Liberi Immortalis

“Liberi Immortalis”

Chapter I: Faces Familiar and New

            Lord Voldemort paced up and down the dank, dimly-lit subway tunnel. His impatience almost betrayed a hint of nervousness that Wormtail found distressingly uncharacteristic of his master. Not that Wormtail, himself, was feeling very calm about it, either. His knocking knees and chattering teeth certainly didn’t seem calm. But for once, Wormtail’s blubbering seemed justified. After all, this was the first time he, or any wizard for that matter, had ever dealt with a power totally out of their reach, a power so high that Lord Voldemort hoped to achieve omnipotence unlike any wizard before him by conquering it. Divine power.

            “What’s taking so long?” Voldemort’s raspy voice broke the heavy, sour-tasting silence in the tunnel.

            “Maybe the clocks in Heaven are a little late,” Wormtail ventured, giving a weak chuckle. A sharp, annoyed glance from his master quickly silenced him. Wormtail went back to contemplating the drop of sweat precariously balanced on the tip of his nose. Oooh, I don’t want to do this, he thought, squirming, I really, really don’t want to be here…!

            But his master had commanded him to come. And so he came, and stood huddled against the slimey stone wall, praying that he would make it safely back to his warm, cozy bed tonight. Ah, beddy-bye… how nice it would be to-

            “Silence!” Voldemort hissed sharply. His eyes darted around the cave. Wormtail looked about wildly too. Finally, he saw what it was his master was staring so hard at. A sort of hazy, luminescent vortex was slowly twisting the air in the middle of the tunnel. An extremely high ringing sound accompanied the light, but it was such a sweet, enchanting sound that neither wizard flinched. The very air around them became alive with energy.

“He’s coming,” Voldemort breathed.

The luminescence of the vortex grew brighter, and began to take shape. The light grew even more intense, and the spiraling wind grew stronger, so that Wormtail had to lift his hands to his eyes to shield them from the blinding brilliance and the bits of debris whipping around. With a flash, the silhouette of light solidified into the figure of the most beautiful person Wormtail had ever seen. An almost too-perfect face, featuring a pair of thickly-lashed, enchanting blue eyes and a perfectly-shaped rosebud of a mouth, regarded the two of them demurely. Long, flowing silvery hair swirled around the slender figure, garbed in a strikingly discordant, Gothic-looking black waistcoat and slacks. But most striking of all were the large, graceful wings that settled delicately around the figure as it hovered in mid-air.

Lord Voldemort deigned to let a glimmer of respect enter his lifeless voice. “The ‘Inorganic Angel,’ Rociel.”

Rociel turned his snowy head slightly and smiled almost benignly at him. “Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord of Wizardry. How nice to meet you.”

Voldemort nodded briskly. “Thank you for coming. Now, shall we discuss the exchange?”

Rociel gave a ringing laugh, and turned a measuring smile upon the dark-robed man. “Right to business, I see. You humans are so cute.”

Rather than being annoyed, Voldemort actually seemed to return some semblance of a sporting smile. “Well, most of us humans don’t live long enough to enjoy every moment to the fullest.” Smile fading, he continued, “Which, coincidentally, is the purpose of our meeting today.”

Rociel smiled tolerantly. “Yes, of course. The inevitable request of all mortals.” He took a few playfully mincing steps, and spun back around with an almost coy smile on his face. “Immortality.”

Voldemort nodded. “You told me there was a way to achieve complete immortality—to live at the full height of my powers forever.”

“Oh, yes,” Rociel said breezily, with a little nod. “It’s quite plausible for certain angels.”

“Then,” Voldemort said, the greedy excitement barely contained in his voice, “do it now. Give me that power and immortality now!”

Rociel stopped him with a quick shake of his head. “I said, for certain angels, it can be done. Unfortunately, the only kind of immortality I could give you would be the life of an inorganic puppet. Of course, you would be endowed with power beyond your imagining—my powers. But you would be my slave as well.”

“But you said—“

“However,” Rociel silenced him again. “Even if I, myself, cannot give you this power, I certainly can show you to who can.”

“Really.” Voldemort seemed game again. “How, then? Who must I seek?”

“First,” Rociel cut him off. “May I ask you why you wish omnipotence and immortality?”

Voldemort seemed rather taken aback. “Because,” he said simply, “that is what any mortal who wishes glory needs.”

Rociel shrugged, seeming to disregard the answer. “Then, I suppose, I shall have to find out why on my own, if you won’t tell me.” Voldemort frowned. 

Wormtail watched the impressive exchange of what must have been the supreme powers of their respective worlds, and squirmed again. Even though the sight of Rociel was breath-taking enough even for him to admire, he still felt miserably out of place. At that moment, as though sensing his thoughts, Rociel turned the full force of his beautiful smile on him.

“Your servant?” he asked, his voice a lovely, ringing tenor  that seemed to ripple across the empty space.

Voldemort also turned to look at his minion, although he was not smiling at all. “Yes,” he said briskly, “unfortunately so.”

“Ohhh.” Rociel made a pitying sound and advanced towards the cowering Wormtail. Please let him go away, thought Wormtail, who was generally afraid of everything, especially something so terribly beautiful and powerful. But as he parted his hands to peek, he found himself face to face with the Inorganic Angel. Up close, his exquisite features were even more amazing—especially the mesmerizing eyes. At a distance, they looked striking but seemed to be focused elsewhere, as if too lofty to gaze upon his worldly surroundings. But now, the sharp, laser-bright eyes bore into him with an intensity that was overpowering and seductive and alluring… but subtly, also very dangerous.

The lovely creature leaned forward to plant a gentle kiss on the top of the shaking wizard’s head. Wormtail gasped. Warmth flowed through him, and a feeling of security that he hadn’t felt for a very long time possessed him.

“There now,” Rociel said, rising gracefully, platinum locks swirling as he turned to face Voldemort who had watched the exchange expressionlessly. Rociel smiled and shrugged lightly. “How important it is to remember who it is that stands beside you in the worst of times,” he said cryptically.

Voldemort snorted. “Please, pay him no mind. Now, if we may continue? Who is it that can bestow omnipotence and immortality upon me?”

A somewhat sardonic expression slid onto the angel’s face. “For all matters of life and vitality, you would have to seek out Raphael, the ‘Healer of Heaven.’ As for the sort of power you wish, the only kind that can be transferred from angels to humans is elemental power. The four angels of the elements—including Raphael, the Angel of Wind—are also four of the most powerful and stubborn angels in existence. Michael, the Angel of Fire; Uriel, the Angel of Earth; and Jibriel, the Angel of Water. To begin with, it is nearly impossible to get their attention for matters that do not directly affect them—but then, they will also be disinclined to help someone whose motives are questionable. However,” Rociel smiled slyly, “I have a fool-proof way of getting their cooperation…”

Voldemort nodded. “Yes, tell me; I shall do as you suggest.”

“Good.” Rociel tossed a roll of parchment at Voldemort as he began to walk away. “Arrange to be at that place at that time, and make the preparations I suggested on that sheet. Everything should be fine.”

Voldemort stared at the parchment in his hands and nodded. “And,” he called after the retreating figure. “What, exactly, did you want in exchange for all of this?”

Rociel paused a moment and half turned to give the wizards a quick glance. “You shall know my wish later,” he said nonchalantly. “But… for now, I wish for you to reconsider your answer to me. Immortality and omnipotence aren’t all they’re cracked up to be…” With that, the Inorganic Angel vanished into the shadows.

*****

            Harry Potter stared into the fire crackling before him. Even seated in a plush armchair in the cozy Gryffindor common room, he sat hunched over, swathed in blankets. The room was full of the energy of excited teenagers, but Harry sat alone, for once unnoticed. The slightest hint of a frown creased his pale brow as he continued to contemplate the fire.

            “Hello? Earth to Harry!” Ron Weasley waved a hand in front of Harry’s face. “You still with us, Harry?”

            “Huh?” Harry started and looked up into the grinning, freckled face of his best friend. Behind him, their other best friend, Hermione Granger, was approaching, precariously balancing a towering stack of fat books.

            “Here you are, Harry,” she said, setting the teetering stack down beside his chair. “Plenty of books to keep you entertained while we’re away.”

            “Instead of seeing Paris, I get to read about the magical misadventures of Bright-Eye the Cyclops,” Harry said glumly. Ron and Hermione exchanged a grimace.

            “Aw, c’mon, Harry!” Ron said, trying to cheer him up. “Who really wants to go to France, anyway? I mean, what do they have there? Like, maybe a couple old museums, a tower, croissants, maybe a few hot French girls… er, heh heh…”

            Hermione glowered at Ron’s reddening face. “Oh, you’re no help!” she snorted. Turning to her other friend, she said, “All right, look Harry. Yes, this is a very exciting trip, but it won’t be the last we go on! And, after all, it isn’t the whole school—just the sixth years.”

            “Yeah!” Ron chimed in. “You’ll still have Ginny and Colin and all of them lot to keep you company.” As Harry groaned again at the thought of his unofficial fan club, Ron quickly changed the subject.

            “Hermione’s right, Harry! This won’t be the last school trip we take. And think of it this way--wouldn’t your rather visit Durmstrang in Bulgaria than Beauxbatons in France? We could see Viktor again!”

            At the thought of seeing his fellow Quidditch player and friend, Harry cheered a little. “Too bad that’s a whole year away,” he said. Not wanting to dampen his friends’ moods too much before their trip, he put on a smile. “But I can wait. Maybe I can catch up on my homework for once.”

            Hermione was very taken with the idea. “Oh, Harry, what a good idea! You can even borrow my notes if you want. Now you’ll have lots of time to study since Quidditch practices have been suspended for these two weeks.”

            “Yeah, that’s right,” Harry said, fighting to keep the smile in place on his face. “Well, you guys had better go pack. You’re all portkeying out in the morning, right?”

            Agreeing with him, Ron and Hermione excused themselves, waving good night after them. Harry watched with a heavy heart as his best friends prepared for the trip of a lifetime. Without him.

            This is so unfair, he thought, leaning his head tiredly against the cushy back of the chair and letting out a long sigh. The Dursleys, in their usual pursuit of Harry's misery, had of course refused to sign the permission slip for him to take the sixth years' trip to France this fall. Worse yet, because of the strange weather patterns that had begun around July of that year, Harry had spent one too many Quidditch practices in the rain, which resulted in a protracted case of the flu that Sirius had deemed unfit for him to travel with. And so…

            “Good-bye, France…” Harry sighed. For once, I’m the one who won’t be doing the exciting thing…  

*****

            “Father, I can’t believe this! You can’t be serious!”

            Draco Malfoy stared up in undisguised disbelief as his father slung his black traveling cloak back around his broad shoulders and turned to the door.

            “I warned you, Draco,” Lucius Malfoy said, glancing over his shoulder at his crestfallen son. “A Malfoy should never be getting grades like yours. I don’t care if the entire school is Muggle-loving, you cannot excuse these grades!” He threw the door open with a slam that made Draco jump. “I have already informed Professor Snape that you are withdrawing from this class trip. If, Draco—and only if your grades pick up by the end of this term—I will take you to France this summer. Understood?”

            “But Father—“

            “Understood?”

            Draco closed his mouth and stepped back. “Understood,” he muttered in dejection.

            “Good. I will see you at Christmas, then.” With that, Lucius disappeared out the doorway, closing the door firmly behind him.

            “I can’t believe this,” Draco said again, collapsing into a chair behind him. He glanced around Professor Snape’s empty office. When he’d been called into the Head of Slytherin’s office that day, the last thing he’d expected to see was his father, fuming silently, ominously holding his midterm report card. What beastly luck, he thought with a sigh. If report cards had gone home just one week later, he would safely be tucked away in some exciting quarter of Paris. But no, luck had been against him and he, Draco Malfoy of all people, would be missing the sixth years’ trip! Draco could almost feel the floating eyeballs and other disgusting globs in the jars behind Snape’s desk staring at him mirthfully.

            Draco buried his face in his hands as the reality of his exclusion from everyone else sank in. It was a terrible thought, that. But he knew that no amount of wheedling could change his father’s mind when he used that tone. And he knew that begging his teachers wouldn’t convince them to go against his father’s powerful influence—the same influence that he would normally boast about. Oh, how the tables had turned. He could just picture the triumphant looks on the faces of Potter, Weasley, and Granger as they departed for a trip he was barred from. It was unbearable.

            “I’m not going to France,” he moaned into his hands. “This time, I’m going to be the one left behind!”

*****

            A peculiar scent lit on an autumn breeze that gently rippled a stretch of soft grass and played through the golden-brown hair of the boy that lay in it. Sixteen-year-old Setsuna Mudou started out of the light doze he had been in. He sat up, blinking, and glanced around him.

            “What was that just now?” he muttered. A familiar feeling had washed over him for a moment. A familiar feeling… or presence. He shivered involuntarily and darted a glance over his shoulder. However, nothing amiss was in sight. The sunny day continued with its wholesome bustling. Setsuna sighed and stood up, deciding to head back to his classroom to wait for lunch period to finish. Whatever had woken him up, it wasn’t something he wanted to meet again—that much he knew.

            Maybe I’m going crazy, he thought. I’m totally paranoid, even though its been months since all that. He briefly let his mind flit over the incredible events that had shaken the entire world without its knowledge this past summer. Faces of friends he had made, and friends he had lost seem to flash before his eyes.

            “Oh, stop it!” he hissed to himself, shaking his head to clear it. But they were there, the ghosts that hadn’t stopped haunting him since that time. No matter how much time he tried to buy thinking about other things at hand, those phantom images always managed to find him time and again. Kira-senpai, with his katana buried to the hilt into his chest; Katou, gasping for breath in Lucifer’s arms, blood spurting from the huge wound in his middle—

            “Setsuna!”

            That effectively snapped Setsuna out of it. It was the one thing that always could. Sara.

            “Setsuna, didn’t you hear me?” Sara’s large brown eyes were full of curiosity as she looked at him, her head cutely cocked to one side. She was standing right at his shoulder, and he hadn’t realized it.

            “Oh, Sara,” he said, focusing on her lovely smile. He suddenly felt the need to smile, himself. Yes, the one thing that had most occupied him and helped him return to the routines of normal life was Sara. Living the blissful life of a happy couple was the one positive change to his life.

            “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you,” Setsuna said, smiling affectionately at his girlfriend as they began walking back towards his school. Then he frowned. “But what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at your school? Is something wrong?”

            Sara looked pensive for a moment. “I… I’m not sure, Setsuna.” She hesitated. “I’ve been feeling… strange since this morning.”

            “Strange?”

            “Yes. I feel like something is brewing, like a storm.”

            Setsuna looked up at the cloudless sky. “But it looks pretty clear…”

            “No.” Sara shook her head, the sun catching the golden highlights in her long, light brown hair. “Something’s coming, and it feels just like… just like back then.”

            Setsuna stared hard at her. It was just too much of a coincidence—what Sara was saying now, and the presence that he had felt a few moments ago.

            “No way,” he breathed, staring up at the horizon. He could now make out a few dark smudges in the western sky. “It can’t be happening again.”

            “No, Setsuna,” Sara said, turning to stare at the horizon as well. “This storm is brewing from the west.”

            “But I can feel it,” Setsuna growled. Suddenly, everything fell into place. “He’s back. Rociel’s back.”

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Well, what do you think? Since people don’t seem to be interested in reading my monologues, I’m trying out the adventure genre. And as an attempt to get more people interested in the most amazing manga series ever, Angel Sanctuary, I’ve decided on a crossover. A lot of themes overlap in the two series, but immortality seemed appropriate because I want to expand on Voldie-chan too. ^^ Btw, the title was inspired by “Liberi Fatli,” the title song of FF8 (not that I really liked that game, but…)

Please review! The more feedback, the more incentive I’ll have to keep writing! ^__^