Return to Liverpool
Banner made by Robin Marie
Date: 6/31/2025
The wall of bricks behind him seemed too real. Mikey paused for a second, his Hogwarts trunk wheeled behind him. The ferret basket creaking as KodoPodo shifted in sleep. Muggle and wizard alike hurried past him, parents hugging their children, small siblings scrambling up to elder ones, chattering and excitement all around. Train smoke and the familiar electric sent of the muggle world filled his nostrils. It was the type of hectic bustle that left Mikey feeling insignificant, invisible even. But today. Today, he simply felt. suspended. Like he'd been trudging along inside a dream for nine months and just waking up now with sleep's haze still lodged in his head.
His father was there, just beyond the fence, right where he had promised. Same green coat, same battered bag, leather strap across his chest, same weary eyes that seemed to smile when he saw Mikey. "Welcome home, mate," he said, hugging him a little too hard.
The drive back to Liverpool was uneventful. Mikey provided his father with the short version of his year, the safe moments, the humorous moments. A couple of stories about charms class, the pumpkins floating around in October, how KodoPodo got out of his basket one time and found himself in the kitchen (he omitted the part about who got him back). His dad chuckled and asked him questions, but there was something on his face that didn't quite sit right with Mikey. Something not quite how he remembered.
It wasn't until they'd come in the back entrance of the bakery, still with the same faint yeasty-sweet scent, its ovens now shut down for the day that Mikey detected something off.
The flat was… silent.
Too silent.
No hum from the kitchen, no slippers on the doorstep, no coat on the hook with its yellow scarf she always wore when it rained. He blinked slowly, then glanced over at his dad. She's not here," he told Mikey before he could ask. "Sit down in the kitchen, mate. I want to talk to you."
Mikey didn't move at first. His trunk remained unclaimed in the hallway and KodoPodo let out a tiny squeak from his basket. He trailed behind his father eventually, the rubber heels of his trainers squeaking on the wooden floor as they entered the kitchen.
It still had her scent. Cinnamon and cleaner and black tea.
His father sat at the little square table, his hand wrapped around a cracked mug. Mikey remained standing.
"She left."
The sentence was soft but unambiguous. With a feeling of finality. "She left a few weeks after you started school. She…" His dad stopped. Looked down into his mug of cold earl gray from this morning. "She couldn't cope. The letters from owls. The magic. You off to a school she couldn't even imagine."
Mikey's heart stopped beating. Something in his chest turned and twisted hard. "What do you mean she couldn't cope? She's my mum!"
"I know." His dad's voice broke slightly. "She loves you, Mikey. I know that. But love doesn't always mean somebody's able to see what they're scared of." He took a breath. "She didn't say goodbye. She just. packed a bag and left a note." Mikey's throat was shut, too shut to talk. He looked at the old backsplash tiles, the ones they promised to replace one day. It didn't matter, nothing mattered.
"So she just gave up," he said softly at first then louder. "She gave up on me."
"Mikey,” his father said in an attempt to comfort him.
“No!” He shouted, his voice cracking like shattered glass underfoot. "She never wrote to me, ever. Not even once. Not a single damn letter the entire year." His fists clenched. "She couldn't even try to accept it? To accept me?"
He scooted back from the table, pacing in circles as if he were a storm bottled up. "It's not like I volunteered for any of this! I didn't want to become a wizard. I didn't even know that it existed until that bloody letter came along and informed me that all of my life I'd been lied to! And now—now I'm just too strange for her? Too much?"
His father remained standing, but did not move forward. He let Mikey's words linger in the air. "I know it's not right. I hate it too," he said choking his words out. "I hate what it did to her. And to you. But she made her own choice, Mikey. And it wasn't yours to fix.". Mikey stood there shaking, fists clenched around the back of one of the kitchen chairs. His eyes teared up, although he couldn't decide if it was anger or heartbreak. Possibly both.
"Is she ever coming back?" he gasped.
His dad remained silent for a moment. Then he spoke, quietly, "I don't know."
That stung worse for some reason.
He nodded once, blankly staring in front of him, and turned away from the kitchen. He didn't say another word. Just wheeled his trunk into his room, closed the door, and slumped to the floor beside his bed. He didn't cry. He just sat there, letting the weight of it all fold him up like wet cement.
Finally, KodoPodo let out a little squeal and nudged at the lock on his basket, struggling to force himself out. Mikey let him out and watched the little creature wriggle into his lap and curl up there, warm and alive and simple in a way that felt comforting. “I’m still me,” Mikey said, softly to no one while spinning his ring on his finger. The ring his father given him. The ring he had lost and Avery found earlier that same day.
Return to Liverpool
Back in Liverpool (Part 2)
It was late morning already when Mikey climbed out of bed, yesterday’s T-shirt and socks on. His room seemed odd now, familiar, but not quite fitting any longer. He pushed the sleep from his eyes, walked to the other side of the room, and took up the letter Avery had posted. Her words curled across the paper like tiny strings of something beautiful.
He didn't read It again. He had already read it four times, but being able to hold it made a difference. It made him understand that there was still somewhere he could be, even if though all this here was coming apart under his feet.
His dad had already gone to work. The flat was only quiet for the ticking of the clock on the wall over the stove and the roar of the traffic in the distance. Mikey nibbled on a piece of toast burnt from the faulty toaster, grabbed his trainers, and headed for the pitch.
The field was behind a derelict old primary school whose swings creaked and half finished murals on the walls. The grass was uneven, the posts rusted, and the football a little flatter, but that didn’t matter. For that one instant, he felt he was sliding back into a part of himself he still knew.
“Mikeyyy!!” Jamie shouted and beckoned to him “welcome back!”
Tommo and Jamil were already juggling the ball between themselves, and some other lads from the estate stood on the wall, eating packets of crisps.
“Welcome home, mate. You left me with an idiot and with someone here who isn’t total rubbish out there on the pitch for a whole school year.” Tommo exclaimed as he thumped the ball down to him. “Let’s go.”
The game was quick, scrappy and funny. It was like no time passed at all. Like Mikey hadn't left to a different school. Mikey scored once, by luck more than design, but mostly he just passed, moved, shouted, played. Good. His body had a clue even though his head was somewhere between the castle walkways and his still kitchen.
They collapsed on the grass in a lazy circle after an hour, sweaty and puffing.
“So,” Jamie said, nudging him with a knee. “What’s it like then? Your fancy school.”
Mikey shrugged. “It’s… big, Weird, Good mostly.” He paused, glancing toward the clouds. “Different. Like living in a book and not knowing which chapter you’re on.”
“That deep, huh?” Jamil teased, chucking a few blades of grass at him.
Mikey smiled but didn’t answer. He lay back, arms behind his head. “You meet anyone cool?” Jamie asked after a short pause.
A pause. “Yeah. A few.”
“Girls?” Tommo asked, grinning like a shark.
Mikey rolled his eyes. “Maybe.”
“Go on then,” Jamie said, sitting up. “What’s she like?”
Mikey picked at the grass, debating what to say. “Her name’s Avery. She’s… brilliant. Funny. Brave. Keeps me grounded, y’know? Not afraid to tell me when I’m being a bit of an idiot.”
There was a short silence. “mate,” Jamil said, “you’re actually going on like you fancy her.”
Mikey grinned. “Yeah. Maybe I do.”
“Gonna tell her?”
He paused for a moment and really thought before he gave a response. “Dunno. It’s complicated.”
“Always is,” Tommo said. “Especially with girls.”
Mikey laughed, “what do you know about girls. You ran from Sara last summer when she invited us to play.” Tommo defend himself. “like I said it’s always complicated with girls.” Mikey laughs but it catches awkward in his chest. He sat up, suddenly realizing again the shift again, that pulling back to the weight. “She’s… been there,” he whispered. “When my head gets too loud.”
The silence after clung a fraction too long for anyone’s comfortability.
“Are you okay?” Jamie asked cautiously.
Mikey nodded his head too fast. Then he didn’t. “My mum’s left,” he whispered, looking at his shoes. “When I was at school. Didn’t even tell me. Just… left.”
Those words didn’t even feel like they were his.
The boys all froze. No one said anything right away. It wasn’t the kind of thing they were used to responding to.
Jamie cleared his throat. “That’s… that’s rough, mate.”
Tommo nudged him. “That why you’ve been off”
Mikey gave a small shrug. “I guess. I’m trying not to let it wreck me. But it’s hard.”
There was another long silence. Then Jamil broke in, saying, “Well, if you do want to talk about it, we’re here.”
“Yeah,” said Jamie. “Or if you need to kick a ball against something really hard. We can put Tommo in goal.”
Mikey grinned this time sincerely and nodded. “Thanks.”
The ball came rolling in his direction again. He kicked at it with his foot, looked up at the sky, then at his friends. “Okay,” he said, getting up. “Play another game.”
And it started all over again. His heart ached. But it was beating. But that was all that mattered at the moment.
It was late morning already when Mikey climbed out of bed, yesterday’s T-shirt and socks on. His room seemed odd now, familiar, but not quite fitting any longer. He pushed the sleep from his eyes, walked to the other side of the room, and took up the letter Avery had posted. Her words curled across the paper like tiny strings of something beautiful.
He didn't read It again. He had already read it four times, but being able to hold it made a difference. It made him understand that there was still somewhere he could be, even if though all this here was coming apart under his feet.
His dad had already gone to work. The flat was only quiet for the ticking of the clock on the wall over the stove and the roar of the traffic in the distance. Mikey nibbled on a piece of toast burnt from the faulty toaster, grabbed his trainers, and headed for the pitch.
The field was behind a derelict old primary school whose swings creaked and half finished murals on the walls. The grass was uneven, the posts rusted, and the football a little flatter, but that didn’t matter. For that one instant, he felt he was sliding back into a part of himself he still knew.
“Mikeyyy!!” Jamie shouted and beckoned to him “welcome back!”
Tommo and Jamil were already juggling the ball between themselves, and some other lads from the estate stood on the wall, eating packets of crisps.
“Welcome home, mate. You left me with an idiot and with someone here who isn’t total rubbish out there on the pitch for a whole school year.” Tommo exclaimed as he thumped the ball down to him. “Let’s go.”
The game was quick, scrappy and funny. It was like no time passed at all. Like Mikey hadn't left to a different school. Mikey scored once, by luck more than design, but mostly he just passed, moved, shouted, played. Good. His body had a clue even though his head was somewhere between the castle walkways and his still kitchen.
They collapsed on the grass in a lazy circle after an hour, sweaty and puffing.
“So,” Jamie said, nudging him with a knee. “What’s it like then? Your fancy school.”
Mikey shrugged. “It’s… big, Weird, Good mostly.” He paused, glancing toward the clouds. “Different. Like living in a book and not knowing which chapter you’re on.”
“That deep, huh?” Jamil teased, chucking a few blades of grass at him.
Mikey smiled but didn’t answer. He lay back, arms behind his head. “You meet anyone cool?” Jamie asked after a short pause.
A pause. “Yeah. A few.”
“Girls?” Tommo asked, grinning like a shark.
Mikey rolled his eyes. “Maybe.”
“Go on then,” Jamie said, sitting up. “What’s she like?”
Mikey picked at the grass, debating what to say. “Her name’s Avery. She’s… brilliant. Funny. Brave. Keeps me grounded, y’know? Not afraid to tell me when I’m being a bit of an idiot.”
There was a short silence. “mate,” Jamil said, “you’re actually going on like you fancy her.”
Mikey grinned. “Yeah. Maybe I do.”
“Gonna tell her?”
He paused for a moment and really thought before he gave a response. “Dunno. It’s complicated.”
“Always is,” Tommo said. “Especially with girls.”
Mikey laughed, “what do you know about girls. You ran from Sara last summer when she invited us to play.” Tommo defend himself. “like I said it’s always complicated with girls.” Mikey laughs but it catches awkward in his chest. He sat up, suddenly realizing again the shift again, that pulling back to the weight. “She’s… been there,” he whispered. “When my head gets too loud.”
The silence after clung a fraction too long for anyone’s comfortability.
“Are you okay?” Jamie asked cautiously.
Mikey nodded his head too fast. Then he didn’t. “My mum’s left,” he whispered, looking at his shoes. “When I was at school. Didn’t even tell me. Just… left.”
Those words didn’t even feel like they were his.
The boys all froze. No one said anything right away. It wasn’t the kind of thing they were used to responding to.
Jamie cleared his throat. “That’s… that’s rough, mate.”
Tommo nudged him. “That why you’ve been off”
Mikey gave a small shrug. “I guess. I’m trying not to let it wreck me. But it’s hard.”
There was another long silence. Then Jamil broke in, saying, “Well, if you do want to talk about it, we’re here.”
“Yeah,” said Jamie. “Or if you need to kick a ball against something really hard. We can put Tommo in goal.”
Mikey grinned this time sincerely and nodded. “Thanks.”
The ball came rolling in his direction again. He kicked at it with his foot, looked up at the sky, then at his friends. “Okay,” he said, getting up. “Play another game.”
And it started all over again. His heart ached. But it was beating. But that was all that mattered at the moment.
Reducio
The Avery mentioned is @Avery Gray
Return to Liverpool
07/07/25
Liverpool City Centre
It was a week since he'd returned. A week since the kitchen chat. Since the words "She left" had shattered something within his chest that could never be fixed. Since his mates met him with shit jokes, and the type of football that made you forget nothing of the world for a short while.
And yet.
Mikey didn't feel like he was here. Not really. He was in Liverpool once more, walking across the broken pavement of the city, past street corners' familiar off-license shops and bus stops with scabby graffiti, but existing in a memory that you couldn't quite rely on. Everything was nearly as he had left them. But the paint was slightly less vivid. Or perhaps it was him.
His trainers scuffed against the road as he wandered aimlessly through the crowds of Liverpool ONE. It was packed as usual. People weaving in and out of shops, the hum of buskers in the background, that one bloke who perpetually sold trash keychains outside the Pret.
He had no idea what he was searching for. Or maybe nothing. Or maybe something like evidence that he still belonged there. That he could still be Mikey the boy above the bakery again. Mikey from Brownlow Hill. Not Mikey the wizard.
He drifted into a Waterstones with no idea why he went in, allowing the air conditioning to slap him as he walked to the back of the shop. The books were scented with paper and ink and quiet. He ran his fingers over the spines blindly until one caught his attention. Something about ghosts. He didn't purchase it. Just opened a few pages. Words were coherent, but didn't resonate with him. His thoughts were somewhere else.
He remembered Hogwarts. Avery's laughter. Piper and being lost. Nyx and Robin and Bree. All the weird, magical, impossible things which had somehow, inexplicably, become more real than the road beneath his feet. He missed it. Missed it so badly he could taste it like iron.
He sat on the stairs next to the Liverpool Wheel and watched the sky turn to a softer grey. Seagulls shrieked overhead. He hiked up his legs close to himself and mindlessly spun the ring on his finger, the one Avery had discovered. The one that felt heavier now.
A tiny voice knotted up somewhere tight within him. Why didn't she want to know this part of me?
He swallowed and gazed at the skyline. The city seemed big today. Big and old and full of things he couldn't describe.
On instinct, reached for parchment. Recalled he didn't have any. So instead he found a crumpled receipt by a trash can and flipped it over. Fished out a pen from his pocket and began scribbling on the back, words slant and hasty.
Dear Avery,
I have no idea why I'm sitting here writing you from the bench in front of a frozen yogurt shop, but it's either that or yell at a pigeon. So we're here…
He didn't try to write more. Just grabbed the piece of paper and jammed it into his jacket.
When the street lamps finally came on, Mikey got up. He was hungry, and he wondered if maybe there was food at home. He glanced once more at the lights of Mersey and shook his head again, his hands deep in his pockets. Then he went back home.