Texas Pages

The speeding motorcycle took the sharp corner so fast in the darkness
that both policemen in the pursuing car shouted, "Whoa!" Sergeant Fisher
slammed his large foot on the brake, thinking that the boy who was
riding pillion was sure to be flung under his wheels; however, the
motorbike made the turn without unseating either of its riders, and with
a wink of its red tail lights, vanished up the narrow side street.

"We've got 'em now!" cried PC Anderson excitedly. "That's a dead
end!"

Leaning hard on the steering wheel and crashing his gears, Fisher
scraped half the paint off the flank of the car as he forced it
up the alleyway in pursuit.

There in the headlights sat their quarry, stationary at last
after a quarter of an hour's chase. The two riders were trapped between a
towering brick wall and the police car, which was now crawling
towards them like some growling luminous-eyes predator.

There was so little space between the car doors and the walls of
the alley that Fisher and Anderson had difficulty extricating
themselves from the vehicle. It injured their dignity to have to inch,
crab-like, towards the miscreants. Fisher dragged his generous belly along
the wall, tearing buttons off his shirt as he went, and finally
snapping off the wing mirror with his backside.

"Get off the bike!" he bellowed at the smirking youths, who sat
basking in the flashing blue light as though enjoying it.

They did as they were told. Finally pulling free from the broken
wing mirror, Fisher glared at them. They seemed to be in their late
teens. The one who had been driving had long black hair; his insolent
good looks reminded Fisher unpleasantly of his daughter's
guitar-playing, layabout boyfriend. The second boy also had black hair, though his was short and stuck up in all directions; he wore glasses and a broad grin. Both were dressed in t-shirts emblazoned with a large golden bird; the emblem, no doubt, of some deafening, tuneless rock band.

"No helmet!" Fisher yelled, pointing from one uncovered head to
the other. "Exceeding the speed limit by -- by a considerable
amount!" (In fact, the speed registered had been greater than Fisher was
prepared to accept that any motorcycle could travel.) "Failure to stop for
the police!"

"We'd have loved to stop for a chat," said the boy in glasses,
"only we were trying --"

"Don't get smart -- you two are in a heap of trouble!" snarled
Anderson. "Names!"

"Names?" repeated the long-haired driver. "Er -- Well, let's see.
There's Wilberforce... Bathsheba... Elvendork..."

"And what's nice about that one is, you can use it for a boy OR a
girl," said the boy in glasses.

"Oh, our names, did you mean?" asked the first, as Anderson
spluttered with rage. "You should've said! This here is James Potter, and
I'm Sirius Black!"

"Things'll be seriously black for you in a minute, you cheeky
little --"

But neither James nor Sirius was paying attention. They were suddenly as alert as gundogs, staring past Fisher and Anderson, over the roof of the police car, at the dark mouth of the alley. Then, with identical, fluid movements, they reached into their back pockets.

For the space of a heartbeat both policemen imagined guns
gleaming at them, but a second later they saw that the motorcyclists had drawn nothing more than --

"Drumsticks?" jeered Anderson. "Right pair of jokers, aren't you?
Right, we're arresting you on a charge of --"

But Anderson never got to name the charge. James and Sirius had
shouted something incomprehensible, and the beams from the headlights had moved. The policemen wheeled around, then staggered backwards. Three men were flying -- actually flying -- up the alley on broomsticks -- and at the same moment, the police car was rearing up on its back wheels.

Fisher's knee buckled; as he sat down hard; Anderson tripped over
Fisher's legs and fell on top of him, as -- flump-bang-crunch -- they heard
the men on brooms slam into the suspended car and fall, apparently
insensible, to the ground, while broken bits of broomstick clattered
down around them.

The motorbike had roared into life again. His mouth hanging open,
Fisher mustered the strength to look back at the two teenagers.

"Thanks very much!" called Sirius over the throb of the
engine."We owe you one!"

"Yeah, nice meeting you!" said James. "And don't forget:
Elvendork! It's unisex!"

There was an earth-shaking crash, and Fisher and Anderson threw
their arms around each other in fright; their car had just fallen back
to the ground. Now it was the motorcycle's turn to rear. Before the
policemen's disbelieving eyes, it took off into thin air: James and Sirius
zoomed away into the night sky, their tail light twinkling behind them
like a vanishing ruby.

From the prequel I am not working on -- but that was fun!

J.K. Rowling. 2008