This is just brilliant! Oliver has written a laugh out loud story from first to last word.
I just despise children! Like really despise, know what I mean? No, you don’t? Well let me explain then. I have decided that children are ungrateful little brats who act without proof. Anyway, I need to start telling the story. I am here to correct a tale that has been told so many times it has become a fairy tale.The truth shall be told at last! Mwa ha ha ha ha ha ha!
My name is Wartnose Baggins and I am 147 year old witch. I have stunning blond hair and perfectly smooth skin (although this may be because of the Polyjuice potion I am frequently using). Anyway, this story isn’t about me, it’s about two despicable children named Hansel and Gretel. So I was sitting in my house, practising a summoning charm and chewing on a few floor tiles (My house is made of edible materials, my teeth aren’t strong enough to bite into marble anymore) when a terrible draught came through the opposite wall. Furious, I picked up my wand and hobbled over to the wall, ready to curse the mice who were eating my house into oblivion. “Right then, you scumbag!” I had screeched in rodent “I’ll give you 5 seconds to scarper!” But it wasn’t a mouse…
It was a child! A human child I tell you! Well, I hadn’t had a human in my presence since 1913! I was still furious at it for taking a chunk out of my house but I was nice. I was kind. I welcomed the children (I discovered there were two of them, one male and one female) inside for some soup. The boy was skinny and gangly, with mouse brown hair, and the girl was rather fat and dumpy, with a face like a pig and hands like dustbin lids. They were very nice to me, and I learned that they were called Hansel and Gretel. It then occurred to me that they were alone in the forest. When I asked why, however, their eyes filled with tears. “Our mother abandoned us and left us to rot!” Hansel had sobbed. I felt extremely sorry for the little dears and invited them to stay the night. They politely accepted and I put them to into a slumber with a sleep potion.
When they awoke, I summoned them up a glorious English breakfast. I must admit that it was the best day of my life! For once I was happy! I had Gretel to help me with the chores, with 2 hour breaks 3 times a day, and I let Hansel watch TV and play chess with Tiddles (my highly intelligent cat). I made sure I fattened them up so that they were able to survive when I released them back into the forest to so they could find their way home.
Then, one night, I was talking to tiddles about those infernal mice. “We’ll get them soon, my sweet,” I had whispered “We’ll put them to sleep with sugar cubes stuffed with sleeping potion and then we’ll see what’ll be eaten!” Just then I heard a noise like an angry buffalo and the door to the Hansel’s room burst open. The next thing I new, I was on fire and being called lots of things which I won’t repeat. It turned out that the idiotic boy had assumed that I was talking about him and his sister, so he had charged out of the door and shoved me into the oven! It was pain beyond your wildest dreams.
“Let me out, you overgrown fur-ball!” I had screamed at Tiddles. After roughly three days of unbearable agony (it’s hard to keep track of time when you’re stuck in an oven) I was able to catch Tiddles’ attention and get him to open the oven door. I clambered out, covered in burns, only to find my house in ruins. The little brats had eaten me out of house and home, literally! Well, if I could walk I would’ve gone to their house and blasted them to pieces. Unfortunately, however, couldn’t, so I sent up a flare with my wand (it’s made of fireproof wood) and waited.
Eventually, people from the local village found me and called healers from St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. They transported me to a bed where I lay for about 4 months. I met quite a few patients, some with injuries worse than mine. One man had been bitted by a werewolf, poor fellow. No cure for that. Another man had been bitten by a snake. He was a nice fellow, red hair, quite elderly. He had loads of kids; I saw them on Christmas day
. They were quite secretive, kept talking about “The Order.” Anyway, I got out of hospital (After requesting the redhead’s phone number) and managed to get home on my own. I spent another few days looking for the remains of my house and, when I found it, repaired it. I was still furious and was close to doing a Voldermort. However, I kept my temper and rang the police. The officer arrived at my house and told me to sit down. I obliged and planted my backside in my sherbet stuffed gingerbread armchair. He questioned me about my habits and stuff, and then came to his decision “I have come to the conclusion that you, Wartnose Baggins, got drunk, ate your house and jumped into the oven” he said in a half apologetic, half stern voice “And where is the evidence of this?” I had replied, graciously I hope. He didn’t bother to answer this, but looked over at the sherry store I shrunk and always keep hidden under my fridge. I turned the officer into a mouse, fed him to Tiddles and jumped onto my Firebolt (world cup standard broom, you know,) and flew off. I decided to take matters into my own hands.
I eventually arrived at the house, (after being whacked over the head by the next door neighbour when I turned up at her place instead) using a magical compass to locate the house. The good news: it was the right house. The bad news: they invited the woodcutter from red riding hood over to tea. I quickly transfigured the brats into sea urchins, and then tried to run from the woodcutter. “Get back here, you hag!” he bellowed. I mean really, just because I’m 147 doesn’t mean I’m a hag! I got hit by the axe a couple of times but then, in my panic, I tried to disapparate. I forgot that I wasn’t stable. I splinched myself.
So here I am, back in St.Mungo’s, trying to regrow my left arm. It’s a painful process, but it’ll be worth it in the end. I just hope that life will be easier for me now, as people should know that I’m not actually that bad. I’m getting sick of receiving Howlers from people who believe the brats (they were turned back by wizards from the ministry). So, I beg you to please pass along this truthful account of events. If you do, I’ll be able to lead an almost normal life.
Wartnose Baggins, 147
My main purpose of writing this story is to make the reader feel sympathy for the witch, but to also laugh. She is made out to be an evil character by Hansel and Gretel and is miserable at the end of the story. Ultimately, I want her to be a character to be pitied, but I also need the reader to laugh.