Chapter 21: Ain't Got No Family
Petra and Credence
"Petra. Pet, listen to me." Little Brother the First had been trying to get Petra's attention for several minutes now. Petra often thought of Sam as a kitchen knife: dull, almost impossible to break, and sharp if poked on the wrong end. Little Brother II – who most people called Percy – liked to joke that Sam had gotten the spoiled batch of their mother's breast milk, and it had soured him up from an early age.
Right now, Brother One had overcome Petra's best efforts to ignore him, as he was keeping stride with her and tugging on her blue, silk sleeve until she was forced to complain about greasy fingers.
"What are you doing? You used to be on my side," he hissed. "What about safety? You make us write letters to you every two weeks to make sure we ain't croaked, and now you're OK with an Obscurial stayin' at our house?"
Petra was shaking her head, trying to stop Brother One before his voice could raise to audible levels. "Shut up, Sam. OK, maybe I don't like it. Is that what you wanna hear? But try thinkin' about it through his eyes. He ain't got no family to come home to. How'd you like to be trapped in that stone-cold jail until you graduated? You heard Percy go on about his life when he was all upset last year. That little fella's been through a lot."
"It's what he gets for almost murdering us," Sam said – sourly – peeking over his shoulder at where Little Brother II and Credence were trailing behind. Percy was pointing at every shop and sign that they passed. The Obscurial looked at it all as if he was staring behind a veil: peering, but hiding. His shoulders compressed and his head bowed to the ground. Petra's wary heartstrings couldn't help but give a little pull. Poor thing.
Credence hadn't thought it would be this familiar. Each step they took was more and more like the life he had tried to erase from his mind. The smells – dampness mixed with crispness mixed with the smoke from men's cigars – to the sound of the cobblestone under horse's hooves, to the New York accents, varying in thickness but resounding from every aggravated mouth. The buildings were too tall to take in within the frame of his eyes. Even the shops, to his dismay, hung familiar names down from their marquees. He hadn't known that Percy had lived so chillingly close to the New Salem Philanthropic Society. Why hadn't he told him? Why hadn't Credence deduced it before he had begged Ravina to let him come here?
Walking some ways ahead of them with Sam right on her heels, Petra suddenly turned into an overflowing café whose tables spilled out of the doors and onto the cobblestone. Credence and Percy hurried to catch up so that they wouldn't get lost in the crowd.
"This'll be fun. You ain't never done this before, have you?" Percy said as they wound their way, single-file, between the tables full of people talking in loud voices. No-Majes, Credence suddenly became aware. Smells of sweet and savory that hit him upon entrance made his stomach rumble. The nerves that had given him restless sleep the past several nights hadn't allowed him to do more than pick at his meals either, and it was starting to catch up with him. By now, the hour hand on the many clocks in the restaurant all pointed straight upward. Inside the crammed diner, servers whipped around like tornadoes, putting together sandwiches for the lunch rush of patrons. Pies, cakes, and cookies all sat idly, wafting their perfume through the thick air. To the boys' disappointment, Petra didn't seem to see any of it, but walked straight back towards a pair of swinging doors that probably led to the kitchen. Credence was just wondering what kind wizard device could possibly be on the inside of that hazy cavern, when a fat man with a red face came hurrying out. A baker's hat swept over his head, and in one hand he balanced a steaming apple pie. Percy swayed slightly, a dreamy expression covering his face.
"Where you think you's goin'?" the man barked.
Petra didn't miss a beat, "Just lookin' for the bathroom if that's allowed."
"That depends." His eyes flicked between the brothers and Credence. "This way's the kitchen. Our bathrooms are for customers only. The colored one's at the far end in the back."
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Petra muttered.
The baker wasn't done looking at her suspiciously. "I think I've seen yous before, pokin' 'round this area. Listen here, whatever game you think you're playin' –"
So quickly that Credence didn't even have time to see her pull out her wand, Petra said in rapid succession, "Obliviate. Confundus."
The baker's eyes unfocused. He gazed at the pie in his hand and giggled, like it was the most extraordinary thing he had ever seen.
"Go, hurry. Percy, catch! Use the fireplace in the corner. I'll take care of this fella." Petra tossed a small pouch to her little brother and shoved the three of them through the swinging doors.
Sam grumbled as he led them along the back wall of that stuffy kitchen, "This is why I hate No-Maj restaurants."
A/N: I think I should address the elephant in the room here. I've had the pleasure of avoiding it thus far, but I just couldn't in this instance. Segregation was very much a thing in the earlier half of the 20th century and before, even towards people who were not 'black' per se. I have intentionally kept Percy-and-family's ethnicity ambiguous throughout the past two books, because I intended them to be a family of mixed race. As we know from the FB films, wizards were a lot more ahead of their time in that regard than us muggles. But it still would have effected wizards when they interacted with No-Majes. This is a delicate subject so please let me know if I'm misrepresenting anything!