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Ever since September eighth, in the oddly lonesome year of nineteen fifty-two, I knew that my dear son was destined to become a Death Eater. All of the strict signs were vibrantly visible. The constant scowling, the hopeless misbehaving, the ongoing familial pressure. It was his forever-bounded destiny. I would never bring myself to rise in between that.


I believed solely in the dark ways- the lifestyle of selling yourself purposefully to the Dark Lord. My husband, Clyde, had graduated with the Dark Lord himself, and was one of his very few so-called ‘friends’ at the moment. Clyde Rowle and Antonin Dolohov. They seemed to be more like mere acquaintances, for the Dark Lord did not have friends. He did not trust anyone but himself, merely relied on others to do things that might just cause him to be harmed. But I knew that my only son, child for that matter, would find no exception but to someday become a proud and loyal member of that profound crowd.


But none of this was even a slight disappointment for me. I was without a doubt proud that my only son would eventually serve for the most powerful wizard that the world would ever see. It was my truthful honor, and nothing could possibly make me smile any more than that.


So until the year of nineteen sixty-three, my successful husband and I raised our son. Through the few fusses that he gave, to the little affection that was shown, we raised him the very best that we could possibly manage. At the first sign of his magical abilities, we praised and rejoiced, taking our absolutely clueless five-year-old son out for ice cream. It was one of the happiest days of our lives.


But that day paired up against September first, in the, once again, oddly lonesome year of nineteen sixty-three was nothing. On that very day of that first day of the month, our now almost twelve-year-old son was leaving for his very first day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There, he would be sorted into Slytherin House, and would learn every spell out there. We, us parents, were so proud of our only son who seemed to be growing up so very fast. It seemed as though soon enough, he would be part of the rising Dark Lord’s inner circle.


He came back home every holiday to visit Clyde and I, being the polite child that he was, and updated us on every new magical ability that he was being taught. We eagerly listened, our hopes and expectations of his destiny rising greatly every time he shared something new. Sure, it was natural to learn when you were sent off to school, but our only son seemed to be progressing so much more quickly. We continued to grow more and more proud.


A few weeks after my son was sent off for his second year of school, I found out that I was pregnant again. When he first heard of the unexpected news he displayed little enthusiasm. He stopped writing letters every two weeks, and he seemed to be secluding himself more and more from his normal, everyday activities. But slowly, he got back on track, raising his grades back up to their incredibly high standards and hanging out more often with his friends.

But his life would forever be changed on June seventh, in the normally busy year of nineteen sixty-five. Clyde and mine’s daughter, Lena Elizabeth, was born. Two and one half weeks early, weighing six pounds, eight ounces, she opened my only son’s eyes up to love.


Lena seemed to be more of my son’s pride and joy than she ever was my own. He would write daily, always checking to see how his little sister was doing. Has she adjusted to the new house yet, he wrote on December second, two weeks after we moved into larger house, two towns away from our old one. Did she like the chocolate that I sent her? And that bright pink dress, was the all that he said in another letter on April twenty second of the later year. He loved her. More than he would ever love any other family member; more than he would ever even love his father and I.


It continued that way for the next two years. He would write letters every morning and they would arrive by night. My husband and I actually grew sick of them, arguing innocently over whom should have to respond to the newest one. But even though we were irritated, we thought that it was a gentle gesture coming from him. Our only son was not the type to display his emotions to anyone, whether that be us or his best friend. But four-year-old Lena was a different story.


He told Lena everything from how his studies were going to what his plans were for the future. He told her of his dreams that he would fulfill when he was finally granted his place as a Death Eater during his seventh year. She was his best friend, and he was hers.


Their relationship seemed so plain, distorted, almost, by anyone who just thought that it was just an average brother and sister friendship. It was so much more than that. It was based off of love. They both held deep respect for one another, and never at one point in the times that they were within each other’s presence, did that respect falter. It never faded. They were best friends. Best friends forever.


One night, while our son was having a late night discussion with our young daughter, I heard one word that sparked immediate interest to me. “Love.” My dear, dear son who had never felt as though he loved anyone, just simply enjoyed their company, had just spoken the word love. I had not even realized that the meaningful word had been in his vocabulary, but he spoke it twice more that night. “I love you, Lena. You are absolutely my best friend, and you will be forever and ever.” It thought that that was the last time that he would ever say those words, but he surprised me by speaking them once more that night. “I promise you that I will fall in love at some point in my life, Lena. I know that you are only a young girl, but I want you to know that I will fall for someone, and I will try to hold onto her forever. I swear.”


That was the only promise that I had ever heard him make. Even though it was not meant toward me, I always kept a keen watch out for it. A sign, any little sign that would be the result of him falling hard for a very lucky pureblood girl. Anything. But for the rest of his sixth year at Hogwarts, nothing of the sort happened.


The summer before his final year passed quickly; the now five-year-old Lena remaining the highlight of my son’s life. He would take her flying in our large backyard on his updated broom. He would play dolls with her, her favorite game, and did not seem to mind pretending to be a monster at some points. When they would go out shopping, he would grab her tiny right hand in his large left one, and buy her anything and everything that she set her wide eyes on. He was such a wonderful big brother.


But on September thirtieth, the one, single year that seemed just so right, all of our lives were changed forever. My husband and I sent a single letter addressed to our son telling him of our devastating news. Earlier that day, Lena had been walking about in our front yard- her normal routine at this age- when the single white daisy that she had been holding loosing in her grip blew away during a sudden gust of wind. I had turned my head away from the window after that innocent act, for my husband had just called my name, requesting my opinion on his newest mission. But little Lena was only to breath a few more breaths.


 I do not know exactly how that damn Muggle’s vehicle hit my only, favorite daughter. But what I knew for certain was that my little girl was dead; never to see this world from the same views again. She had run foolishly after that simple white daisy, crossing the worn dirt road without a care in the world. That hell of a Muggle. He just had to take her short life away.


My son was absolutely devastated. She was his best friend, and now she was gone forever. I remember, at the funeral, he did not speak to anyone. Not even his father or I. Absolutely no one at all. He was once again in his own little mind; trapped. It seemed to me that he would never be able to escape this time. I believed that all of my hopes and dreams were entirely hopeless.


Well, all but two. He would indeed become a Death Eater during Christmas Break that year. That was the most exciting news for Clyde and I. After loosing our only daughter, it was refreshing to realize that not all hope was lost. We still had one child left who could do great things for us. And with the Dark Lord becoming stronger and stronger, my son was needed. He was needed desperately.


But the second, more secret wish of mine also came true that year. Regina Lewis, a young Slytherin witch, two years younger than my own son, helped to morph him back into his normal self. She seemed to know of all of the right things to say to him. She noticed that there was something wrong with him, depression perhaps, and took the time to try and help him out- unlike anyone else that year.


My son fell in love with that sixteen-year-old girl that year, the large promise that he had sworn to his dead sister had finally come true. Regina was everything that he could ever want in a woman, and I was beginning to look forward to finally getting the chance to meet her. But it was much too early in their innocent relationship for her to meet us parents. That was to come later- after a few more months of dating if they ever got that far. But I was confident that it would last.


During Easter Break, after writing back and forth with her parents, my son finally brought Regina to our large home. The beautiful young woman had light blond hair that reached down to her shoulders and fair skin- a very common trait with us pureblood families. She was lovely. Everything from the innocent way that her small hand fit perfectly into my son’s large one, to the way that her tongue lolled out of her plump lips when she laughed. She walked with a certain peculiar bounce and she talked soft and delicately. She seemed perfect in my eyes.


But I should have known that perfection was not possible to achieve in reality.


My son had told her of all of his plans. He had told her of the exciting fact that he was indeed a Death Eater and a member of the very Dark Lord’s inner circle. She should have rejoiced at the extravagant news. She should have flung her bony arms around his strong-muscled neck and kissed him passionately on the lips. But she merely smiled sweetly. A little too sweetly for that matter.



She was a Slytherin, a pureblood as well, but there was just something so very different about the way that she held herself. Of course, I thought that that one difference was brilliant- the one thing that would make our powerful family all the more known. But that did not turn out to be the case.


She was a traitor. A traitor to everything that Clyde, my son, and even I believed in. She told him one day that she did not care for the lifestyle we were set in. She did not care about the purity of other’s blood, nor did she believe in the Dark Lord’s ways. The two biggest mistakes that any Slytherin could ever make.


But that confession did not seem to bother my son in the way that I thought that it would have. I figured that he would be saddened- depressed- once again without that large bit of sunshine in his life, but he never showed any sign of anger toward her. While Clyde and I would make rude remarks about the poison that ran through her mind, he would simply remain deep in thought. Always, always, in deep thought. It seemed as though his mind was always on the same topic.


But that summer, after all physical remembrance of Regina was out of my son’s life, his work as a Death Eater seemed to be his only focus. He was a loyal follower, quickly becoming a favorite of the Dark Lord’s. Well, one of the few that he laid most of his trust in. Clyde and I beamed with joy.


He was sent off on mission after mission, each time fulfilling all of the tasks that were given to him. I always stayed back, having housework and laundry to attend to. But Clyde and our son left happily, light always twinkling in their light eyes. They always worked so well as a team.


But once again, everything would soon be changed. This time in the average eventful year of nineteen eighty-four.


The two were on a mission in Italy- the furthest one that any member of the crowd had ever gone on- with six other Death Eaters. They were ambushing a wizarding ball that was taking place that night. Everything seemed to be going fine. They were taking people off guard, causing this mission to fly by easily. But no one even thought that one single wizard at the ball would be prepared. A single emerald curse flew wildly into the moist buildings air, hitting an oblivious Clyde squarely in the chest. That was the end of that.


With the death of Clyde, my son did not seem to change at all. Sure, he was still deep in thought a lot of the time, but that was not out of the ordinary ever since Regina had admitted to her disgraceful beliefs. He seemed unaffected by the whole issue.


The next seventeen years passed quicker than I would have expected after just loosing my husband. My son remained one of the most faithful Death Eaters that Voldemort could ever wish for, and even after his downfall several years previous, he was still in top shape. I thought that nothing could ever change that.


But one night, the date of August second, in the lonesome year of nineteen ninety-seven, his fulfilling of tasks stopped. Him and Antonin Dolohov were running after those three little brats, Potter, and his two best friends. They followed them into a nearby café, and it seemed as though the three blood traitors were done for. But out of their luck, they took my son and Dolohov down, and managed to escape from, what would have been, their deserved deaths.


My son was severely punished for his poor display of getting his so-called ‘simple’ job done. The Dark Lord showed absolutely no mercy for him, even though this was his very first sign of faltering with his wishes. But I was pleased. He was not killed that night. The Dark Lord seemed to have placed enough faith in him that he knew that he was not a waste. He was at least good for something more.


But only a few days after hearing of the news of failure, my life was once again forever changed.


I received a note from my son, on the seventh of that same month.


Dear Mother,


I am so very sorry for failing you like I have done. I did not mean to come back to the Dark Lord empty handed, but things did not work out my way. I know, I know, we have been over this before, but I must push forth my apologies even more. I truly am sorry for my poor actions. I was unfocused that night- thinking more about Regina Lewis than anything. I have never mentioned to you the reason for my wandering mind in the last ten plus years, but I owe it all to Regina. I guess that even though I believe strongly in my ways and my lifestyle, I was pulled mentally into hers. I looked up to the bravery and skill that it took for her to confess her true beliefs to me, and a part of me will always look up to that. And even though you are never going to see her in the same light, I want you to know that I still love her. She was my soul mate- no matter where her mind rested.


But I must bid you good-bye now. I do not want to live this way anymore, and now that I heard of the fact that the Dark Lord himself murdered Regina two years ago, I see no reason to continue on with my life. I know that it will hurt you so much. You lost Lena, your husband, and now you are losing me, but I know that you will do what is right for yourself. I will make one last mistake, purposefully this time, and that will be the end of me. I am sure of it. The Dark Lord will show no mercy, even with my strong display of loyalty over the past few number of years. I do not know whether I will see you again, but if not, please know that I love you with all of my heart. Yes, I do love you, even though you never believed that I had the ability to love. Please do not be sad. I am doing what is best for myself.


Your only son.


It was the saddest letter that I had ever received from anyone. But it meant so much to me. He loved me. And even though he was being his normally selfish self by purposefully doing what was right for himself rather than what was right for the people around him, he loved me. I never thought that those words from him would be directed towards me. I was just his bloody mother. Nothing too special about that.


His life roughly ended in that same year. It was nearing October once again, and he never came home on one strangely below freezing night. I knew what had happened right then. But I did not cry. Sure, I was saddened with the fact that I had absolutely no family left. Each of my loved ones had died a death that they did not deserve, and I am the only one that now remains. But oddly enough, I was happy for my now dead son. He knew what he wanted- he wanted to die- and that was the one thing that I was so very afraid of.


This is the biography of Thorfinn Ferdinand Rowle.


A/N: This is in response to limelight1816’s Death Eater Biography Challenge. I was assigned Thorfinn Rowle, and I used all of the information that I could find about him to write this story. The only thing that Lexicon mentioned was that he followed the trio into a little café along with Antonin Dolohov, and after failing to capture them, was severely punished.

I hope you like what I have done with this! Please leave a review behind telling me what you think of it! Every one of them makes my day!

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