn't."

Harry shrugged. "She's taking a year off, same as a lot of people. You know she'd listen to you, you're still one of her favorites."

Ron snorted. "I bloody well was not."

A laugh. "Ron, I dragged you into that room and basically sat you down at wand point. And then she spent an hour and a half talking quidditch." Harry grinned. "She took you up on the mountaintop and showed you what you could do. And now you're doing it, but you need help."

Ron shook his head again, but a smile was starting to form. "It would be nice to see how she's doing, after all this time."

"Good!" Harry stood up as Mipsy returned with tea service. "Because I invited her over for lunch tomorrow afternoon."

"You… but…." Ron sputtered. "That's cheating!"

Another grin crossed Harry's face. "I invited her before you came. And I was going to invite you before you stopped by, too. Now, we get to give her lunch and a chance to catch up, and also maybe a job."

oOoOoOoOo

Nathan Randall was surprised when he saw his conference room.

The wall opposite the door had been replaced with a clean, white surface. A metal tray across the bottom had rows of small white cylinders, each with a different color at one end. Further down the room, tucked into a corner, was an easel with another whiteboard. This one, though, had the names of every available quidditch player in the UK and Ireland. The background behind each name seemed to be color coded - blue for the beaters, green for the chasers, red for the keepers, and yellow for the seekers.

At the end of the room, Ron Weasley was drawing a position chart onto another board. Randall noticed that this one had lines across one side, probably for reserve players.

"Good morning, Mister Randall," said Ron as he finished his work.

"Good morning, Ron. What's all this?"

"This, sir, is going to be our new team." He reached into his bag and pulled out three more names, before placing them on the side of the position chart. Randall didn't see any spells, but the names stuck nonetheless. They were the three existing players - Benson and Conroy on Chaser, and West on Beater.

The door opened again, admitting an older wizard in Cannons orange. "Ah, Arthur, come in." said Randall. "Arthur Shrewsbury, may I present Ron Weasley, our new Assistant Manager. Mister Weasley, this is Arthur Shrewsbury, our Scouting Director."

Ron shook the man's hand. "Brilliant! It's an honor, sir."

Shrewsbury shared a look with Randall. "So I've been told," he said with a smile. He noticed the names, and walked over to the board that held them. "I see you've done some homework, this past week?"

"I did, and I have some ideas. But we're still waiting on one more person." The door opened again. "Ah, that'll be her now." He set the marker down and walked to the door.

"Gentlemen, may I introduce Professor Septima Vector, Mistress of Arithmancy at Hogwarts, and Doctor of Mathematics from the University of Edinburgh."

Septima Vector wore her usual deep red robes, though she had dispensed with the hat, seeing as this was a more informal meeting. Her dark hair was tied back in a looping braid. She had a warm, disarming smile that immediately put the older two wizards at ease. "Gentlemen, good morning." she said with a nod.

Ron introduced Randall and Shrewsbury, before looking back at Vector. "Professor Vector has agreed to consult on talent for this season. She's been helping me look at the numbers for the players on the available list."

"Has she?" said Shrewsbury, without thinking. He didn't quite know why he was suddenly on edge. Was he looking at another of the young owner's friends who wanted a job? His job?

"Yes, Mister Shrewsbury," said Septima. She removed a leather book and a stack of parchment from her bag, before sitting down at the table. The other two wizards did the same, each finding a leather book in front of them. Ron looked at his professor, who nodded.

Ron squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. It was time.

"The way we see it, we want to build a team that works well together, without spending money on players we don't need, and without picking players just for their names." Ron pointed at the board with the names. "We want the Cannons to be a team where players make their names, not where they take them out to pasture."

Randall saw Shrewsbury nodding, out of the corner of his eye. Most of the team's big moves over the last few years had been dictated by ownership, so the old scout had had little impact on the roster. Perhaps now that might change.

"Give me an example," said Shrewsbury. Ron looked at Vector, who mouthed a name at him.

"OK, let's start with Keeper." Randall saw Septima open a leather book that matched his, and so he did the same. Turning to the Keeper section, he found nothing but blank pages. "Have a look at Dean Nicholson." As Ron spoke, he waved his wand - and the name floated from the side board to the front of the room. When it attached itself to the position chart, Randall saw the blank page filling itself in with a picture of the player and their stats.

"Nicholson played two seasons as reserve keeper for the Arrows, then three more as their starter. He played six games as reserve, winning each one, and in three of those games he had more saves than the starter did that season, on average." Ron tapped the name. "His contract is up, and the Arrows want to move the reserve to the top spot."

Shrewsbury looked thoughtful. "He's young, he's quick, and he has good numbers." Then he looked at Ron. "He's not going to want to come here."

Ron shrugged. "Normally, I'd agree. But we have an owner who is willing to spend a little to get good players. Professor Vector thinks we can get him for a steal."

"Does she?" asked Randall. Vector smiled, in the manner of a professor being questioned by a student. She tapped her wand on her book, and the contract prices appeared in the other books. If those figures were correct, thought Randall, then yes, he would be a steal.

"Mister Nicholson is one of the most undervalued players at Keeper," said Vector. "In the first two games he played, he single-handedly stopped the Arrows from losing, because he kept the score from getting closer than 150. In both cases, the opponent caught the snitch but the Arrows still won. So consider that contract price, Mister Randall. You're seeing galleons. But from where I'm sitting, I'm seeing wins."

"It's all about value," continued Ron. "We want the players that other teams undervalue. Players that don't fit with other clubs. Players who can make the Cannons their home. Players who will give us wins." He nodded to the chart. "We believe Nicholson is one of those players."

Shrewsbury looked carefully at the statistics in front of him, and then at Randall. Randall shrugged, telling his old friend that it was his call. Shrewsbury looked at Vector, and then at Ron. he nodded slowly. "Alright, if he's in, I'm in."

Ron's grin lit the room. Vector's sly smile was just as bright, for the normally reserved Arithmancy Mistress. One down, she thought.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry Potter looked over the proposed roster for the new Chudley Cannons. They were in the sitting room at Potter Manor, Ron and Nathan Randall and Arthur Shrewsbury. Professor Vector was there as well, sitting near the fireplace in the expansive drawing room, sipping her tea. Her ability to go unnoticed until it was too late had been legend around Hogwarts, as had been her reputation for sneaking up on students - a reputation second only to the new Headmistress herself.

The roster was placed on the coffee table, as Harry sat back. The team looked good on paper, and Septima had assured him that the statistics bore that out. The cost, however, was what worried him - for the contract prices, in total, came to about half of what he had expected to spend, and maybe a third of what the pre-war roster had cost.

He looked up at Randall. "What do you think?"

Randall looked over at Ron, before turning back to his boss. "Lord Potter, before we started, I thought this idea was madness." He held up a hand, silencing Ron's quick response. "But then when we started looking at the players, it clicked."

"It clicked?" asked Harry. He wanted to hear the rationale.

"I think Arthur would agree, on this." Shrewsbury nodded. Clearly they had discussed this before. Randall continued, "We've been hiring whoever ownership said to hire for years, and it got us nowhere. Now that we're looking at value, at possible wins? It's like we learned a secret spell that no one else has figured out, yet."

Harry saw the man's eyes dart over to Septima. "It's a new way of thinking, my Lord, but it looks good on paper and it fits what I know of the game." He looked up at Harry. "I think it's a good squad, sir."

Harry nodded, before turning to Shrewsbury. "And you, Arthur?"

Shrewsbury shrugged. "If you can talk her into it, I'd like to hire Madam Vector on a full time basis, sir. This," he tapped his leather-bound copy of the roster. "This has been a revelation. I want her eyes on next year's roster, and the year after that, sir."

Harry saw Septima's eyes widen in surprise. Shrewsbury had been the one they had worried about - if the old scout thought they were moving in on his job, he could break the whole thing wide open. Turning players against the coaches, turning the office against the ownership. And his contract was ironclad, so they were stuck with him.

To have him so thoroughly sold on Professor Vector's ideas? It was a win.

"If she is agreeable, I have no objection." Harry said, with a grin at the glare the professor sent his way. They'd be arguing about that later, he figured.

Harry rose, at that point, and was joined by the others. "It looks like a good squad. It's approved - make it happen." He signed the roster with a flourish, then rolled it up.

Randall took the parchment from the team owner and grinned. "Yes sir." They all shook hands, and Septima was surprised to get her hand kissed twice. Then the older wizards left to get to work.

Ron and Septima stayed behind, sitting down near Harry.

"You two did it, just as I said you would." said Harry.

Ron still didn't quite believe it. "We're really doing this, aren't we?"

"Mister Weasley," said Septima, in her Professor voice. "What did I tell you during that first class?"

"It wasn't a class, Professor, it was a bloody indoctrination!"

Harry laughed. "How else was I going to get you to quit Divination and switch to Arithmancy with me? Quidditch was the only way, Ron. Besides, Professor Vector only predicted my death the one time, where Trelawney seemed to do it weekly!"

"To be fair," said Professor Vector, "You did die that time."

Harry shrugged. "I mean, yeah, I died. But your restraint was appreciated." He laughed again as she raised her tea cup in his direction.

"My point, Mister Weasley," Septima continued, "is that the numbers never lie. The team you put together, their numbers fit. The equations balance. Arithmatically," she paused.

Ron sat back. "Arithmatically, what?"

Septima grinned. "You can't lose."

oOoOoOoOo

The new squad was in their first week of practices when Nathan Randall walked into Ron Weasley's office. "We have a problem, Ron."

Ron looked up from his parchments. "What happened?"

"Bill MacTavish quit."

Ron thought back to the coaches meeting from the week prior. Bill MacTavish had been the seeker coach for two years, following a five year stint at Puddlemere. Seemed willing to work with the new team, a good guy overall. No obvious problems, there.

"What happened?" asked Ron.

Randall sat down on the couch, facing Ron's desk. "He found out who our starting seeker was."

Ron shrugged. "Terence Higgs, yeah." The former seeker for Slytherin House had finished his OWLs at Hogwarts, before fleeing the UK with his parents and sister when Voldemort returned after the Triwizard Tournament. Higgs had always had a healthy respect for Harry, despite being in Slytherin, and had believed his account of the events in the graveyard. He played two years of Quodpot at Ilvermorny, before spending a year as a starter with Boston's semi-pro team. When the war ended, he moved home.

"Bill said he wouldn't coach any death eater spawn. I replied that Higgs hadn't even stayed in Britain during the late unpleasantness, and that he was fine with ownership." Randall sighed. "Turns out, Terence's uncle took the mark and died at Hogwarts."

Ron Weasley rolled his eyes. A year ago, even, he might have had a similar reaction. That was before he stood in the great hall and saw three slytherin fifth years who had died during the battle, defending the Hufflepuff dorm - and the thirty first and second years hiding inside. That was before he had met the snakes who helped Ginny and Neville during that lost year. The Greengrass sisters, Tracey Davis, others unnamed.

Years ago, Ron would never have considered a Slytherin for any position on a quidditch team he was rostering up. Today, he had three, including Higgs at starting seeker. That, apparently, was unacceptable to the now former seeker coach.

Wait a second, Ron thought. He knew a seeker who needed a job, as it happened. Terence is gonna hate this.

"I may have a candidate for you." said Ron. "Do you mind that he's a former death eater?"

Randall's face fell. "Convicted?"

Ron shrugged. "Probation, he spied toward the end of the war, and his mother lied to the Dark Lord's face and saved Harry's life - and, by extension, the battle."

Now there was no question in Randall's mind of who Ron was thinking of hiring. But thinking back, the kid had had professional quidditch scouts salivating before the war, and it was obvious that he knew his stuff. "Just as a coach?" asked Randall.

Ron nodded. "His probation forbids playing. Plus, he took Terence's seeker position in school, so no thank you - no repeat here."

Randall chuckled. "Oh, Higgs is really going to hate this."

oOoOoOoOo

"Hell No."

Harry grinned. He knew this wouldn't be easy. That's part of why he got a private room at the tavern. "You've got to find a job within three months of the trial, and you've had two. And how many even gave you interviews?"

"None." replied the cold voice. He took another sip of his tea. "I'll manage."

Harry shrugged. "I hear Filch is hiring an assistant, you could sneer at the firsties and chase Peeves around the castle."

Astoria Greengrass leaned across the table, smiling. "You're enjoying this way too much, Harry."

Another grin. "Your devoted fiance is making it much too easy, Miss Greengrass," replied Harry.

Draco set his tea down and scowled at his longtime rival. "You're just doing this to get me further in your debt."

Harry shook his head, still grinning. "Nope."

"They will all say that you took pity on me, that you wanted to hold this out over my head."

"Nah, they said that after I testified. They'll come up with something new this time." Harry chuckled. "They'll probably have me making moves on your future sister-in-law."

Astoria whistled. "Daphne will hate that."

"Yes, I imagine she will." said Harry. He looked back at Draco. "I'm not suggesting this because I think you owe it to me. I'm not even suggesting it because I know you're desperate to avoid breaching your probation." He leaned forward. "I'm suggesting it because I know we need someone who can do the job. And you can do the job."

Draco sipped his tea, looking unconvinced.

"Be honest, Draco Malfoy," continued Harry. "I outflew you more times than you outflew me. But you know more about the game. The strategy, the maneuvers, the plays. I went with instinct, you had a plan. You know the seeker position inside and out. You can coach it six ways from Sunday."

Draco looked at his tea, his expression unreadable. "You know how much I would have loved to fly against you last year? No war, no bullshite, just your team and my team and a clear sky over the pitch?" He looked up at Harry. "I think I would have liked that very much."

Harry nodded. "I think I would have, too."

Draco glanced over at Astoria, who nodded. Looking at Harry, he gave a nod of his own. "You know I look rubbish in orange, don't you?"

Harry stifled his laugh. "So does Ron. I haven't had the heart to tell him, though."

oOoOoOoOo

Harry Potter and Septima Vector walked through the newly completed training facility. Ron had already given them the tour of the workout rooms, with their high-end muggle equipment. The cold baths had been a surprise, but when Ron had explained what they were used for, Harry found himself wishing they had had them when he played.

The team had a locker room, but there was an additional hallway that lead toward the office complex. Ron had left them then, to go have lunch with the team. So Harry and Septima decided to explore.

In that hallway, they found fourteen offices. Peeking into one, Harry was surprised to find a desk and wardrobe alongside a well-appointed sitting area. In fact, the whole thing seemed familiar.

"I thought the players needed to be pampered, somewhat." Septima said, off of his look. "So we copied the office layout for Wizengamot members."

So that's why it looks so familiar, Harry thought.

"Each office has a floo connection, so the players can come to the facility and be within a hundred feet or so of the locker room." She gestured at the office. "And their families can come as well, just as easily."

Harry nodded. "And did this help with your projections, Professor?" He ignored her rolled eyes.

"They get an office space on par with the Wizengamot - it makes each player feel like we value them. That makes them play harder. So yes, Lord Potter, it does help the little numbers go higher." She finished with a grin.

He held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, you win." He was still smiling when they got to the next room. It was an amphitheatre with what appeared to be some sort of pensieve at the lectern.

"Oh Merlin, you gave them a film room."

Septima grinned again. "How better to analyze data?"

Harry was working the implications through his mind. He had never thought to take the very muggle idea of watching film into a sport that had always lacked film. "How many teams have this?" he asked, half to himself.

Of course, Professor Vector had the answer. "Exactly zero."

Harry grinned and looked over at the Professor. "This is happening, isn't it?"

She returned his grin. "Can't lose."

oOoOoOoOo

13 February 1999
Cannons Stadium
Devon, England, UK

Pre-season Friendly
Holyhead Harpies (0-0-0) at Chudley Cannons (0-0-0)

Ron Weasley sat in the VIP box, looking out over the pitch. The orange banners, the Orange and Black pennants waving in the wind. His own robes were black with bright orange trim, at the recommendation of pretty much every woman in his life, from his mother on down.

The cannons logo replaced the house crest, as it should on game day. He looked down, and watched as the cannonball shot out of the cannon, which faded quickly into the distance. Then wings sprouted from the cannonball, and it turned into the snitch - only to be quickly grabbed by an orange and black glove. The thumb of that glove turned into a cannon, and the animation repeated.

Daphne Greengrass had done the artwork herself, and everyone who saw it loved it. Scarves with the new design had sold out twice already, he had been told that morning.

He saw the fourteen members of the Cannons squad making their final lap of the pitch, trailed by three of their coaches. Ron chuckled when he saw Draco Malfoy in his bright orange coach's robes. Unfortunately, coaches had strict rules governing their kits, and - as the home team - orange was the order of the day.

Ron made a mental note to make sure they got team pictures today - with the coaches. Astoria would thank him later.

"Fifteen weeks. Hard to believe," he heard behind him. Turning, he saw Harry Potter making his way down the aisle.

Ron smiled, shaking his head. "Feels like fifty." He waved his hand out at the pitch. "Sometimes I think of where we were last year, in a bloody tent in the middle of nowhere, listening to the wireless and trying to keep ourselves together."

Harry chuckled. "And now we have a quidditch team."

Ron laughed. "And now we have a bloody quidditch team."

They watched the team filter off of the pitch, heading to the locker rooms for a light lunch and a final team meeting. It was a friendly match, with proceeds going to charity, but it was also the new team's debut - they were treating it like the playoffs.

"Ever wish you were down there?" Ron asked, quietly. "On the team, getting ready to play?"

Harry had thought about that. But the reality was that he had so much on his plate - the Wizengamot, the trials, the front office here, organizing the Potter family businesses once again. The list went on. "No, it'd be too much, I think." he replied.

"Yeah," said Ron. He sighed. "When I was a kid, playing for the Cannons would have been my dream. But this, this is better."

"How so?" asked Harry.

"I mean, you play the game, you make saves or you don't, you know? Either you win or you lose. Here, doing this, we're building." Ron nodded to the flags and banners. "Some kid's going to watch this game, or listen on the wireless, and think that this is what they want to do when they grow up. Some kid's going to be a Cannons fan after today."

Harry chuckled as he stood up. Ron did the same. He was surprised when Harry gave him a hug and clapped him on the back.

"More than one, I think." said Harry. "Thank you, Ron, for doing this. For taking me on this journey."

Ron snorted. "Oi, mate, we haven't even won yet."

Harry grinned. "Well, we should go find the others and have lunch, then. Don't want to jinx the whole thing, do we?"

oOoOoOoOo

24 April 1999
Cannons Stadium
Devon, England, UK

League Match
Appleby Arrows (4-1-0) at Chudley Cannons (3-1-1)

The match had been going on for an hour when Septima Vector entered the VIP box. She smiled when she saw the team's families sitting together - for that had been another one of her pet projects, as most of the time the team's families interacted very little. If they were building for the long term, she reasoned, why limit it to the players?

Another face surprised her, however.

"Headmistress McGonagall, good afternoon," she said as she took a seat next to her former colleague. The Headmistress turned in surprise, before grinning.

"Septima, how are you?"

"Enjoying the day, as it happens." She watched Nicholson make another stop, and nodded. "And you?"

McGonagall kept her eyes on the pitch, watching the play like an old pro. "Funny enough, I actually meant to speak with you."

"Oh?" The two professors had not yet discussed the Arithmancy Mistress' sabbatical, nor when it would end. Septima had seen too many of her students die during the battle to return immediately, and Minerva had understood. Now, it seemed that something else had caught the younger professor's interest.

"I received five letters last week, all asking for a list of recent graduates who got an O on their Arithmancy NEWTs." McGonagall smiled at the look of shock on her friend's face. "Each letter came from a quidditch team."

Now Septima's look of shock was unmistakable. As was the grin that followed it. "They want to copy us." She said quietly.

"Copy what?" The professors turned to see Harry Potter walking over.

Ignoring the formalities, Septima spoke rapidly. "Five other teams want to hire my NEWT students. They're copying us!"

"That's great!" said Harry, with a broad grin.

"Lord Potter!" said Minerva, getting Harry's attention. "Why is it a good thing, when the other teams plan to do what you did to make the Cannons a success?"

"Oh, that's easy, Professor." He pointed at Septima. "We already have the best Arithmancer in the country. And as good a professor as she is, there aren't any students close to surpassing her."

"Besides," added Septima. "Two of my best NEWT students already work for the Cannons. I doubt they'd be open to offers."

A roar from the crowd drew their attention to the pitch, where Higgs appeared to be attempting a Wronski feint.

"If he does that too many times, Mister Potter," Minerva remarked. "The other seeker will stop following."

Harry grinned. "Funny enough, that's what Draco said, too." Off Minerva's look, Harry chuckled. "Or perhaps I should say, Coach Malfoy."

Higgs continued to dive, as Minerva looked up at Harry. "Really?" She asked.

Harry nodded, his eyes on his seeker. "It took a couple days for everything to really work, but once they got training Higgs was sold. Draco really does know the position, front and back."

Minerva looked back to the pitch. "Then why the extra feint?"

Harry merely nodded to the pitch. "Because it's not a feint."

Lee Jordan's voice seemed to get louder at that moment. It had to, to get over the crowd noise. "Higgs has the snitch! Cannons win, Cannons win! Your final score is 220 to 90!" The cheers continued as booms echoed across the pitch. You couldn't have a Cannons win without actual cannons, after all.

"Four wins, in one season." Harry smiled, shaking his head. "Even in my wildest dreams, I never thought we'd pull that off."

Septima rolled her eyes. Harry saw it and laughed.

"I know, I know, can't lose."

"Ten points to Gryffindor, Mister Potter." replied the Professor. Former professor? Septima still wasn't sure. But she could say this much - her foray into quidditch had been an absolute delight, and she was eager to see what happened next.

Promising to visit Hogwarts after the first week of May, Septima said goodbye to her old friend and now (possibly) her boss. Harry left them to their conversation, wanting to congratulate the team. After Minerva left, Septima remained in the VIP box long after the stadium had emptied.

She was sleeping through the night, finally, after all this time. The nightmares had receded, to be replaced with rosters and quaffles and statistics. It was like a warm blanket for the professor - it felt like home. Reaching up, she flexed her shoulder. It will have been a year, next week, since the battle.

The scars had faded, the dreams had receded, and she had helped bring the Cannons back from the dead. She smiled to herself, before walking to the stairs. She didn't know if she would return to Hogwarts or not, but she felt no anxiety about the decision. The numbers worked either way, as it turned out.

For now, she would simply have to see where they led her tomorrow. Today, the team would be celebrating - and she wasn't about to miss it.

A/N: This is my take on Moneyball, if it used Arithmancy and was applied to Quidditch. This very nearly ended up titled Moneyquaffle, but thankfully you were spared that monstrosity. The AU hook here is a small one - Harry gets sick of Divination early, and then learns that Arithmancy can be used in similar, predictive ways (which, according to Pottermore, seems to be the case). When he learns that Professor Vector is not only a huge Quidditch fan, but can also apply some of her discipline to the sport, he drags Ron in, kicking and screaming. And then she sells him on it. A minor change, but plausible.

Obviously, no post-war story can avoid dealing with, well, the post-war period, and I hope I've handled that well. For Harry, the solution was to keep busy. For Ron, diving into a project of this scale was the way to heal. For Septima, of course, it was a deep exploration of her craft. Such was the state of the Cannons that it took all of their efforts, and those of others, to pull this off.

I have no immediate plans to continue this - as I already have enough ongoing work to keep me busy. But once this idea popped up, I had little choice.

Feedback, as always, is welcome.