A/N: This is my first fan fiction, so feedback is greatly appreciated.
Ever since I was born, my life has been confusing as hell.
From what I've been told, my biological mother's name was Susan. Susan Anne Bradshaw, to be exact. She was from somewhere east of Scotland.
She wasn't the most perfect person in the world. She was drunk every now and then. Ok, she was drunk all the time. Drunk enough to even get
herself knocked up, which is how I came in to the world. She was poor too, which is how I ended up on my foster mother's doorstep, like a
fucking Christmas present.
As for my father (the lovely fellow who impregnated my mom), I don't know much about him. I believe he was from London, but I'm not sure.
My foster mother (whose name is Jane, by the way) just said he was a bad man, and didn't help my mom when I came around. I'm quite
determined to figure out who he is, and when I find him, I'm gonna give him a talk about something called 'CHILD SUPPORT'.
But anyway, I came into Jane's life late one night. My mother decided to leave me on her doorstep as soon as a thunderstorm
started, so when Jane opens the door, she finds a sopping wet blanket with a 2 day-old baby inside. Hah, how cliche of my mother.
And of course, she left the oh-so-popular note stating that I was her kid, she was too poor to take care of me, my dad was a jackass
and wouldn't take care of me, and I had nowhere else to go.
Jane thankfully took me in. And kept me. She's raised me as a pretty good kid. I didn't start asking her about my parents until I was
about 8 years old, and she didn't start telling me about them until I was about 10 years old. She never said much. Like I said before,
she only told me that my mom was drunk a lot, and my dad wasn't very nice.
Then when I was 11, I got the letter.
A/N: Like I said, this is my first fan fiction, so feedback is wonderful. I know it doesn't really seem to be about Harry Potter yet, but don't worry, it will be.