Please review! This is the final official update. However, I am currently going back and forth making minor revisions. I will be adding more to some of the scenes, but not many substantial changes.
"The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, and must therefore be dealt with great caution."
- Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Mirror of Erised scene.
July 30, 1998
Tom Riddle once said that because of the sins of my mother, I would suffer an early death. Reader, I proved him wrong. I have lived to a ripe old age of sixty-eight and it is only now that my health fails from that horrid curse.
I was born in 1930, and knew Head Boy Tom Riddle in the tumultuous year of 1945 when the Dark Lord, Grindelwald was defeated by Albus Dumbledore. It is now 1998 and another Dark wizard that goes by the name Lord Voldemort just died a few months ago. This was all due to a boy or rather a young man named Harry Potter. Many believe Potter was chosen by the fates to destroy him.
Before discussing the Dark Lord, I must first comment on my life. It has been a beautiful one, and I graciously receive every moment, especially now I am older. My time is running short. My health starts to fail me and is in all likelihood due to the marks Riddle's magic left on my body. But he could never destroy my soul and that's what matters most.
My story after Hogwarts led me on a closer path to God. I became a nun, residing in a Welsh convent for the last several decades. I am relatively happy isolated from the magical world. As I shall explain, it had to be done for a very important reason.
As a young woman, I was forced to make a tough decision. Ultimately, I would give up my dream, but at least it resulted in even closer relationship with God.
I was in my twenties when I met and fell in love with a wizard named Geoffrey. Geoffrey had attended Hogwarts, but several years before me, ten years my senior.
Seven golden years flew by as Geoffrey courted me. It was the most indulgent and pleasurable time of my life! Even mum approved of my beau. When he asked for my hand, she happily consented. But just when I had gotten engaged, and we started to plan our wedding, something awful happened in the outside world that would destroy my own little world.
It was 1958 and the Daily Prophet was reporting near every day about a great wizard rising to power. There had been a marked disappearance of this wizard for years, some said, but suddenly he was back. He called himself Lord Voldemort. The Pureblood crowd was very taken with this Lord, and for awhile Voldemort proved a popular leader, not yet inspiring the terrors of later. I was more worried than Geoffrey who couldn't understand what it meant. Lord Voldemort was surely the evil young man that kept me on as his Secretary. It was dangerous that this man (man for want of a better word) had known me.
I was unable to explain to Geoffrey why the news of a rising Dark Lord impacted me so personally. I chose to keep my own counsel. I was torn between staying with my love, or leaving him forever.
The later choice was made.
During those months before I made my move, I prayed for a miracle. None came. I did deserve to suffer, as those on this earth are designed for it. But not because of that evil Lord Voldemort. He would come and find me if I stayed out in the open with my Geoffrey. So I retreated, as I must, isolating myself from the Wizarding world forevermore.
I still shed tears when I think about the life I left behind. Would I be a grandmother? Would Geoffrey and I remain together, faithfully entwined? Or would something had happened to cause a rift like it did between my parents? But no. It would have been a good marriage.
So sadly, I gave it all up. I was just twenty-nine. It was the hardest decision I ever made. Without telling the reason, a brief note was left. It said I would be alright, but I couldn't say where I was going. Into the night, I disappeared, taking a train and a boat, voyaging far from England. I made sure to keep my surname as private as possible, only telling the high priests my full, true name.
It was easy for me to enter the nunnery. The Catholic Church could see that father had been active in an Anglican church as a very high-ranking Dean at Trinity Church in Cambridge. They knew I, as Sister Alice would make a good servant of the Lord Jesus Christ, the Father and the Holy Ghost.
I gave myself up to God. It was a sacrifice worth making, because it wasn't selfish. I did not do it for me, even though I've loved being a nun. I could not risk Geoffrey's life and the children we would have together. At the time we were planning to marry, we were hoping to immediately conceive a child on our honeymoon. I was excited to be deflowered by the man I loved. But I could not bear the thought of creating a new life. It would mean that my child would always be in mortal danger, and so would the life of his mother, and her husband's!
Geoffrey was a truly kind man who appreciated me and we were friends as well as lovers. I would have made a wonderful wife to him. Obedient, trusting, and dutiful. Geoffrey was not stern or strict like Reginald had been to Evelyn.
I owe all my obedience to God now, my master in heaven. God knows I sacrificed so much of the happiness that could have been mine. It was prudent of me to deny myself . I am one of the few who knows that the Dark wizard who calls himself Voldemort, is really Tom Riddle, even though Riddle never told me directly. If I hadn't gone into a self-imposed exile from the magical community, he might have wanted to find me, and most certainly would have succeeded at killing me, along with my whole family.
But why would Voldemort bother to hunt me of all people? I knew too much as a girl. I discovered the workings of his secret, even if that knowledge was wiped from memory. The grievances he'd hold against me would be long. He had absolutely loathed me! I had argued intelligently against his beliefs, which must have irked him. I remembered insulting the Head Boy on a number of occasions too.
Almost upon arrival, I took my place. The vows were made at once, unlike other nuns who go into serious contemplation before choosing this kind of life. I had just turned twenty-nine years old, my whole life ahead of me and I would spend it working as a nun. There was always that passion for religion, and over the years many friends were made here.
I am thankful that my time with Head Boy, Tom Riddle left me with faith and virginity intact. For he never did take me by the front. I consider it a miracle. Back then, the young Voldemort had shaken my faith. But questioning my faith, actually left me a stronger person.
Even in that dark period of my life as a fourteen, fifteen-year-old girl the truth was always there. We chase after the truth like chasing shadows until finally we catch up with it, and find that it was actually, like our shadow, always there.
As I write this at my desk, I look out to a beautiful summer day. The convent lies betwixt rolling meadows and mountains. It is a lovely spot. I see the endless, expanse of blue, speckled with white, fluffy clouds.
And I consider what real truth and beauty is. The truth is not something that can be captured like an experiment and quantified. It is not fixed and nor is it universal. Truth has as many shades and stories as lies do. Truth comes from within. To go within, you will never go without.
Instead of being an immortal parasite, feeding on everything, we die and get our reprieve on Judgment Day.
To this day, I cannot say what made me desire him or feel that way about him. For I must admit my girlish self did feel a twinge of desire. Yes, I lusted for him. Tempting. Radiant darkness. He was a good-looking boy. I was almost seduced by the devil with want for closeness to Voldemort. I was nearly taken in by evil.
Many of the questions I have about Riddle have been left unanswered. I will never remember what happened the day I discovered his secret, whatever it was.
Lord Voldemort is dead. I am certain he did not reach everlasting life or peace of any sort.
Truth is stranger than fiction, and the facetious lies of his powers were spurious in the end, no matter how compelling those powers could appear to be.
And so I end my journal entry with a wondrous quandary. How does one know what goes on in one's head is real? It is all but a dream..Life. Life is...but a dream.
NOTE: Alice Whitman dies in the fall of 1998 from a violent fever, caused by the Clitordectomy Curse. Her death happens a few months after writing the words written above. But at least she survived Voldemort! Isn't it nice to know that the protagonist had a bittersweet life, and a happy ending after Voldemort?
I noticed that my writing flows a lot better in First Person. Perhaps I should write one of my new story ideas in this narration!