When Jerry made his way down to the field the next morning, he found he wasn't the only one wearing sunglasses. Everybody on the team was chewing aspirin tabs and cursing the blinding sun.

They were groggy and slow through warm-ups. Jarvis dove to block a shot and hit his head against the goalpost. The crowd filtering into the stands let out a collective, "ouch!"

"That's got to hurt," the announcer said.

The opposing team, the Welsh Wingers, were executing their drills with the precision of a German military unit. Jerry was fuming. Even though he had been a four-star quarterback, he was never team captain. He never gave inspiring speeches. But now a fire was welling up inside him. He called everyone into the locker room.

"This is the most important game of your lives," Jerry yelled, "and you had to get roaring drunk the night before."

"And technically, some of us are still drunk," said Jarvis, who puked.

"Where the hell have you two been?" Jerry shouted at Tanya and Sammy, who were trying to sneak into the locker room with the grace of an elephant on quaaludes.

Jerry kicked a bucket across the room. The loud clattering brought everyone's hands to their ears.

"Don't you guys get it? We're going to lose everything — this game, the quidditch tournament, the whole fucking school," Jerry said. "Hogwarts isn't perfect. Far from it. But it was ours. Doesn't that mean anything to you? Unless a fucking miracle walks through that door, we're done."

Silence hung over them heavy.

Centuries of wizard education at Hogwarts was about to come to an end, and it was all their fault. The castle would be condemned and torn down, or worse, refurbished and turned into a Fuddruckers. The British loved kitschy American restaurants. Jerry felt sick. Sammy was on the verge of tears. Tanya was silent.

The doors burst open.

"Did someone call for a fucking miracle?"

It was MJ, Derek, and Lee Jordan, and they were carrying a dozen of the finest quidditch brooms on the market.

"MJ!" they all shouted. "Derek!"

"Is this a Nimbus 9999?" Jerry said, grabbing a golden broom from MJ.

"You bet your sweet ass, hombre," MJ said. "When I told my father that Hogwarts would shut down if we lost this game, he insisted on helping."

"And I knew just the magical wizarding sports store to get the gear," Lee Jordan said, patting Derek on the back. "The Li family is now the exclusive sports dealer for Hogwarts, thanks to a generous donation from Draco Malfoy."

"All Professor Jordan had to do was show my dad some film of Derek playing quidditch," MJ said, "My dad told me I had to join the team and learn from the best chaser he'd ever seen."

"We couldn't let you guys have all the fun," Derek said. "Let's kick some butt, Hogwarts-style!"

"Does this mean you'll both play?" Jerry asked Derek and MJ.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Sammy cut in. "We've already been playing well. They don't know my new plays. This could mess up our mojo."

"Mojo?" Jerry said. "What are you talking about? We need Derek and MJ."

"I really don't wanna be a stick in the spokes, folks," MJ said. "I get it."

Derek stepped in and put a hand on Sammy's shoulder.

"Listen, I didn't wanna play quidditch with you or your dickwad brother, but it's what the school needs," Derek said. "If it's not working on the field, just call a timeout and you can send me and MJ to the bench."

Sammy looked around the room. She met the gaze of Tanya who had an eyebrow arched, as if to say, "I told you so."

"Fine," Sammy said. "Let's fucking win this thing."