Acceptance
There I was, standing behind one of the stone pillars on platform 9¾, watching the people delivering their children to the Hogwarts Express. There was Neville Longbottom, the man who'd killed my master's snake. He was holding hands with some blonde woman and he were waving to a young boy on the train while the woman I presumed to be his wife was balancing a baby on her hip. There was Draco Malfoy, the little traitor, with his equally pale wife, pushing a dark-haired little girl's trolley. Hermione Granger, the one who wanted rights for house-elves and werewolves, with that gangly red-head, Ron Weasley. They were accompanied by two small red-headed girls and a brown-haired, solemn-faced boy was waving to them as he boarded the train. And then I saw them.
Harry Potter and his wife. I recognised them instantly. His dark, messy hair was unmistakable, as were her freckles. He was speaking to two virtually identical boys while his wife was comforting a crying red-headed girl. I had a clear shot. I could have annihilated the man who had destroyed the most evil wizard of the last century. But I had to find out more.
I had with me a small vial of Polyjuice. After I'd gulped down the vile-tasting liquid I became the non-descript, balding man I'd stolen hair from that morning. I walked out from behind my hiding place onto the platform. The smoke was thick in the air and all around me I heard children and parents talking, owls hooting and cats meowing. I moved towards the Potter group, casting cautious glances around me.
"Good morning, sir," I said upon reaching the Potter boy. My voice was unusually high for a man and sounded almost squeaky. "Lovely day for a train ride."
"Who are you?" Potter asked. I noticed him subtly taking up a defensive stance in front of his family.
"Barnabus Cuthbert, sir," I said, shaking his hand. "And who might you lot be?"
"This is my wife, Ginny," Potter said, indicating the young woman. "My sons, James and Albus and my daughter Lily." I noticed that he didn't introduce himself.
"And your friends?" I asked, waving a hand at the group around him.
"Ron Weasley, his wife Hermione, their son Hugo and their daughters Rose and Violet," Potter said, indicating each person as he spoke their name. "Neville Longbottom, his wife Luna, their son Duncan and their daughter Leya. And over there is Draco Malfoy, his wife Brianna and their daughter Elladora."
"Interesting," I said. "Are they all in the same year at Hogwarts?"
"James is starting third year," Potter explained. "Obviously Leya is only a baby, and Lily, Rose and Violet are all nine. Albus, Elladora, Hugo and Duncan are all starting first year."
"A lovely age," I said. "Mr Potter, I'm a writer for the Daily Profit writing a piece on the life of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and I'd like some information."
"Call him Tom Marvolo Riddle," Potter said. "It was his given name. He was an orphan and a half-blood. His mother was Merope Gaunt and his father was Tom Riddle, a Muggle who lived in Greater Hangleton. He died in The Battle of Hogwarts at age seventy-one. He used his Death Eaters as I would a plastic fork, disposing of them when he was finished with them. He murdered many people and he was a truly evil man. He was treated with respect at his cremation even by those whose lives he'd ripped apart. The wizarding world has slept sounder at night since he was killed." I was a little shocked. I'd had no idea that he'd been cremated or that he hadn't cared about us Death Eaters in the slightest.
"Thank you, sir," I said quietly. "Good day." I watched him disappear in a cloud of smoke as the train whistled and everyone began boarding.
That was the day that Thorfinn Rowle ceased to exist. No longer was I the Death Eater, faithful to the very end, who had served his time in Azkaban. I became Barnabus Cuthbert, head of Human Interest stories at the Daily Prophet, romantically connected to Kathreen Daily, one of my junior reporters and the inside expert on seeing things from the Dark Side's point of view.
I often saw Harry Potter and his wife and friends. They were in the Ministry quite a lot. I wrote about them, particularly on Harry Potter's 'entirely truthful' autobiography and Hermione Weasley's house-elf protection agency. The Dark Lord had fallen nineteen years ago. And I had finally, finally, accepted it.