AN: Yeah, I wrote this rather randomly. The idea came to me at one in the morning, I wrote it, and boom. Here it is. Oh, there won't be any more chapters after this. Please review!!!!!
"There's some fosters here," Four year old Mark Winterby said as he took his thumb out of his mouth with a pop then immediately put it back as soon as he finished his announcement and scuttled away, clutching his precious "blankie" to his chest.
Yes, that's where I spent my joyful childhood ever since I was three: in a foster home. How did I get there? My father hit my mother and me. He performed the Cruciatus Curse on both of us until my screams and my mother's pleading were to his satisfaction. He performed Imperious on Mother to make her do horrific things. I never told anyone. I didn't have anyone to tell.
Eventually people found out. Eventually people finally realized the madman that Mordred Snape was. They finally wised up and crawled out from underneath their rock when he killed my mother.
I always liked my mother, at least what I remember about her. She was always fairly nice to me. She yelled sometimes but for understandable reasons. It was my father I hated. I hated him with a vengeance.
I wonder now why she didn't leave him. He constantly abused her. He treated her like crap … worse than crap.
Why didn't she leave? Why did she "do it" with him in the first place? If she had left with me she would still be alive and I would live with her and not have to be trapped in a muggle foster home with little muggle children running and crying and shouting.
I know I'm a wizard. I've always known that. My father is a wizard and my mum was a witch. I've never done a spell in my life, though. I've never waved a wand. But I am a wizard. A wizard who has to stay in a muggle foster home.
I've never had foster parents though. I don't want them. They'd be muggles. I'd rather be trapped in this stinking foster home.
"Everyone," Mrs. Bensty said to us. Mrs. Bensty is a sickingly cheery, plump woman who wears so much perfume that it's formed a bubble of venomous gas around her. Whenever she comes near you the stench immediately causes you to have a coughing fit. She and her husband, Mr. Bensty, run the foster home. "We have Mr. and Mrs. Little here who are interested in becoming foster parents."
"Hello," Mrs. Little said in a singsong voice. She was a thin woman who looked like she was sickingly happy just like Mrs. Bensty.
Mr. Little nodded. He had a neatly trimmed mustache and was wearing a suit. He looked stern but also like he had a sense of humor. Typical foster parents; the stern but laughy dad and the sickingly happy and cheery mum.
"Did you have anything in mind?" Mrs. Bensty asked.
"No," Mr. Little said. "Boy or girl is fine."
"Age?"
"Preferably not babies or teenagers," Mr. Little said. "It doesn't really matter."
"Well, we have Jinnie, Stewart, Pamela, Cassidy -- Pam and Cass are sisters. They have to go together. Jennifer, Jenny, Mark, Emma, Will, Diana, Paul -- Paul and Diana are brother and sister. They also have to go together. Christopher, Will, Ben, Adam, Katie, and Severus."
The Littles looked blown away at all of the names. "What was that last bit?" Mr. Little asked.
"Christopher, Will, Ben, Adam, Katie, and Severus."
They raised their eyebrows at my name and scanned the group to try to find the oddball with the weird name. "Oh ... erm ... well," Mrs. Little began to mumble. She walked over to us and began pointing at people. "Er ... right. You, er ... you, you, you, and erm ... you."
Surprisingly she pointed to me. I stood up, dazed, and walked over to the group of "chosen ones."
"So who do we have here?" Mrs. Little said.
"All right. I'll give you the full tour," Mrs. Bensty said with a laugh. "This is," she said pointing to Mark who was still clutching to his "blankie" and smiling at the Littles. "Is Mark Winterby. He's four and one of the sweetest little tots in the world."
"This is Jinnie Tolls. J-i-n-n-i-e. She's nine and loves to draw. Has a lot of talent this little one. And over here is Katie McRuber. Eleven and still growing. Loves sports and nature. Stewart Whisker. He's six years old and loves playing with toy cars and things. Very bright for his age. That's Severus Snape. He's eleven." Then she lowered her voice to a whisper and said to the Littles. "He's had a terrible childhood. Father abused him and his mother. His father killed his mum in the end. All he needs, really, is a loving home."
The Littles looked at me in sympathy and alarm. I bet they were thinking, Poor child. Is he mad like his father, though? He has an awfully weird name. Looks weird too. He's probably mad.
"He likes to..." Mrs. Bensty began. She gave me a weak smile and her cheeks began to turn red. "What do you like to do, Severus?" The other kids laughed at my name. They always do this. At least I'm not one of the three Jennifers or two Wills. Putrid common muggle names.
I'll get to leave here in another month anyway. I'll get to leave this hellhole. I'll get to be with my own kind. I'll attend Hogwarts, a wizarding school where there is not a single muggle.
"Study," I replied.
"What subjects are your favorites?" Mrs. Little asked. Oh, no, they are not going to take an interest in me. There is no way in hell I'm going to be adopted. Just one more month and I'll get to leave. These damn muggles are not going to stop me.
If only I could say, "The Dark Arts, so I can blow up this damn foster home from hell and blast all of you muggles to bits." But I couldn't say this because I had been forbidden to ever say or do anything that could let the muggles know that I'm a wizard. They said if I did, I could put the whole wizarding community in mortal peril. So instead I said, "I like reading really."
"What kind of books?" Mrs. Little asked.
Will these damn muggles stop taking an interest in me! I do not want to get foster parents! Can't your thick skulls understand that? I never want to see any of you ever again and I'll never have to in a month so why can't you leave me alone until then!
"Books about wizardry. It's fascinating how someone can take control over another person's mind and thoughts. Make them do anything. If only I could do that. There are so many things I want to do."
I was cutting it close, but I had to say something that would cause these damn muggles to think that I was a psycho like my father.
The Littles smiled at me. Smiled! They are supposed to have their mouths wide open and say, "We don't want to adopt you. You're a mad child," not, "you have an imagination. That's good."
What the hell is wrong with these people???