Chapter 1

The bulbs of the camera were almost blinding as picture after picture was taken. Purple smoke drifted lazily from each camera, swirling up into the air to create a growing blanket over the ceiling.

Harry's left hand fidgeted on the table in front of him while his right one gripped his wand tightly underneath. He kept his face blank, not letting the dozens of reporters in front of him see how much he hated being here in front of them, as the flashing lights of their photographer's cameras reminded him of being in battle; of spellfire lighting up shady forest and darkened corridors.

The tall redhead next to him did nothing to hide the contempt on his face. Despite being jealous of Harry's fame when they were teens, Ron wanted nothing to do with it once he had a taste of his own fame. More than just Harry Potter's best friend, he was a part of the Golden Trio who had played an important role in the downfall of the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Ron grumbled something low enough that Harry couldn't hear what was said, but he got the gist. This did not need to be a press conference and damn Kingsley for making it one. It was a decision made by Harry and Ron that did not involve the pack of vultures that crowded the stage they sat on, only prevented from climbing up with them by the dozen burly Hit-Wizards that acted as security, wands in hand.

To the side of the stage, Kingsley stood at a podium and was saying some words about Harry and Ron's accomplishments over the past four years as Aurors - capturing dozens of Death Eaters who had escaped after the Battle of Hogwarts - infamous names such as Antonin Dolohov, Thorfinn Rowle, Augustus Rookwood, Walden Macnair, Rodolphus Lestrange, and Rabastan Lestrange. They had hunted them down across the globe, traveling across Europe and the Americas until every known Death Eater, whose names were given to them by the Malfoys as part of their plea deal, was either captured or killed.

To be honest, Harry wasn't really listening to what Kingsley was saying. This entire thing was putting him on edge and he was restraining himself from instinctively cursing everyone he saw as a threat, which was pretty much every reporter and photographer in the room.

Then Ron kicked him underneath the table.

"Oi!" Harry murmured, glaring at Ron.

Ron jerked his head to the people in front of him. With a blink, Harry realized they were all staring at him expectantly, including Minister Shacklebolt.

He cleared his throat and leaned forward to the microphone in front of him.

"Er, thank you Minister." Ron snorted in amusement next to him. Harry ignored him. "When Voldemort," he rolled his eyes at the collective flinch of the reporters, "was killed we made a vow that no Death Eater would go unpunished. That each of those who supported that madman would receive justice for their crimes. Ron and I have dedicated the last four years of our lives as Aurors working tirelessly to see that done, and with the recent capture of Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange in the Amazon Rainforest, we can confidently say that all known Death Eaters are either dead, in prison, or," Harry paused trying to find the right word, "repaying their debts to society.

"And with that being accomplished, Ron and I have made the decision to resign from the position of Aurors effective immediately."

All at once the reporters started to shout, each one trying to be louder than the one next to them and none of them being distinguishable from the others. Ron grunted and crossed his arms over his barrel-chest. Harry rubbed at his face, pushing up his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose against the headache he could feel coming on. It was almost five minutes before the reporters finally shut up.

"Since we were eleven years old we've been fighting Voldemort and his Death Eaters," Ron said, no longer stuttering over Voldemort's name like he used to. "That's ten years of fighting against dark lords and crazed followers. These past four years we've worked long hours without time off. We spent weeks and months trekking across the globe in our mission to bring them all to justice. We've spent countless days away from family and loved ones, putting strains on our relationships." Ron let out a heavy breath. "We're tired."

Harry's relationship wasn't just strained, it was over with. Ginny had ended things a few months back because he was never home. He was surprised it had taken her that long to end things. That her breaking up with him coincided with her finally becoming a starter for the Harpies did not go unnoticed.

"What will you do?" A reporter used the moment of silence to shout a question

Harry recognized the voice that asked the question. He squinted his eyes to see past the camera flashes and the growing haze of purple smoke to see Parvarti Patil standing amongst the crowd; his former classmate and the Daily Prophet's star gossip columnist. She looked the same as she did when he had last seen her a few years ago. Why was a gossip columnist here?

"I'm going to take some time off to spend some much needed quality time with my fiance," Ron answered, the tips of his ears turning red. "And then I'll join my brother George and help him run Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He's looking to expand the business."

"As for me," Harry said, a grin making its way onto his face. "I've decided to try something new. That's why you're looking at the new owner of the Chudley Cannons."

The Chudley Cannon's facilities looked like shit, and that was being generous. The goalposts on the practice pitch, one of which was leaning at a thirty degree angle away from the others, were charmed orange and black but the charms were obviously failing because the colors kept flickering to show the rusted iron underneath. The stands, limited though they were for reporters, coaches and a handful of spectators, looked suspiciously like they were sagging to one side and were on the brink of collapse. The pitch had divots and holes all over it, and if Harry was to guess some animal was burrowing under the field.

On one side of the pitch stood a squat, weathered building that seemed like a relic from the era when the club had been founded five centuries ago. The brickwork was faded and crumbling, streaked with moss and grime, as if no one had bothered to clean or repair it in all that time. Its sagging roof bore patches of rust and missing shingles, adding to the impression of neglect. He could easily picture what lay inside: a dimly lit locker room with creaking benches and lockers on the verge of collapse, cramped offices with sagging shelves, and supply rooms cluttered with forgotten gear and mismatched equipment. The whole structure seemed as though it had been frozen in time, untouched by modern conveniences or care.

He really should have surveyed the facilities before he had signed the deal but he'd been so busy chasing the Lestrange brothers, and the final cost of the team had been so much lower than he had expected, that he hadn't bothered. He thought it was just because the team sucked that they were coming at such a low cost. Now he knew it was because everything associated with the team was in a sad state, not just its constant place in the standings

"Mr. Potter!"

Harry turned from staring at the dawning horror of what he had purchased to see a frail elderly wizard approaching him. The man had a beard that would have rivaled Dumbledore's but only had a few wisps of white hair on his head.

The old man held out his hand, which Harry shook.

"Argus Willoughby, Mr. Potter. Team security."

Harry blinked in surprise. "Of course, Mr. Willoughby. Pleasure to meet you."

"Argus please."

"Argus. Where's the rest of the security?"

"Rest of security? Oh no, there ain't no rest Mr. Potter. I'm it."

The other teams had full security details to protect their players from rabid fans, both of their team and of rivals. Harry knew Chudley hadn't been a winning team in the last century but he would have at least thought given the amount of times Chudley fans almost stormed the pitch over the years due to their own team's ineptitude, they would have had more than just one old man as security.

"You can call me Harry," Harry said, keeping his thoughts to himself.

Harry made his way to the squat building, Mr. Willoughby trailing behind him.

"Was real excited to hear the news you bought the team. Previous owners rewarded loyalty but didn't seem to care much."

That's an understatement. "How long have you worked for the Cannons, Argus?"

Argus ran his fingers through his beard in thought. "Oh gotta be seventy-two years now."

"Are you also a fan of the team?"

"My whole life."

Poor man.

"Listen Argus, I'm going to be meeting with members of the staff and team today. You can direct them to the Chairman's office, alright?"

"Sure thing!"

Harry left Argus on the field as he entered the building facilities. The inside was just as bad as he imagined. There was a leak in the main hallway that left a small puddle of water from the last time it rained. Harry took out his wand and vanished the water.

Unfortunately, building and maintenance charms were not ones Harry was well versed in. He knew thirty different types of shield charms but nothing on how to fix whatever was leaking. Which meant he was going to have to hire someone to come out for repairs. With the inheritance he got from Sirius on top of what he had from his parents, he could easily afford to hire the proper people, but it was becoming clear to him that buying this team was going to be a money pit the first few years.

The chairman's office was spartan in its furnishings. It had a heavy wooden desk with three chairs and bare shelves that Harry figured were probably to hold trophies and accomplishments but the team had none to offer. If the man had a family or friends, he did not want to display them to anyone who visited the office.

Harry sat down in the main chair, easing himself into it. It was uncomfortable to say the least. If any cushioning charms had been placed on it they had long failed. He took out his wand and tapped the chair, feeling a bit more comfort on his ass and back than previous. It would have to do.

Now came the hard part. The staff came in first and Harry let them know they were all being let go; the chairman, the manager, all of the coaches and their one scout who apparently covered Hogwarts, the rest of the BIQL, and international leagues.. If he wanted to change the culture of losing that surrounded the Cannons he needed to start fresh. They had all been with the team for at least five years and besides a surprise 11th place finish a few seasons ago, were always in the bottom three teams.

Harry was going to make this office his. He didn't just buy the Cannons to have someone else run the team while he watched on the sidelines. He was tired from fighting dark wizards every day but he knew he'd grow bored sitting at home with nothing to occupy his time. Quidditch was a passion of his and while he had thought about trying his hand at going pro himself, he didn't think he had what it took to make it in the pro leagues, especially since he hadn't properly played in five years. But running a Quidditch team? That felt like something he could do.

Next came the players. He had been in talks for a few months on purchasing the Cannons, as soon as he found out they were for sale. With Ron as his best friend, he was more than knowledgeable on the players, their performance over the past few seasons, and their contracts. Despite only officially being the owner for less than a week, he had thought about potential moves to make many times over the past few weeks.

Professional Quidditch teams had fourteen players; the seven starters and the seven on the reserve team. Player contracts were not fully guaranteed but there were penalties that came with terminating a contract early and Harry didn't want to go that route yet. Not the first year at least. Still, he had some room to make some moves.

There were eleven players under contract for the next season and he met with each of them in turn to go over what his plans were for the future of the team and where they could potentially fit into it. He was overly optimistic with a lot of them. Most of them would likely be gone in the next few years. It wasn't just the staff that was terrible, the team they had built was just as bad. The biggest issue was that good free agents didn't want to play here and any decent draft picks left as soon as they could.

"You're the captain of the team," Harry said to the man sitting across from him.

Joey Jenkins, a short, stocky man with thick, hairy arms crossed over his chest, gave a slight nod. The lead beater for the Cannons, Jenkins was, in Harry's opinion, the team's only saving grace. At 42, though wizards aged slower than muggles, Jenkins likely had only a few good years left in him.

"Aye, been captain almost a decade now, since Monroe retired," Jenkins said.

"And you've spent your entire career with the Cannons, correct?" Harry asked.

"All twenty-five years."

Harry nodded. That kind of loyalty was rare. "Do you want to finish your career here?"

Jenkins furrowed his brow, his expression cautious. "Are you trying to say something?"

Harry leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk. "The team's been ass since before you were born. Yet you've stayed loyal, signing three extensions so you never hit free agency. I respect that. But you can't tell me you don't want to win."

"Everyone wants to win," Jenkins replied flatly. "It just hasn't happened in Chudley."

"I aim to change that, but it's not going to happen overnight and I think you deserve better than continuing to play for a team that isn't competitive. If you're open to it, I want to explore trading you to one of the top teams; Puddlemere, Ballycastle, or Falmouth. All three finished in the top seven last season and could use an upgrade at beater."

Jenkins looked stunned. Whether because he was being offered a chance to play for a winner, because he was being told the new owner wanted to trade him from the only team he's ever played for, or a combination of the two, Harry couldn't say.

"Take some time to think it over," Harry continued. "Talk to your family and see if it's the right move for you. The offseason doesn't officially start for another week but if you are okay with being traded, I'd like to get it done before free agency starts."

"I'll get back to you," Jenkins said after a moment of silence.

"Of course."

Jenkins took his leave without another word. Harry waited for him to leave before slumping in the seat. The cushioning charms he had cast when he first sat down had worn out an hour ago. He stood up and massaged his arse with a wince.

"Next order of business, getting a new bloody chair."

A/N: In cannon there's thirteen current teams. I've added three more to bring the league to sixteen teams.

Appleby Arrows

Ashbourne Augureys

Ballycastle Bats

Caerphilly Catapults

Chudley Cannons

Falmouth Falcons

Hogsmeade Howlers

Holyhead Harpies

Kenmare Kestrels

Montrose Magpies

Pride of Portree

Puddlemere United

Tutshill Tornados

Thetford Thestrals

Wigtown Wanderers

Wimbourne Wasps