"Well," Ralph replied, gesturing vaguely, "it's a broomstick. Maybe you're supposed to ride it."
James felt a sinking in his stomach. "I can't ride this thing, even if I could get it to move."
"Why not?"
"It's not mine! I wasn't all that great on the broom until I got my Thunderstreak, if you recall. We want to capture this thing, not pulverize it into a wall with me on it."
"You've gotten better at it since then!" Ralph insisted. "Even before you got your Thunderstreak, you were getting loads better. Almost as good as Zane. Go on! I'll… I'll hop on the back and throw the cloak over both of us!"
James dropped his hands and rolled his eyes. "Ralph, that's completely crazy."
Suddenly, a resounding boom echoed down the corridor leading to the pitch. It rattled the rafters, showering dust all around. Ralph and James both startled. Ralph's voice was squeaky with fear. "What was that?"
"I don't know," James replied quickly, "but I think we just ran all out of options. Ralph, get ready to hop on."
James swung his leg over the floating, gently humming broomstick and gripped the handle tightly with both hands. Slowly, he settled his weight onto the broomstick, letting it collect him.
A minute earlier, outside, Tabitha Corsica had spied something. Zane saw her gaze stop on the equipment shed. Somehow, she'd known the cyclone was suspicious and had identified the one place someone might hide and cast spells into the magical boundaries of the Quidditch pitch. Zane was prepared to bolt onto the pitch to head her off if she approached the shed. He was already concocting a haphazard plan to pretend to drag her to safety. She didn't approach the shed, though. Zane saw her take one step in that direction, and then glance aside at the elves closing and barring the doorways into the team holding pens. Tabitha turned on her heel and stalked purposely toward the door in the base of the Slytherin grandstands. Even if Zane ran full out, he'd barely beat her there. He simply had to hope that the elves would stick by their duties, regardless of what Tabitha said.
Noah and Sabrina had followed the elves to the Slytherin holding pen doors, watching from a distance as they swung them shut and threw the locking beam into place. Sabrina saw Tabitha striding across the pitch, her face grim and her wand out.
"Open those doors," Tabitha yelled, her voice firm but calm. She raised her wand hand, pointing it at the closed doorway.
"Very sorry, Miss," the grumpy elf answered, bowing slightly. "Coalition requirements. These doors must remain secure until such time as they can be opened without fear of danger or damage."
"Open them now or stand aside," Tabitha called. She was only thirty feet away from the doorway now, and Sabrina saw the look of murder on Tabitha's face. She'd blast those doors open with her wand and probably crush the poor duty-bound elves to paste between them and the wall. Obviously, Tabitha had guessed what was happening and knew that her broom was in jeopardy.
"Hey, Corsica!" Sabrina shouted, launching herself forward, trying to get between Tabitha and the doors. "You summon this cyclone because you were too proud to forfeit to the Ravenclaws?"
Tabitha's eyes darted toward Sabrina, but her pace didn't change. Her wand hand swung swiftly and locked onto Sabrina, who stopped in her tracks. Noah jumped forward to pull Sabrina back, but he was too late. Neither heard the curse Tabitha spoke, but they both saw the bolt of red light leap from her wand. It struck Sabrina square in the face, throwing her backwards into Noah. Both fell to the ground, their shouts drowned by the roar of the wind and the now yelling, confused crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Damien's voice echoed over the noise, "please let's give a big cheer for Mr. Cabe Ridcully, our beloved Quidditch official, who is currently trying to calm the cyclone with some sort of… well, ritualistic dance, as far as I can tell." Sure enough, Ridcully seemed to be dancing around the tornado as it curled over the pitch, throwing up a thick cloud of grit and dust. He pointed his wand at the funnel, but whenever he seemed to get a good aim at it, the funnel would shift, lunging towards him and forcing him to dance away. The crowd did indeed begin to cheer him, so that very few people noticed what was happening at the base of the Slytherin grandstands.
"Last chance," Tabitha called to the elves guarding the doorway. They both glanced at Sabrina, who was still collapsed atop Noah, her hands covering her face.
"Now listen here, mistress," the grumpy elf began, but he was cut off by the bolt of red light that struck the closed doors. Both elves were thrown aside as the great wooden beam that barred the door exploded with a deafening boom and a shower of splinters. Tabitha hadn't slowed in her approach to the door. She aimed her wand once more, ready to cast the spell that would throw the doors wide open. Then, suddenly, she stopped. She cocked her head, as if listening. Noah, struggling to get out from beneath the dazed Sabrina, heard it as well. Beneath the sound of the cyclone and the roaring grandstands, there was a sound like a single person yelling, and it was growing louder very quickly.
The doors to the Slytherin holding pen burst open, ripping completely off their hinges as something rocketed through them from inside. Noah had the briefest glimpse of somebody bent low over a broom hurtling past Tabitha Corsica so fast that she was thrown off her feet. She landed in a graceless heap ten feet away. The voice of the screaming rider thinned into distance as the broomstick streaked over the pitch, through the cyclone, and out the other side.
James clung to Tabitha's broomstick as tightly as he could. He'd left Ralph behind, having launched into an instant wild acceleration the moment he'd settled onto the broom. He felt the thundering shock as the broom rocketed through the cyclone, then he opened his eyes and pulled, trying to gain some control over the wildly careening broomstick. The Quidditch pitch wheeled sickeningly beneath him as the broom responded, fighting him, but unable to resist the force of his lean. The Ravenclaw grandstand loomed ahead and James struggled to pull up. He roared over the crowd, which ducked in his wake, hats and banners flying up behind him. Damien was yelling something from the announcer's booth, but James couldn't hear it over the roar of the wind in his ears. He risked a glance behind him, fearing he might have hurt someone. There were no obvious injuries as far as he could see. When he turned forward, he was heading directly toward the Slytherin grandstands again, back the way he'd come. He leaned the opposite direction and pulled as hard as he could, driving the broom into a wild, banking turn. The Slytherin grandstands spun away. With a sense of wild triumph, James realized he was getting some control over the broomstick. He looked ahead to see where his turn was taking him and gasped. He barely had time to duck his head before socking through the open door of the equipment shed.
The broom seemed to move as if it had a mind of its own. It roared through the tunnel beyond the shed and the air of the confined space pressed hard against James' eardrums. When it reached the opening behind the pedestal of St. Lokimagus, it turned so hard, threading into the corridor, that it nearly threw James off.