Harry Potter and the Curse of Ages

Chapter 14 Making the Team

Neither Harry nor Ron knew what to expect in The Leaky Cauldron at 10 p.m. The times they had spent nights in the rooms upstairs, they had been required by either Mr. and Mrs. Weasley or Dumbledore to be in their rooms after 9 p.m. But they were much younger then and far less capable of protecting themselves if need be. It wasn't that they expected to have to fight, but one could not be too sure, especially in an establishment that attracted such a diverse, and sometimes dodgy, collection of magical beings. The twins didn't help.

"Oh, this will be fun," began Fred, as they started out. "The Cauldron's a madhouse after the family types are gone."

"Fred, remember the vampires we met that night?" asked George.

"V-v-vampires?" stuttered Ron. "What were they doing at Diagon Alley?"

The twins smiled smugly at having rattled Ron. "Same as most, dear brother," replied George. "They were traveling and needed a place to stay. We had stopped in for a bite - ooh, poor choice of words when discussing vampires, I reckon - anyway, it was after the shop was closed and we had our projects settled for the night. The vampires had just finished their sleep and checked out but were looking for a meal before traveling."

"Yeah," continued Fred, "Tom was out of fresh blood, and we found them eying a family of goblins we knew from Gringotts hungrily. Say what else you will about us, we take care of our friends. Besides, we saw a business opportunity."

"Ah, you mean gold?" asked Harry. "I've heard vampires are rich."

"Yeah, well, like wizards, some are, but most just get by," answered Fred. "They really aren't very ambitious, but then they don't need much. It's hard for them to do most jobs or do business with the larger magical community because they have to sleep during the day. They're worse than the goblins about daylight - a goblin can work in the day if he keeps in shade, the deeper the better, but vampires can't take it at all."

"Yeah, okay," said Ron, "then what did you want from the vampires?"

"Urine," said George. "Vampire urine has a lot of really useful properties we can use in several of our products."

"Eesh!" cringed Harry. "You'll warn us which ones, right?"

"Too late," said Fred mischievously, then laughing at Ron and Harry's wide-eyed concern. "Relax, it's not things you eat. We use it to treat parchment, cloth and wood to get special effects - usually to make them disappear in daylight, really useful for smuggling and other surreptitious activities."

"That means 'sneaky,' Ron," added George condescendingly.

"I know, you git," he snarled. "Cripes, I organized the student army, devised the battlefield strategy, led the broom squadrons, and dueled Lestrange. What's a guy got to do to get a bit of respect!?"

Harry and the twins grinned at his frustration.

"Forget it, Ron," said Fred. "That's what family's for - to make sure you don't get too full of yourself."

"Oh, great!" grumbled Ron.

"Ron, I think you'll be seeing tonight that others are willing to pat you on the head for what you've done - you need us to get your feet back on the ground," said George.

"So what happened with the vampires?" asked Harry.

"Oh, I got Mundungus Fletcher while Fred got our bloodletting kit ..." began George.

"Yes, of course," said Ron, "Why am I not surprised you two would have such a thing?"

"It comes in handy to have the right equipment for certain jobs. So Dung rounded up some buddies of his who will do most anything for the right inducement and we had a regular feast for the vampires within an hour. We took care of Dung's cohort, and an hour later, the vampires left a few jars of what we wanted from them."

"What a lovely story," said Ron.

By then they had arrived at The Leaky Cauldron. The tables seemed to be all filled, although Harry could not be sure through the clouds of variously coloured smokes and fumes that hovered about the various tables and booths.

"Harry! Weasleys! Welcome," called the barman-owner Tom. "All our tables are full, bless the ending of the war, can I get you a booth, or will you have some seats here at the bar?"

"Actually, Tom," said George, "we're meeting Oliver Wood here. Is he here yet?"

"Yes, he and Madam Sneed have taken a booth in the back."

George and Fred looked at each other. "Excellent!" they said together.

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Wood is a player - not a wheeler-dealer player, but a quidditch player. He's a nice guy and smart, but he's no shark. The league wouldn't send him with negotiating authority. They want him to present the offers because of his personal relationship with you two, but he'll have no real authority beyond that."

"Yeah, the fact that Sneed is here means they are ready to negotiate tonight. They don't want to have you two go off on your tour without a deal. We've dealt with her before - we supply a number of concessions products for the league. She's tough but she won't bust your knuts when she'll have to work with you again - it makes for bad blood and contentious negotiations in the future. She knows you only really screw your opposite over when you're sure you'll never see them again, and they won't be spreading the word that you can't be trusted."

"There's ethics in negotiating?" asked Ron. "I always had the impression that you just did everything you could to get whatever you can."

"Yeah, that's the reputation, isn't it? Most people, at least in our experience, are more ethical than that, just as a matter of upbringing, or at least long-term good business sense. Business runs on having a fair amount of trust."

"Really?" asked Ron incredulously.

"Even among muggles," confirmed Harry. "My uncle was certainly no saint, but when he cut a deal, he would never try to cheat anyone. When he made a deal for a certain number of drills to be delivered at a certain time, he made sure they could be delivered. If some of them were not up to quality, he got them replaced immediately. He didn't want to, so he had quality control to make sure the drills were good. But the fact that he always made good on the deals he made convinced his customers he was reliable and good to do business with. That way the first deal with a customer was not the last."

"That's the idea," said George. "Most of ethics is really self-interest in the long-run. You just have to take a long enough view on what's in your interest."

"Precisely, Mr. Weasley," said Tom. "We get most of our spirits from a warehouser, since we don't have space on premises for more than a week or so's supply. When we have gotten a bad batch of something from them they take it right back and make good on it. Not only is it the right thing to do, but if they didn't, we would find another supplier. Of course, when they have to take product back, they take the matter up with their source, and their supplier makes good on the deal, or risk losing the business."

"There are always a few bad eggs, though," said Fred.

"Yes, our blood suppliers are among the worst," agreed Tom. "I can't tell what I'm getting, so long as it is red. It's not as if I'm going to taste it or would know the difference if I did. Vampires expect human, goblin, or troll blood, as they may order, but I've had suppliers pass off blood from pigs, dogs, nifflers or hippogriffs. The problem is that there aren't many blood suppliers - it's not that easy to get and requires special handling. We're pretty much at their mercy if we're going to have blood available at all."

"Well, we had better get down to business," said George.

"Right you are, Mr. Weasley," said Tom. "I'll show you over. Will you be having any refreshments?"

Ron's eyes lit up and he began eying the bottles of colorful liquids behind the bar, but before he could speak, George replied, "We're doing business. We'll just have a pot of that jasmine-infused Chinese tea we had a couple of weeks ago."

"Very good, sir. Mr. Wood and Madam Sneed are just over here."

Fred and George pushed Harry and Ron out ahead of them.

"George, what gives? We're at the Leaky Cauldron - why not have some spirits?"

"Ron, we're here to do business. This is going to be your career for at least the next year, hopefully quite a few. We all need our wits about us. NEVER have more than one pint of butterbeer when doing anything serious, whether it's negotiating, playing quidditch, or doing magic. For that matter, never have more than one pint at a time, except at your own home or the home of a friend you can stay with. There are dangers enough all around, without using spirits to get stupid."

Fred stopped Ron and turned him around, looking as serious as Harry had ever seen him. "Promise us that you'll follow that advice, Ron. More than a few good people have screwed up their lives royally with booze."

"But ..." Ron looked bewildered, "I thought that was how people went about to have fun?"

"It's fun when nothing bad happens," said Fred, "but too easily bad things happen. And even if nothing dramatic occurs, trying to find your fun through drink or drugs always leads to ruin if you don't turn away soon enough. Understand?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Promise?" added George.

"Yeah, sure, I promise," said Ron timidly.

Then Fred grabbed Harry's shoulder. "You, too?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, of course. The only time I've had firewhiskey, one small glass was all I wanted."

"Yeah, good, but sometimes, fools get to making themselves drink more than they have a taste for, thinking that they want to get that 'special feeling' or they have to show off or keep up with others. It's stupid, understand?"

"Yeah, George. Absolutely. One is good and that's enough."

"Well said, Coach."

As they steered around a corner, they found Oliver Wood in close conversation with a precise-looking witch somewhat older than Molly Weasley, but in no way seeming physically limited by age.

"Wood!" Harry and Ron called. "I hope we're not interrupting," added Harry.

"Potter, Weasley," greeted Wood. "Of course not, you're why we're here. I see you brought back-ups," he added nodding toward Fred and George.

"As did you," said Ron.

"Good point. We almost always do better getting multiple views when we can. No time for that in the heat of a game or a battle, but in working out the terms of a deal, we can and should have assistance. Let me make introductions. Madam Sneed, this is Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Fred and George Weasley - I'll let them identify which is which. Gentlemen, this is Madam Gunilla Sneed."

They smiled and said their greetings. There were no handshakes as Madam Sneed did not extend her hand. "Lovely to meet all of you valiant and distinguished gentlemen. We all have quite a debt of gratitude to you for your contributions in the war."

"As if we had much of a choice," observed Harry archly.

"There are always choices, even if some of them seem unthinkable."

"Well, then, how about you all have a seat here with us and we'll get started," said Wood. Then he addressed Harry and Ron. "Of course, we asked both of you here because one or more team of the league would like to sign you up. Madam Sneed knows what all of the teams' positions are, what demands they make of their players, and what accommodations for your concerns they are willing to make. We're going to try to work out the best fit of player to team."

"Oh. Harry and I had rather hoped that we could be on the same team," said Ron.

"Well, perhaps that's a possibility," replied Wood, "but if it's a deal-breaker, then you both may have to accept a considerably reduced salary."

"Everything's negotiable, isn't it?" said Fred pointedly.

"Of course," said Madam Sneed, raising an eyebrow, "but at some point no deal can be reached."

Harry and Ron both looked at each other with some confusion.

Fred cocked his head knowingly. "And that is not something that either side wants."

"Certainly," she replied.

"Well, let's get down to it then," said Wood. "You both did splendidly at trials. Ron, you haven't played on teams as long as Harry has, so you know you have some polishing of technique to do. Harry, you've been brilliant since you first joined my team."

"Yes, but let's be realistic," interposed Madam Sneed. "Seeker is quite a limited position, with many specialists already under contract, and Mr. Potter hasn't any sort of a track record in any other position."

"'Limited position,' my arse!" exclaimed Ron. "A team on the field has as many seekers as keepers, and the pro teams usually keep three or four seekers on the roster, 'cause they get injured so often! They generally only keep 2 keepers."

"Calm down, Ron," said George, although clearly not entirely calm himself. "Harry wouldn't have been asked to come here if he wasn't wanted."

"Of course not," said Wood. "Harry, several teams had no openings for a seeker, but we have offers here from both the Magpies and Puddlemere United."

With that, Wood handed a couple of envelopes to Harry. Fred and George were crowded at either shoulder to look as Harry opened them. Harry couldn't believe his eyes when he saw offers of 22,000 galleons from both the Magpies and Puddlemere United, two of the most successful teams in the League. He knew his vault contained much more, but this was an annual salary and he had never figured to ever earn that much. The only figures he could really compare it to were his salary at Hogwarts, 2,000 galleons; the starting salary for new aurors, which was 3,000.00 galleons; and the salary of the Minister of Magic, which had been published when Mr. Weasley was formally voted in by the Wizengamot, which was 12,000 galleons.

"This is outrageous!" shouted George, no longer maintaining composure. "This would make him the lowest paid seeker in the league!"

"Too right, and he's the best seeker in all Britain, maybe the world," added Fred.

Harry had not been prepared for this reaction, but he quickly tried to compose himself into a look of similar outrage.

"I'm sure there is room to negotiate," Wood quickly added.

Madam Sneed smiled coolly. "Perhaps a bit, but with so few openings, the demand is just not so great."

Fred glowered at them. "Yeah, right, well let's see what you have for Ron."

"Ah, yes," said Wood, with visible relief, as he pulled out a considerable stack of envelopes. "Ron being larger and having done well at multiple positions, as well as there being more openings, more teams had an interest."

Harry joined Fred and George in looking in as Ron opened his stack of envelopes. Harry found himself unable to speak as he saw the range of offers, the lowest of which was 45,000 galleons per year and the greatest was 70,000 galleons per year from Ron's beloved Chudley Cannons. After a few minutes of the four of them comparing offers and requirements, Wood excused himself to go to the loo. Fred decided that this was a good time for him to go as well, and dragged Harry along.

Fred made sure that Wood went into the loo and then whispered urgently to Harry. "Harry, we're going to pump him for information. Can you practice legilemency without him knowing it?"

"I think so."

"Great. Then I'll just put a temporary anti-apparation charm on the room, so he can't pop off. Let me do the talking, okay."

They edged through the door and checked the restroom for others while they waited for Wood to come out of the stall. As he was washing his hands, Fred leaned against the opposite wall. "Wood, can we talk?"

"Of course, Weasley. About what?"

"Oh, runespoors or, maybe, what's going on with the offers."

"Not too bad for Ron, eh? Between you and me and Potter, there's a bit more room even on those, but don't let Sneed know I said so."

"We figured as much - you never lead with your best offer. Why're the Cannons so much higher than the others?"

"Oh, well, there's a few things going on with that. The Cannons are in a re-building mode, for one thing." Harry could see Wood was hiding something.

"They've been in re-building mode for over 45 years. Come on, Wood!" prodded Fred.

"Yeah, well, they really like that Ron can handle all the positions but seeker. He's not the best at any of them, but he's got a lot of talent and looks good out there at all of them." Harry could tell Wood was still hiding something.

"Harry?" asked Fred.

"I can't help but think that's not enough," said Harry, hiding that he was using his powers.

"Yeah, Wood, most players at positions other than seeker can play the others adequately, especially if they're tall and strong."

"Well ..." started Wood, who glanced around as if he was concerned Madam Sneed might be hiding around the area, "They want him but they're concerned he might not want to be teammates with the new seeker they signed."

"Not Malfoy!" shouted Harry.

"Shh, Harry, Sneed will interrupt if she hears you!" scolded Fred.

Wood looked abashed. "Yes, Harry, Malfoy. Flint and Sneed got him signed three days ago. See, the thing is, he looks fabulous out there. I mean, I don't go for blokes, but even I could see what a draw he would be for the witches. He flies so gracefully and his hair flows in the wind rakishly."

"But he doesn't catch the snitch a tenth as well as Harry!" hissed Fred angrily.

"Yeah, well, you know, that's not nearly as important in the pro game as you might have assumed. It's like this - professional sport is the business of entertainment. That is, it provides entertainment to support a business enterprise. What happens when the snitch is caught?"

"The game is over and the seeker's team gets 150 points," answered Harry, mystified at the question, which Wood obviously knew the answer to.

"Right. And what do people do when the game is over?"

"They go home, or to bars, or ... whatever," Harry answered again.

"We only need the first part - they go! If they go, they aren't buying concessions and souvenirs. They aren't talking and cheering and avoiding their problems at home for a mindless interlude. A pint of butterbeer is less than a sickle at most bars, but at the quidditch matches, it's half a galleon. People pay it while watching the games, but they can only watch a game while a game is going on. And worst of all, they are no longer being entertained when the game is over, so if they have been to a game which ended very quickly, they aren't as likely to spend the money to come to another game. Harry, what's the quickest you have ever caught a snitch?"

"Erm, under five minutes."

"At Hogwarts or the World Cup tournament, that's beautiful - I'd be so excited, I'd kiss you full on the lips."

"Please don't."

"Just an expression. In League play, that's a disaster. The break-even time for even the lowest-payroll team, Wigtown, is an hour and a half. Fred, have you even heard of a pro game taking less than an hour and a half?"

"No," replied Fred doubtfully.

"Did you think that was just a remarkable run of luck? Did you ever wonder why there had never been any seeker who caught the snitch sooner, even by some fool luck?"

Harry peered at him. "It's fixed?"

"No," said Wood hurriedly. "Not exactly. The snitch is made totally uncatchable for the beginning of the game. There are various ways - it can go out of the playing space, invisibility, hyperactivity, all sorts of things - it's always at least an hour and a half. During that time, the seekers fake it: they act like they are looking, participate in goal-scoring by blocking opponents, and stage spectacular chases and dives at imaginary snitches. Everyone just assumes they actually see the snitch and even with Omnioculars it's impossible to be sure they haven't. Even if on the odd occasion, someone is certain the snitch is not there, it's assumed that one of the seekers is engaging in some ploy to assist scoring or ditch the other seeker. The seekers are signaled when the snitch has returned to normal state, so they can start seeking for real. From there on, it's all played straight."

"Well, I'll be," said Fred. "I never knew."

"You're not supposed to. If it was anybody but Harry, I wouldn't have told, but we all owe Harry at least that much and he'll find out once he's signed."

"Okay, so what does this have to do with preferring Malfoy over Harry?"

"The teams perceived Malfoy would put more people in the seats, especially witches. His long white hair looks great from a distance, he has that bad-boy swagger that turns witches on, and he's not over-exposed."

"Well, I can respect the bottom line," said Fred, "but you know, the wizarding world owes Harry a heck of a lot."

"No doubt," said Wood. "You'll never hear me say otherwise. People are fickle. Harry was the hero from the war, but the war is over and people want to forget the terror of that time. Polls and surveys were taken, and while Harry still has a lot of respect, people are a bit tired of him."

"Until some other dark wizard that the aurors can't handle rises up, and then they'll want me to fix it again."

"I know," Wood acknowledged. "It's a matter of 'what can you do for me now?' They don't need a miracle worker and savior now, so they aren't interested in you. Harry, I'm with you on this, and if some dark wizard should start to make trouble, just give me the word and I'll be there. But right now, we're talking about what the League wants to field, and the League wants to field whoever will sell tickets and concessions."

Fred shook his head sadly, until Harry peered into Wood's eyes and said, "Come on, Wood, be straight with us. That's not the whole story."

Wood stared sternly back. "I didn't know you could do that; I thought it was just between you and ... him."

"I usually suppress it, particularly around friends, but ... we suspected something was up that you didn't want to tell us."

"Alright then," relented Wood. "Most of the teams don't want you because of your heritage."

"My ... I hope you mean the Voldemort connection!"

"No, you know I mean your blood."

Fred could barely contain himself. He growled dangerously, "Those pompous, arrogant, worthless trolls owe their lives to Harry, and they won't even let him play on their bloody quidditch team!? Because he's a 'half-blood'!?"

Harry appreciated Fred's anger, and enjoyed the way it made Wood quail as well.

"It's about filling the seats, Fred. Most teams only take full-bloods. Truth be told, nearly all the quidditch players are full-blood for at least three generations back. Most athletes with muggle relatives prefer to play and watch muggle games, so they can share with family. Harry's an oddity, being such a natural at it. Just about all of the quidditch fans are full-bloods and many won't be fans of teams with mixed-bloods. Three generations seems to be the minimum amount of dilution of muggle blood they'll accept, at least if a player makes the effort to pass for full-blood."

"This is just incredible," said Harry, disgustedly. "So, are Montrose and Puddlemere the only teams that will take 'scum' like me?"

Wood's mouth opened and closed like he wanted to upbraid Harry. He pled instead. "Please don't talk that way, Potter. You know most of us don't think that way. It's just that enough do to force the teams to do this. Basically you're right, Puddlemere and Montrose are the only teams that take mixed-blood wizards. The Harpies take mixed-blood witches, but only witches. They couldn't be choosy about blood and still field an all-witch team."

"So what do you reckon, Harry, do you even want to play?" asked Fred.

"Well, it really takes the shine off, but, yeah, I like to play, so I guess I'll play. Wood, you owe me- what's the best deal I can get, with the time off needed for my Hogwarts duties?"

"Alright, Harry, but you two keep this secret. I'm not much of a negotiator if I give away information like this. Montrose has always prided itself on fielding the best talent available. They only matched Puddlemere because, well, because that was the only competition. But they'll go to 50,000 galleons per year and accommodate Hogwarts."

"Yeah, I guess with the competition for non-purebloods down to the two of them, they can pretty much call the shots for that pool of talent, can't they?"

"I didn't say it was fair. At least there are a few clubs that break ranks."

"So Wood," said Harry, "doesn't it bother you to play for such bigots?"

"It's really good money doing what I love and do the best. That covers over a whole lot of bad conscience."

Harry shook his head. "Listen - everything that was said in here stays here. I don't want to take anything away from Ron. He's got some great offers and he deserves to enjoy them."

"I won't rub his nose in it, Harry, but you can't stop me from gradually waking him up to it," said Fred.

"Fair enough. Just be careful - consider who he's dating," said Harry. "We're liable to have protest marches at quidditch games if you aren't careful."

"Yeah, well it's one time I might join Hermione. This whole situation really frosts me, especially applying it to you, Harry."

"Yeah, well, it's the world we live in, isn't it? We'll just have to work at it as we can," said Harry. "We better get back to the table or they'll think something is going on in here."

"Ah, now that wouldn't affect the League," said Wood.

"Yeah, but it's not the sort of rumor I want about me," said Harry.

"Agreed. Hey, Fred?"

"Yeah, Wood," snarled Fred.

"Chudley'll go to about 90,000 to get Ron, but don't push the last dollar, okay? They really do need a versatile utility player, and they like the big rep he brings."

"Thanks, Wood. I guess you're not a total git."

"Ooh, you'll make me blush."