Wands and Fireguns

Wool's orphanage- the blasted end of the skrewt. A world set in 1938, where there's a big chance you'll die of chickenpox, end up without a career or join the military forces! But that doesn't count for our female protagonist, Patsy Walters. Stuck in a house of misfits, life full ahead of her, what could possibly go wrong?

I'll give you a hint:

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Warning: use of sailor mouths (Pat)

All rights reserved 24.04.2017.


4. 04. Silencing Gods

‘Order! I will have order!’ Mrs Wool barked out as she clapped her hands together, but no avail. The entire platoon shattered out in laughter. Kids clutched their stomachs- stamping their fists and smacking their hands onto the tables.

I was trapped. My eyes shot towards Rikkard, whom himself seemingly couldn’t surpress the twitchings of his lips. Panic shot through me as I helplessly eyed everyone that had the urge to stand up and bawl out.

‘Lady Patricia, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance!’

‘Oh,oh! Princess Patricia of the kingdom of stupidity!’

‘Fat-head of the year!’

‘-She’s a real eager beaver for old geezers!’

‘-So, do we call her Patsy or Patricia?’ Eric. Sweet, stupid, little Eric seemed as oblivious as ever- Thomas smacked him onto his ‘back-bulge’, smiling nervously. You had to really know the hunchback to understand he wasn’t a smart-alecky but really, undoubtedly…most assuredly… zonked.

‘EVERYONE, OUT. OUT. OUT!’ Mrs Wool saw flaming red as she silenced the entire orphanage- all of their surprised faces directed at the pompous mountain. ‘This. This madness has gone far enough!’

Oh yes it had, I wasn’t very keen on being called stupid! The degrading of women! Even if I wasn’t very educated, I read a lot of books about the Hungarian war in the public library. That… and I’d take the chance of free time to explore the embroidered and leathered handbags and satchels of our gullible contributors - and not to deprive anyone of their coins. Over my bescumbered toes! A solid piece of chocolate or toffee would still my cravings quite succintly. Not that I’d admit to anyone of these mischievous sins… I’d get send to the convent! It’s not my fault they don’t feed us properly. Perhaps Mrs Cole should’ve invested in chocolate bars rather than dozens of empty bottles. However, I wasn’t the only one who done it.

No, I was very much surrounded by thieves and orphans.

Or perhaps just one particular orphan.

No, Patsy! Get him out of there! Not in your head! Anything but your head. Well technically he wasn’t inside of my head, but Tom Riddle had an unnerving way of making it feel just that.

The breakfast hall was emptying itself as kids threw glares towards me with destructive complaints and wishes to see me choke whilst playing leapfrog in the courtyard. For some audiences that would’ve been no problem- however, as I was just a lady, with no special certifications in martial arts, it would be a ginormous problem. Humongous. Grand.

‘Come on-‘ I patted Eric onto his arm and signalled for him to join the angry mob of orphans outside. He seemed to be busy with trying to work away his porridge- couldn’t blame him. I tried to sneak away behind Eric’s hunchback in hopes that Mrs Wool wouldn’t see me- I didn’t have the strength to deal with her lectures.

I was almost there. I could see the exit already... just a few more steps until…

Ha! Take that you pompous melon!

As I got outside of the doors and did my imaginairy victory dance, I started walking until I realised someone grabbed my collar and held me back. With a tug I was back into the breakfast hall, already fearing what would be coming next.

As the last children left the hall, Mrs Wool directed herself towards me with a irriated look. Me. Me? What? I didn’t do nothing. This is simply unfair!

Standing in a cross-armed stance, the towering hawk looked as if she had grown a second head. ‘Patricia Walters! Have you gotten any idea how much of a row you have started?’

‘It’s Patsy.‘ I corrected and smiled sheepishly. Perhaps my hopes were getting too high after all. ‘I’m sorry but I didn’t start it-‘

‘Sit down Miss Walters-‘

‘But I-‘

‘Sit. Down.’

As fast as I could, I took my seat on the bench behind me, mumbling a ‘Yes m’am’ with neglect. Mrs Wool started walking around,  probably pondering what to do with me next whilst mumbling to herself in a frenzy. I began staring at the porridge on the table that suddenly didn’t seem that disgusting anymore… If I could just have one bite.

‘Patricia! If none of the children get breakfast, then you especially don’t either.’ With a yank, the owner of this cramped building took away the bowl of porridge that somehow had found it’s way into my hands.

‘Manners, young lady. Manners.’ She sneered, making the reaching for food impossible as she slided everything far enough away from me. Well…according to the breakfast regulations that are written down with the living rules of Wool’s Orphanage, depriving me from my daily breakfast can be seen as starvation and should be reported towards the inspection for housings. However, this wasn’t Kensington. They wouldn’t even give us a glance due to the uproar around the world- however they hadn’t paid attention at us since the 17th century.


House rules. The most important regulations to live together, it is said. And, in may orphanages under the legal existence by being fully licensed under the laws of the particular jurisdiction. There’s the board of health, which is some right for children to visit a doctor. Law enforcement on criminal backgrounds, for employees. However, living under the jurisdictions in the East End of London, things went a little different. Such as:

-          In general, there are strict rules and a consitent schedule. Male and females are most likely separated, and there are rules for interaction between the sexes. Ehem, we clearly have none of those.

-          Children may be required to stay in their rooms at night- any movements during the night should be signalled with an alarm. I quite remember my nights adventure downstairs wasn’t being supervised. Unless you count the tomato with her secret nocturnal rendezvous.

-          Children that have a savety plan should have privileges for interaction with other children, especially older or younger children. Yes! I should have a savety plan! But did that stop snobbs like Billy from pestering me? No. Not a single bit.

And the list goes on. I had peeked in the post once, where I had read some interesting feedback onto the quality of our orphanage. They were delighted to see such a ‘welcoming’ group, with the astounding guidance and care of our matron Mrs Cole.

Horse shit, it was. It wasn’t for nothing that we had cleaning punishment’s to make the first floor shine. Mrs Cole always wanted it to gleam till she’d see her reflextion, however I believe she hadn’t seen herself in the mirror for decades. Under the eyes of Mrs Wool, Mrs Cole had been preforming unorthodox punishments for children who misbehaved. Or the ones she just didn’t like already get a punishment by speaking out of turn. We had a special room with one window that looked over the coutryard, and once the children would be playing outside, you’d get to sit on a chair that ached your buttocks and Mrs Cole would leave you to the wolves. Well not literal wolves. But the hungry and angry faces of the mob that would surround around the window was enough to crawl back into your belly button.

And after Mrs Wool was done lecturing me, she and the other witch discussed the most sufficient punishment for my actions. Again, I had done nothing. Thus I ended up in the room of shame. With eyes staring into my soul, and the laughter that didn’t seem to fade through the glass window but rather emphasise the sound. On top of that, nobody had gotten their breakfast this morning.

I was afraid they might steal pitchforks down the street and try to pinch my head onto a stick. Or so it seemed.

I thought I must’ve fallen asleep to not hear any complaint or curse word fired back at me, but out of the blue, the noise had turned down. I smiled to myself with a tired complexion, the headache that grew finally started being the only noise that bonked through my ears. Who would be this saviour that granted me silence? Had God finally striken down every single child with a lightning bolt? I couldn’t know as I nodded off towards dreamland. Dreaming about a Greek statue with the surprising likeness of one boy that stroken down the mob of farmers that were trying to spike me. The last thing I felt before darkness swallowed me up was a hand on top of my scalp, stroking gently.

Dear Witches and Wizards,

How are my HOC’s holding up this far?

Writing takes it’s time, as yes I haven’t kept my promises of updating on regular basis,

However, this I say; Wands and Fireguns won’t ever be left behind.

There is an entire plot written out about the book,

Or should I say, books ;)

Yours truly,

Lady Dominique.


Fat-Head: A stupid person

Old Geezers: An old man, mostly an unpleasant one.

Bescumbered: A nice way of saying discharge or dung upon.. ;)

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