murmur (l.s.)

part one

When Harry was nine, he almost missed dinner.

He got home from school on the seventeenth of March, 2003. The weather had been dreary all week, and his teachers feared that the thick cloudy sky would extend into the weekend, and maybe even the Monday after. And, as Ms. Thomas had said, that would interrupt her plans to attend her favorite restaurant with her husband and parents-in-law--would that really be such a bad thing? Ms. Catherine had stated pointedly--but the fact was that Harry could not afford to miss another recess when he had been benched throughout the whole beginning of the week. Ed and Nick had been pestering him to play 'knights' with them for the entirety of March, when the weather was finally pleasant enough to actually use the sticks that littered their small playground; not the damp twigs that had existed all winter. And, after all, he was nine now, which meant he was far too old to be sitting on the bench during playtime. Goodness, he was practically wasting away, and yet Ms. Thomas the old tool had to have ruined everything.

And so when Harry got home, he made a mental note to interrogate his mum on whether or not Ms. Thomas was actually qualified to teach his class.

What a despicable woman, Harry thought to himself. He was about to give his parents a piece of his mind. But when he arrived home, his mother already had a bubble and squeak in the oven and, weeeelll, he was quite famished (year three was demanding work, was it not?) so he decided he would put off his audit of Ms. Thomas until a night they had leftovers. That, he thought, would have to do.

So he gave his mum a kiss on the cheek, and she thanked him very much for the lovely greeting, and told him to go upstairs and play until the meal was ready and she would call him down. He was, frankly, quite relieved. What would he do without her? He would absolutely starve to death. Thank god for mum.

Gemma got home not long after, but she didn't have much interest in playing toy soldiers with him (Gemma was in year six, so she was much older than he was and she even had a crush on a boy named Jamie--how scandalous was that?) so he declared war (and won) all by himself. Gemma, he thought, was missing out on a spectacular time.

The smell of supper was wafting up the stairs, and it had to be ready soon. He saw his sister exit her room across the hallway--she had changed and was wearing jeans with sparkles on them and a top with very long and dangly sleeves. Maybe she had also applied some eyeshadow; Harry thought he saw some bright blue in a place it shouldn't have been. His older sister was such a rebel.

Harry must've gotten so caught up in the war that was currently occurring between his little soldiers he didn't hear his mother call him down for supper. You couldn't really blame him; war was quite a riveting activity. But it was only when Gemma came and leaned against the doorway of his little room when he finally realized the time. It was half-past six.

"Harry," his sister said, rolling her eyes in disaffected exasperation. "Didn't you hear mum? Supper's ready."

And so Harry apologized, and while he was slightly confused at his lack of attention, he went downstairs and ate three full servings of bubble and squeak.

That night, Harry slept very well.

•

When Harry was eleven, a doctor came to his class.

Her name was Dr. Taylor, and she was an otaryn--...and otonyl--...she was a something doctor who specialized in children's hearing. She was here, she explained rather condescendingly, a bit too much so for Harry's taste, that they would be doing a few fun activities to test the pupils' hearing. They would get to wear big, chunky headphones, and all they would have to do was follow the instructions. Piece of cake. Easy as pie. At least, that was what Harry figured.