The noise ricocheted off the caverns of his mind, the mental frequency reaching an unbearable peak as it attacked his emotions. There in the muddy grass, twelve year old Marcus Cascade sank to his knees, as if consolidating the space between him and the rest of the world would prevent the sounds from penetrating his mind. But the noise was here, it was in the house, it was in every moment of his preteen life. The noise was not noise, but simply the lack of sound morphed and churned into a dull, dry hum. The lack of conversation, of laughter. There was no connection, no communication in his life, and in the hot summer days before his second year of the school that had only proved to be more of this hell, the noise rang out loud and clear.
But not another day here, he couldn't take another day of this. Not another day spent forgetting what his own voice sounded like. Not another day with his head down, ignoring the world. Not another day spent staring longingly at the violin in a corner of his room, the one that his parents forbade him from touching for fear the bow against the strings would give his mother another of those dreaded headaches. Not another day in the silence that tore at him as he sat, urging him to yell and scream and stomp and bang around. Not another day in the suppression. Not one more.
The tears spiked in the corners of his eyes, burning as, with his head tilted towards the ground, they skipped his cheeks and watered the dirt beneath him. His frame shook with his sobs, but no noise betrayed him. He lifted his head, the blood pounding away inside, and faced the long stretch of road leading away from here, from this prison. Never had he travelled down the path alone, but today, he was desperate. He stumbled getting up the first time, not catching himself before he came down on a plant. Without hesitation, he got to his feet successfully and sprinted off like a drunk at the wheel, swerving as he bolted down the sidewalk, blinded by the stinging in his eyes. His bare feet pattered where they impacted the pavement, and the sound propelled him further, until like passing through a barrier, he began to feel the freedom. He hit the side of his leg with the palm of his hand, alternating the sound with his feet until the beats became a heartbeat-like metronome, urging Marcus to continue fleeing further down the block in double time.
And not a voice sounded behind him, begging him to return. Not an eye his way, not a mind bothered.
Reaching the bottom of the hill Marcus' feet slowed until the only beat left behind was his heart pounding against his chest. He didn't dare look back for fear his worries would betray him and send him running back up from where he left. He looked up to the sign that towered over him, the arrows pointing in every which direction, mapping out the entirety of Castor Village in a single wooden post reminiscent of those in old Muggle movies. But neither a Muggle nor a movie enthusiast, he ignored the cliche and chose to walk towards town, directed by an arrow pointing left, and still shaken by his rattling breaths every time he inhaled.
But the little Muggle town was quiet too. Little shops went through doing little business with the content inhabitants of the town, their houses silent to an onlooker as they sat inside and sipped their afternoon tea. Marcus walked aimlessly, the tears coming faster as he attempted to force himself back into the quiet indifference he usually went around with. As he walked, he felt the frustration cropping back up again. He was nearly resolved to turn and walk back from the disappointing, deserted street when the heard a loud sound and a voice at the end of the road.
"Marvel!"
Marcus turned to see a mess of a middle aged man stumbling off the steps leading up to a brick building, swaying as he attempted to stand and turn back to the door. The voice did not match his stature (or current level of mental clarity) and so Marcus stepped forward to see why the proprietors of the building had expelled the man named Marvel.
"We can't do any more business with you when you're like this, Marvel. Come back in tomorrow once you've sobered up a bit and we'll happily change that, but you've reached your limit." Marcus sneaked towards the building, the curiosity catching the sobs in his throat as he watched Marvel get to his feet and stumble away down the block. Never having seen anyone act like that before, he wondered what was wrong with him. As he neared, he saw the owner of the gruff voice, a tall, stout man with a menacing stature but kind eyes standing in the doorway watching Marvel disappear around the corner. Marcus felt instant gratitude towards him for breaking the silence around him. As he disappeared into the building, Marcus debated following him inside, curious enough as to what the establishment was. He looks up a the sky, down at his watch, and noting how much time he could be should be gone for, cautiously pushed the door open.
He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, pressing himself up against the wall the by the door. There were circular wooden tables scattered around the place, all centering on a vacant wooden stage that only rose three or four inches off the ground. The walls and floors of the place were wood on woods, giving the room a sort of lodge feeling. Eyes wide, he turned his head to see a sparkling display of bottles and levers, the light glinting off of them as they rested in their rows and covered the entire back wall. Some, the ones the three or four worked used the most, were placed conveniently on the counter behind them, whereas the nicer looking bottles sat up in higher shelves, locked away until those with the right change called upon their services. But Marcus, knowing little about the world around him and never having seen a bar before, was confused as to the purpose of the whole thing.
"Hello there," the same gruff voice laughed, near enough to frighten Marcus into jumping before turning towards the man. He had a broad smile on his face now that stretched across the expanse of his broad features. Marcus, not feeling in the smiling mood, did not return the expression, but it didn't seem to puncture the man's bright mood at all. "What brings you here? You don't look like much of a drinker."
"I'm not." Marcus' eyes dropped to the floor.
"Well, no shit." The man laughed, placing a hand flat above Marcus' head, measuring him. "What are you, eleven?
"Twelve."
What are you doing in a place like this?"
Marcus looked up, this man's words being the first inclination that Marcus was a little out of place. "I was curious…" He mumbled, his eyebrows furrowing. "I can go." In all honesty, Marcus didn't want to leave. Here in this cool room with people filling every table chatting away, he could feel the color return to his cheeks, the spark replaced in him. For a moment, though he'd only just walked through the door, it felt a little like a home he hadn't known.
The man laughed a laugh that could have trembled the building if it'd been made with a more durable material. Marcus' eyes grew in surprise as the man clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"Why, I'm not gonna make you go anywhere you don't want to go. Stay if you'd like, I don't mind. Say, you want a root beer? We've got most sodas, but that's pretty much all we have for someone at your age." The man said chuckling, disappearing behind the bar for a minute. Marcus nodded, feeling the urge to smile for the first time in a very long time. He let the feeling creep to the corner of his lips, turning them up at the corners. Seeing the smile as he returned, he slapped a chilled bottle into Marcus' hand.
"That's more like it. I'm Jake, by the way. Big Jake to my friends, but I'll leave that up to you to decide." He smiled and leaned back against the wall, his eyes glinting around the room cheerily as he nodded and waved at customers around the place. Those sober enough to respond gave him a smile or a wave back, and Marcus noticed immediately how well regarded he was. He let the smile take over as he sipped his butter beer.
"Thanks… Big Jake. I'm Marcus. Cascade. So it's… alright if I, er, stick around?"
"Of course, stay however long you like. Good to know you, Marc. Can I call you that?"
"Sure."
Marc didn't stay late that night, but left early the next morning, and the morning next. Every time he walked through the door, Big Jake would give him a shout and a wave and a few of the place's inhabitants would turn to exchange smiles with him. The place wasn't perfect and it sure wasn't the more likely place you'd find a twelve year old of Marcus' background, but to Marc, it felt like the best home he'd ever known.
And even then he knew it was just the beginning.