The average No-Maj wouldn't have noticed the impossibility prowling about the diner counter, clambering over their meals and dipping its paper toes into yolk, syrup, and grease alike. They wouldn't have noticed the hastily scrawled words that plastered it like markings.
No, the paper rat went completely unnoticed by just about everyone. Except for a flush faced, freckled young woman who snatched it up with a horrified expression.
"Delia," she griped. Her aunt's name was oftentimes said in vain, for the boisterous woman had no clue what inconspicuous meant. She was a proud witch, and that meant flaunting her magic when the likelihood that the average citizen would see it was frightfully high.
When she was sure the coast was clear, the small brunette with skin like toasted hazelnuts opened the wiggling note and read. Her heart dropped into her stomach, then seemed to rocket right back up to her head.
'Trouble at MACUSA. get home. will be arriving with survivors soon. need safe place. everywhere else compromised.'
With her heart thrumming and hands shaking, Samantha turned to the grill and clicked every burner to 'Off'. She tucked the note into her apron and almost dashed to the diner door, almost giving notice to the manager before running off. Remembering the countless times she'd seen magic, how quickly it worked.
How quickly trouble could fall, and how it could end.
She picked a pen from her apron and scribbled a note onto a napkin, leaving it taped to the order rack as she raced out the back door and onto the streets.
The city was muted, the cacophony of horns and shouting less than nothing to the woman as she ran, wormed through the crowd towards home. Wanting so badly to run to the imposing silhouette a half mile away. From it rose a black, noxious smelling cloud. It carried with it the unmistakable scent of accelerant and gunpowder.
Her shoes smacked the pavement in a rhythm, kicking her forward more than pushing her up. She was almost flying, cheeks as red as the sunrise. The cold air was tearing at her lungs and she ignored it, ignored the stares as she booked it down the concrete path.
Home was a brownstone edging Central Park, a six-story structure of marble and crown molding. It was mere blocks away, and Sam was just closing the door behind as a familiar POP filled the den off the main hall. She scampered into the room, breath held as if awaiting the worst.
Delia Stormbrooke was a presence. Six and a half feet tall, ebony curls spilling form her beehive hairdo and framing her regal features. Her scarlet lipstick popped against her mocha skin and piercing jade gaze. Holding tight to her arms were their guests, a familiar brunette and a svelte but imposing man of an older persuasion. Both were dusted with ash, faces smudged with soot. She wondered, but dared not ask what happened.
Tina Goldstein was familiar- she'd met the woman and her sister enough to be an acquaintance. The curly hair, freckled man, however, was a stranger. He looked dismayed as her aunt spoke in an oddly husky tone.
"Commander Theseus, this is my niece, Samantha. Sam dear, this is a coworker. Please go fetch a pitcher of water and some glasses. We also will need some tea. Steep two tablespoons of the jar labeled 'breathe' into the large kettle please. I'll be back momentarily."
With another POP her aunt was gone, leaving her alone with their guests. Two Aurors, the crème de la crème of the wizarding world. Tina was dismissive but kind… somewhat. Sam guessed her distant attitude was more out of social awkwardness than malice. But this stranger? She hadn't the foggiest what this man would be like.
It was unnerving to be alone with the two of them. She didn't particularly have a soft spot for their kind. Nor did they for her. But they were in need, and she'd never turn away. It went against her oath to help all who sought it out.
She gestured behind them and murmured, "You can rest there on the couches. Washroom is that door there with the flowers on the door. What… happened?"
"Someone attacked us," Tina breathed. She coughed, and covered her mouth with her sleeve. Tears welled in her eyes. "No one is dead, but many are injured. Some badly. Word goes that Madam President's home was hit. She's fine, but... most of our homes are compromised."
"Then why did she bring you here?" Sam tilted her head, moving to take their accessories. The man flicked his wand and the ash was gone, whipping out the cracks of the window. The No-Maj kept her gaze averted as she took their coats and gloves. "Delia is an Auror, same as you two. Wouldn't she be a target?"
"No one knew where you lived," the man said quietly. His voice was a deep timber, sonorous yet gentle. Molten chocolate eyes sat against satin skin, sprayed with golden freckles. His loose reddish curls fell to just above his shoulders, complimenting the fashionable mustache he wore. On others, it might look ridiculous. On him, it was… admittedly smashing.
He sat on one of the assorted couches. A soft dance of dust rose into the grey light of the day. "Your aunt kept your location under wraps. On account of your…"
He didn't have to finish. Sam's cheeks turned ruddy and she nodded, suddenly quite uncomfortable in the room. "Yes. Understood. You two rest. I'll be back momentarily."
She left them quickly, eyes to the floor as she headed for the kitchen. Had Delia told them? Had they found out elsewhere? It had once been a secret, closely guarded by the family. Out of shame. She'd yet to discover who spilled the beans, but now it was more or less common knowledge. A source of agony.
The wizarding world hadn't been awful to her. But they also hadn't been kind. Countless times the hardcore supporters of Rappaport's Law had harassed her, tried to ban her from the magical community. They said she was a liability.
'No. Just an anomaly. An outcast,' she thought miserably.
The small woman set the kettle to boil and stepped into the cupboard, sifting through their expansive tea collection to find the appropriate blend. Long ago it had been carefully organized, magical and non-magical brews set apart. Nowadays Sam found that the whole thing was a game of Russian roulette.
She took the right bottle and prepared the pot of tea, was barely setting out the cups when another POP sounded from down the hall.
Footsteps filled the air and Delia strode in, cheeks painted with black ash. She took a teacup from her niece and sipped, sighing as a soft mist of darkness escaped her lips. She sounded far clearer when again she spoke.
"Good. That's the last of them. I've got to tend to some injuries, I should be back within a few hours."
Sam glowered and sighed, muttering, "I've got to be alone in a house full of wizards?"
Delia waved her hand dismissively and said, "It's just Queenie and Graves. You know them."
The younger made a small noise of worry, cheeks suddenly bright red. The Director of the Magical Enforcement Squad. The one who's job it was to make sure muggles didn't know about magic. Probably the very person who kept putting through the petitions to Obliviate her. He unnerved her because he had the authority to see her memories, her life wiped away if he deemed her dangerous.
"What? Why is he here? He's… he's too important to be here with us. Shouldn't he be with Madam President?"
The tall one shook her head and said, "It's a measure of insurance. The President and her cabinet have all been split up. Just in case one is found, the rest will remain unharmed. Relax, dear. You'll be fine."
"Be back soon please," Sam mumbled as she took the silver tray. She was remembering something her kin had said. Wasn't the other a Commander?
'you're absolutely screwed.'
With a tired smile her only living relative embraced her. "Oh sweetie. Calm down. You will be fine, I promise. Now I've got to go. I love you."
"Love you too," Sam sighed. A POP broke the air, and she was left alone in the early morning sun. It was slowly turning the gray room golden. She took a deep breath, hefted the tray, and headed for the sitting room.