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Fire and ice.
Two elements predestined to fight, consume, destroy each other.
They are embodied in two ancient spirits: Nezha and Ao Bing.
They are two halves of the same thing, Yin and Yang. They have their own fights to win, destiny is all laid out for them. But who's to tell them what to do with their fates?
Nezha is a rebellious demon. Cynical, righteous, self-mocking. The heavens damned him years before birth, planning to have him killed when he didn't even exist yet. He's despised by everyone in the village for his demonic powers. In the eyes of the world, he is nothing but a reincarnation of evil spirits.
Why should Nezha listen to them? Why should he surrender to his destiny and be a demon like the powers given to him suggest? Why can't he be a hero instead? Can someone who's willing to sacrifice themself even be considered evil?
His counterpart is Ao Bing, a god of rain. Mild-tempered, composed, grounded. He's the son of a dragon, a prejudiced race cast out of the heavens. His very existence relies on the duty he has to his kind: redemption. Ao Bing is destined to single-handedly bring dragons glory again.
He tries, he really does. But the powers he possesses are not meant to be his, they're stolen and granted unfairly to him. If he's a reincarnation of divine spirits, why doesn't it feel right? The things that dragons expect of him to do... They keep feeling wrong whenever he commits them. Can someone who's willing to kill people even be considered good?
Nezha's and Ao Bing's fates weren't exactly supposed to collide. But they did. Each got into the other's way and chaos erupted on Earth. The stark contrast between their energies, the lust for one another's blood, the need for dominance. It all amplified and shrouded the world in darkness.
For their crimes, they were cursed to keep reincarnating time and again, through millennia, into the bodies of the greatest sworn enemies and rivals of space and time.
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Harry's magic is like wildfire. Inferno at the core of the Sun.
When he finds the peace of mind to concentrate, he can feel it. It's so strong that it could burn him and everything to the ground if he's not careful.
Harry can't exactly explain it, the nature of his magic. Powers are still as familiar as they are mysterious to him. He supposes that everyone feels the same way he does.
Draco's magic is like a blizzard. Hailstorm at the heart of an iceberg.
He has been studying his powers since he was 9. That's what is expected of a Pureblood child, anyway. To know their full potential early on. And he can feel it; the chilling magic embedded deep in the marrow of his bones.
Draco doesn't need to expound it, although he certainly can. It's genetics, his father's magic is very similar. What else can it be?
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The first time they both feel it is sixth year. Sixth-floor boys' bathroom.
It appears predestined to happen, in a sense. Control over their own bodies zeroes to nothing as the two rivals meet each other's eyes on that dirty, cracked mirror and their restraints snap.
'Why?' they both think as wands are drawn, prepared to fight. 'Why are you always there?'
The coldness of the bathroom soaks Draco's bones, mixing with his magic there. For a moment, it feels like it's actually coming from within, lashing out. Hatred fuels his Cruciatus, though it never reaches its target.
Across the room, the cool air clashes with Harry's fiery magic. Even when he slips and falls on the wet floor, all he can feel is a searing heat on his flesh. He sees red, eyes blazing as loathing fuels his Sectumsempra.
Then, a different kind of red, seeping out of Draco. Scarlet liquid that quickly stains the water underneath the blond's writhing body.
Harry feels delirious. What has he done?
Finally letting the chilly water soothe his anger, he can only stare at his victim with trembling limbs.
'How did this happen? It wasn't me. It couldn't have been.'
But after Snape saves Draco's life only to take Dumbledore's months later, everything else is forgotten.
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The second time it happens is Eighth Year at Hogwarts.
All plans of having a normal school year for once vanish when Harry spots Draco's name on the Marauder's Map one afternoon. Hope that — realistically — shouldn't have existed in the first place.
He jumps out of his bed, not bothering to take the Invisibility Cloak or the Map, and sprints towards that unused classroom on the fifth floor, where he saw Draco's unmoving dot hiding. Alone. He shoves the feeling of familiarity away, thinking, 'This isn't the same.'
Draco, on the other hand, hasn't been foolish enough to wish for a "normal" year. Being allowed to even attend Hogwarts has been a stretch.
No, what he had hoped for was a tiny bit of time in solitude, without his clingy friends who have taken to acting like buffers this year. It's not like he doesn't appreciate their concerns of him getting harassed by bitter, vengeful students. But it's too much, and he needs to breathe.
That's what he has been foolish about. Wanting alone time when his Number One infuriating rival is still in the same faculty, obsessed as ever. When Harry bursts into the classroom like a ragged Hippogriff, Draco doesn't even need to turn and see who it is. But he does.
The second their eyes meet, it's obvious. Every fibre of their being knows it. Their magic thrums with the need to fight. The déjà vu is strong enough to have them worked up in an instant, but not to knock some sense into them.
Even if history repeats itself, right here, right now, neither of them would care.
Wands are drawn, instinctively, but not half a word is said. Harry and Draco just glare at each other from different corners of the room. If looks could kill, they would both be two piles of ashes on the hard floor.
Then, it happens, just as they're about to lunge for each other's necks. Fire and ice grip their rigid forms. Wait what?
It's not something you see everyday. And in a hidden world with magical powers that's saying something.
It feels as though a breath is being ripped from their bodies. The air fizzes between them in colourful sparkles.
"What is happening?" shouts Harry over the roaring sounds of sizzling. He can't be sure if Draco ever responded to it, before two massive balls of fire materialize in front of them.
Or well, one of them is made of orange flames. The other resembles a flurry of snow, blue tongues of energy wrapping it up.
Harry and Draco move subconsciously towards each other, putting as much distance between the scene and themselves as they can.
"Are you seeing this too, Potter?" Draco asks as soon as the strange sounds fade away.
"I am." At least, Harry knows he doesn't need new glasses. Or a derangement potion.
The spheres don't disappear. Rather, they start reshaping into something else, something indistinct. The only thing Harry and Draco can notice are narrowed eyes in both magical constructs.
"What are they?" Draco's mind is reeling through possibilities. These spheres literally came out of him and Potter.
Maybe they're Obscuri? But that doesn't make sense. Neither Draco or Harry have repressed their magical powers, that's foolish to even consider.
Harry has no idea how to answer Malfoy's question. He wishes he'd paid more attention to Hermione's lectures on the Wizarding World. All he manages is, "Not ghosts. They're not see-through."
Despite the panic building in him, Draco groans and whirls towards Harry. "Is that honestly your argument?" he asks incredulously. "One of them is on fire while the other looks like a snowstorm. Of course they're not ghosts, you dolt."
Just as Harry is about to say something scathing back, the two ethereal beings finally morph into solid bodies. At least they look solid. And frighteningly human.
The fire turns into a man with wild, black hair that sticks up in the shapes of flames. He wears smokey eye make-up, and two red streaks of paint over his cheekbones. There's also a red symbol on his forehead. He wears black dhoti pants with a golden sash and a red vest, both in shabby condition. He's barefoot and bare-chested. Four more red streaks curl on his skin, from the shoulders down to his sternum.
The ice turns into a man with long, silver-blue hair. He wears it half down and half up gathered in a topknot held by a ring with a crystal gem. He's almost deathly pale, and unlike the other wears no make-up, except for a similar, blue symbol between his weird eyebrows. The strangest thing about him are two branch-like horns poking out of his forehead, right on his hairline. He's wearing immaculate white robes with blue motifs along the seams. The outer layer has a high collar and wide sleeves.
The outfits, the almond-shaped eyes and monolids would suggest that they are from East Asia. But how?
Numerous questions flood Harry's and Draco's brains as the two strangers start talking. Or rather, bickering.
"Long time, no see, Ao Bing," the black-haired man says, sneering at the other.
"Always a displeasure, Nezha," the horned guy replies coolly.
Harry and Draco wonder if those are their names. If so, then these Aoping and Neji or whatever they're called are definitely not from here. The teens exchange a helpless look and wait silently for something to happen, but the mysterious men don't even acknowledge their presence, too immersed in their quarrelling.
"Oh, please—"
"Need I remind you that the last time, I was the one that killed you, Hamilton."
Nezha glowers for a moment, but composes himself and grins. "I helped build a nation in that life. You're just bitter I got all the fame then and in the next life too, Tesla."
If there was any chance for Ao Bing's blue aura to turn crimson, this would have been it. His fists tighten on either side of his body as he bits out, "Working under you is a fouler curse than being reborn for eternity."
"Ahem!"
Three heads turn towards Draco who cleared his throat.
"Right. Hate to interrupt this..." His pale hand gestures vaguely in the strangers' direction. "Whatever that was you were talking about, but don't you think we need some explanations here?" he asks, pointing between himself and Harry.
At that, the latter finally jolts into common sense. "Yeah. Who are you two?"
"Apologies," the blue-haired man says with a small inclination of his head. "I suppose we do have to introduce ourselves."
The other one takes that as his cue to step forward and exclaim, "I am Nezha. Third Lotus Prince, protection deity and slayer of dragons. Born from demon powers, fire is my element." To accentuate his words, he makes a ring of flames with his hands, flexing his biceps while he's at it.
Draco stares with a cocked eyebrow and turns slightly to Harry to say, "He's a self-righteous brute like you."
A disgruntled sound leaves Harry's throat, right as Nezha pokes his tongue out at Draco.
The man in white steps forward then. "My name is Ao Bing. I am the third son of the East Sea Dragon King. I represent the element of ice," he explains calmly, while Nezha stands behind him making parroting motions with his hands. Unlike his counterpart, Ao Bing doesn't showcase his powers, keeping his arms resolutely hidden inside the enormous sleeves of his white hanfu.
"He's a pretentious ponce like you," Harry murmurs to Draco, seizing the opportunity to jibe back.
Ao Bing continues as though he hasn't heard the comment, "You must've realized by now that we're not human beings. The shapes you see us in right now are a replication of the human body. Our true forms are... much different."
From his side, Nezha rocks on his bare heels, giddy. "Yeah. He's actually a dragon, while I am a three-headed, six-armed giant god," he admits, seemingly proud of that fact. Ao Bing rolls his eyes.
Draco gives them both a dumb look as he says, "Right, right. But how come you came out of us?"
"Oh, that? That's because you two are our current reincarnations," Nezha confesses, stretching his arms above his head. "It's kinda our thing, to be reborn as enemies."
Ao Bing takes a step away from his rival to explain, "What he means is we were cursed to be reincarnated into the bodies of sworn enemies, to help them fight and see who is the best. You may have felt our presence before. Does sixth year ring any bell?"
It rings more than a bell. Both Harry and Draco are awkwardly reminded of the near-lethal fight in that bathroom.
"So, us attacking each other..." says Harry slowly, the pieces clicking into place in his head, "that was you making us?"
"No," grouses Nezha. "That was all you. And circumstances. We only sort of pushed you to give your best. It's part of who we are to want to destroy each other."
"Destroy? That's a bit too far."
For what is probably the first time ever, Harry agrees with Malfoy. If anything, he and Voldemort had been enemies who wanted to destroy each other. Malfoy is just...
Nezha's next words cut everyone's thoughts off. He throws a thumb in Ao Bing's direction as he complains, "I honestly thought I had him beat until Snape showed up and healed you, Draco."
A comment so grave uttered so nonchalantly. These two spirits must've seen a lot.
"Wow," Draco deadpans, "thanks for that."
Harry himself feels a little hysterical. "No kidding!" he shouts at Nezha. "How can you sound disappointed? I was losing my mind after I used that curse!"
On his left, Draco gives Harry an incredulous stare but the latter doesn't notice.
"Oh, give it a rest," Nezha grunts, annoyed. "You're both alive and in one piece. At least for now. Can we go back to that fight?"
Three sets of eyes give Nezha stares that clearly say he should stop talking. He shrugs at them.
Draco keeps asking questions. "How old are you two, anyway?"
And apparently his spirit, Ao Bing, is more than glad to give him answers. "We were born during the Shang dynasty in East China. So that's almost 4000 years ago."
Harry's mouth falls open comically. "4000 years? And you've been getting reincarnated ever since?"
Ao Bing nods in response, Nezha shrugs again.
Harry and Draco exchange a look. Somehow, they're thinking the same thing.
"How come you still hate each other after that many years, then? You'd think 4 millennia would turn you into reluctant comrades or something."
"Yes, well, it's hard to be 'friends' with someone who is repeatedly trying to either kill you or be better than you," Nezha admits, scratching his ear. "Seriously, can we go back to that fight? I'm bored."
"Can you not behave yourself for five minutes?" Ao Bing admonishes him. When it falls into deaf ears and Nezha keeps fussing, he addresses Draco again. "Destiny always brings us up into rivaling families."
"Hatfields and McCoys," Nezha gives as an example, suddenly serious again.
"The House of York against the House of Lancaster," Ao Bing reinforces. "Or, when there are no family feuds, we get reborn as solitary rivals on opposite sides of the same thing."
Nezha nods in a steadfast manner and lists with his fingers, "Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr. Lord Byron and John Keats. Elizabeth I and Mary Queen of Scots..."
At the last one, Ao Bing sighs something akin to contentment, admitting, "That was one of the best."
"How so?" Draco asks curiously. "The queens never met."
Before anyone can be surprised by Draco's shocking knowledge of Muggle Britain history, Ao Bing replies, "Exactly, they never met. I never saw his ugly face in that lifetime."
Nezha pulls a face at the jab. "Har-har, very witty."
Harry, who had stayed quiet for a while, calls loudly over the bickering, "So wait... You two are old spirits of Chinese origin. Aren't you supposed to speak Chinese?"
Maybe he should have kept that comment to himself. For the first time since this whole ordeal unravelled, Nezha and Ao Bing adopt identical looks of ancestral-deep offence.
Nezha is the one to chide Harry first, looming threateningly over him. "We have lived a hundred lives. Witnessed the rise and fall of empires you don't even know the names of."
And Ao Bing is right there to dab him up. "We speak every language of our mortal hosts because we rest in their bodies since birth." At least he does a better job at concealing his contempt.
"Never mind Potter here. He's stupid," Draco quips, ignoring Harry's scowl. "You said you help your hosts fight each other. How?"
"By giving them our powers, of course. Control over fire for Harry and ice for you, Draco."
"Cool," Harry breathes, his eyes wide and wondrous. "How can we use those powers?"
"Here." Nezha steps behind Harry, instructing him to roll his right sleeve up and stick the arm in front of him, palm facing upwards. "Concentrate the heat within you into your palm. It feels a bit like wandless magic. Let it pour out."
Harry does as instructed, but at first nothing happens. He thinks he hears Draco snort at his failure so he tries again, closing his eyes to focus harder.
Like a charm, it works. His skin flares with a faint wave of warmth. Harry opens his eyes to see golden lines and runes appear all over his arm. Under his awed gaze, a ball of flames bursts forth from his hand, hovering over it.
"Whoa..." is what comes out of his mouth.
This is insane. It feels just like casting magic for the first time when he was eleven. Which makes him want to have discovered this sooner.
"These powers would have been helpful during the war," he remarks thoughtfully.
"Yes, I'm sure," says Ao Bing. Harry peers up to find an unimpressed look on the man's face. "But after one too many times our human hosts used those powers for personal gain, we decided to only grant them when they are fighting each other."
From where he stands, Draco makes a soft sound of apprehension.
Harry pays them no heed. "Right uhh..." he stammers, glancing at his fireball like he doesn't know what to do with it. And truly, he does not. "How, how do I... extinguish it?" He tries shaking his hand back and forth a few times but it doesn't do anything.
"You just need to—"
Nezha is unable to finish the sentence as the fire chooses that moment to grow larger, and soon Harry's whole forearm catches on it.
He starts screaming.
"Relax, it won't..."
"Turn it off, turn it off." Harry swings his arm around like a stick, but it's futile.
"It can't burn you, you moron. Calm yourself down."
Across the room, Ao Bing pinches the bridge of his nose. "Ancestors, give me patience."
Draco stands next to him, muffling his cackling at the sight of one Harry Potter rolling on the floor, while Nezha is bent over him trying to calm him down. Failing spectacularly.
"Oh, enough."
With that, Ao Bing sends a wave of icy wind that circles Harry's arm and puts the fire out in two seconds. Harry hisses at the sudden change of temperature, but otherwise is glad to see his arm fire-less again.
Nezha helps him up on his feet, tutting at him all the same. As Harry is rolling his sleeve down, Draco saunters closer to him with a merciless smirk on his face.
"Well, that was pathetic, Potter," he mocks, still chuckling. "Oh, how I wish I'd had a camera in hand to capture it. But not even cameras could have captured your girly squeals, sadly."
Fuming, Harry shouts at him, "You try having your arm catch on fire."
Ao Bing clears his throat to put another fight on hold and continues, "As my— Nezha, was saying, our powers can't hurt you. Normal fire would and can still burn you, Harry."
"And you can still catch a cold or get ice-burned, Draco," Nezha adds.
"But the fire and ice you produce are no harm. They only feel like energy. Didn't it, Harry?"
At Ao Bing's disapproving face, Harry feels sheepish. He scratches the back of his neck and lowers his eyes to the ground. "Yeah, I guess I just panicked. There was no real heat from my... fire."
Even that sounds eccentric and far-fetched, but what is one more secret power revealed? Magic itself was something of a cartoon until Harry came to Hogwarts.
He's not sure how many world-shifts-on-its-axis moments he can go through in his lifetime without losing his goddamn mind. Speaking of life-altering situations...
"Why'd you choose us?" he asks next. "We're just petty school rivals."
"You're calling us 'petty', Potter?" Draco sneers, crossing his arms.
"Shut up, Malfoy."
"Well, for one..." Nezha starts pointedly, aiming a reproachful glare at them, "the timing was right. Our previous reincarnations died in '74 and '78."
"Who were they?" Draco asks, inexplicably engrossed in this predicament.
"The brothers Adolf and Rudolph Dassler."
Nezha gives a long-suffering sigh. "No murder came out of that either, but it did bless the world with the best shoe brand to ever exist." His expression turns somewhat proud.
"Puma is much better than Adidas."
Barking a laugh, Nezha gives Ao Bing a condescending smile. "Hah, you wish!"
Ao Bing ignores his counterpart. "Anyway, when Adolf died, our spirits waited only two years for Draco to be born in June, 1980. And Harry next month, of course."
"We had a few other options during those two years so our souls wouldn't scatter, but I wanted our next lives to go off with a bang!" exclaims Nezha all dramatically. "We don't get to have wizard hosts that often, because the two different powers keep clashing with each other. And you two would be on the opposite sides of a war. It was perfect."
It really does seem like this was written in the stars, eons before Harry and Draco came to existence. It's infuriating if you pause to think about it.
What is even more infuriating are Harry's next words. "But I fought for the light. How come the demon spirit chose me and not him?" he demands, pointing at one affronted Draco.
Blinking slowly as though measuring his stupidity, Nezha sniffs, "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear the distaste in your voice. May I remind you that I was the saviour in our dynasty, not him." Much like Harry, Nezha points at Ao Bing, who responds with an expression similar to Draco's. Nezha continues, "I chose you because your magic resembles fire. You have a passion to live, to go against the rules and make your own path. He chose Draco because his name literally means dragon."
A few steps away, Ao Bing hotly defends, "I did not! How many times must I—"
"Yeah, yeah. He's also cold-blooded and ice-y like you. Plus, that pale complexion works wonders."
Now it's Harry's turn to laugh, only he does nothing to hide it, almost doubling over with mirth.
Irritated, Draco turns to Ao Bing, "Aren't you going to say something in return?"
The long-haired man purses his lips and stands tall. "I believe I'm above childish tomfoolery such as this," he declares, high and mighty. He's so much like Draco in every way.
"That translates to 'I don't have an ounce of wit in me'," taunts Nezha, high-fiving Harry whose chortling returns.
Surprisingly, Ao Bing's features rearrange into something that clearly says 'I'll show you wit.'
"Why don't you tell them about the buns, Nezha?" he questions with a nasty smirk, eyebrows arched.
And just like that, the grin slips off Nezha's face. "Hey, hey, hey. We do not speak of that," he warns with a pointed finger.
"Indeed. Three heads come with no less than six cute little buns on top of them."
"Ao Bing!"
"Not like your human form fares much better," the dragon adds, tilting his head to the side in contemplation. "Is that why you chose Harry? Because you knew he'd have outrageous hair just like you? No offense, Harry."
"Some taken," Harry responds petulantly as he pats his hair self-consciously.
Pleased beyond words, Draco gives him a smirk and wiggles his pale eyebrows.
Before either Nezha or Harry can retaliate, Hermione and Ron of all people burst into the room. "Harry!"
They round on him, dousing him with concerned looks and questions. For some reason, the presence of two strangers in this abandoned classroom doesn't bother them at all.
Harry and Draco exchange confused glances between the two spirits.
Nezha is the one to answer their silent question. "Only you two can see us." Then he and Ao Bing turn into red and blue mists that slip back into Harry's and Draco's respective bodies.
The sensation is as weird as it was when they got out. Both Harry and Draco gasp for breath, which only amplifies Hermione's motherly worries.
"Come on, Harry. Let's go."
"Stay away from him, Malfoy," Ron snarls, aiming a scathing look at the blond.
Normally, Draco would say something back and Harry would tell Ron to leave it alone. But right now, they're both stunned into immobile silence.
Hermione and Ron physically pull Harry out of the room and towards Gryffindor Tower, leaving Draco alone.
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"What are you saying, Harry?" Hermione asks dubiously.
Harry grunts and headbutts the table the three of them are sitting around. Of course, he hadn't expected his friends to believe him right away. But he has been trying to explain the situation for the past fifteen minutes and they are still looking at Harry like they want to take him to Madam Pomfrey.
"I'm saying there's an ancient Chinese spirit living in me ever since I was born. And apparently, Malfoy has one too because we're rivals and our spirits are rivals and that's something they've been doing for 4000 years," he explains hastily, stumbling over his own words. If Harry wasn't himself right now, he would realize he sounded bonkers.
Hermione and Ron swap a meaningful look between them, to which Harry scowls half-heartedly. Alright, yes. He's totally off the rocker to anyone who hears him.
"Are you sure you're not... seeing things, Harry? I mean, nothing like this has ever been documented. Not that I've heard of, at least."
Harry glowers darkly at Hermione, although she has a point. If such a thing was real, she would have definitely read about it. But how could they explain the last hour or so? It had been too real for him to have imagined it all.
Ron isn't being that helpful either. "If this is your way to justify your obsession with Malfoy, it's not going to work," he warns, managing to sound both serious and stupid.
Harry sighs long and suffering, then fixes his friends with a seething glare. "The thing I've always wanted the most is to be normal," he says in a low tone that has the other two Gryffindors shrinking back. "I came to finish my NEWTs, hoping against hope to have a normal school year for once. I would have given up on magic if that meant I could live an ordinary life. How can you possibly believe that I would make something like this up?"
By the end of his admonition, Ron is avoiding his eyes and Hermione is squirming on her seat.
"Okay," the latter says slowly to diffuse the tension. "We believe you. You're right, you have no reason to lie to us. Especially with something like... this."
"Thank you," Harry sighs, glad they're giving him the benefit of doubt. Well, Hermione at least.
"It still makes zero sense, though," Ron quips stubbornly. "How does having a spirit or whatever in you even work?"
"Beats me," is all Harry can say as he bonks the surface of the table again. Countless thoughts run wild through his mind. Only one thing is obvious and that is, 'So much for living a normal life.'
"It explains why Fawkes likes me so much," Harry adds pensively after a while. "Creature of fire and everything."
He realizes he sounds like someone who has given up on everything this life has to offer, but genuinely has no energy to do something about it. Might as well wallow in self-pity until he actually disintegrates and Nezha is obligated to leave his body and go hunt for the next host. Godric, what nonsense.
"All right, let's break it down," Hermione decides out loud, pulling a notebook and pen out of thin air. "Start from the beginning, leave nothing out."
With another sigh, Harry subjects himself to an intensive round of questioning until he's sure there's nothing he has left unsaid. Not only about his earlier encounter. It seems as though Hermione is trying to dig into the deepest, darkest parts of his unconsciousness for answers. Which is not abnormal for her, but still disconcerting.
"I don't get why the demon chose you and not the ferret."
Harry gives Ron a face that screams 'yes, thank you' and complains, "That's exactly what I thought too. Apparently a Horcrux wasn't enough. I just had to have an ancient, evil spirit in me too."
'Tell me about it,' a voice quips inside Harry's head, putting all of his other thoughts on hold. 'I had to fight for dominance with that disgusting thing for years. Sometimes I wished I had chosen Draco after all.'
"Oh, no..." Harry breathes, eyes going wide. There's no way.
"What? What is it?"
Harry gives Hermione a haunted look as he whispers, "He's talking inside my head now!"
'Wicked, innit? I drove many hosts crazy like this.'
No, this cannot be happening to him. On top of everything else? He hopes Nezha doesn't make a hobby of that last confession, or Harry might just have to actively work on that disintegration plan.
Hermione's voice breaks through his brief panicking. "...What did you say his name was?"
'How disrespectful it is that people don't know me. I am Nezha, Third Lotus Prince, protection deity—'
"Shut up!" Harry yells, realizing a second too late he's said it out loud.
Ron is gaping at him, Hermione looks hurt and several heads are turned to ogle in their direction. Harry grinds his teeth together and closes his eyes.
"Not you, Mione. I was talking to him!"
'Gee, fine, I'll shut up. I get so bored in here alone. Go fight with Draco again,' Nezha whines.
"Here's a thought," says Hermione quickly, piercing Harry with a distressed look. "How about we go to the library and try to find something about this... spirit of yours."
'Hah, good luck with that,' Nezha jests one final time, but Harry ignores him to nod fervently at Hermione.
"Yes, please, let's go," he says in a rush, jumping to his feet and out the Common Room in two seconds, all the while trying to cast one harassing Nezha out of his head.
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When the shock of what transpired in there a few minutes ago passes, Draco grabs his bag and runs to the library.
His feet carry him mindlessly to his destination, where he hurls his things on a table and rushes towards the nearest bookshelf to skim through it. There must be a book, a scroll, something. Whatever it is to explain all... this.
'You know you can just ask me if you have questions, right?'
Draco flinches so hard, he drops a tome soundly on the floor. He might or might not have made a startled noise as well, if the severe shushing he gets from Madam Pince is anything to go by.
'What was that?' he thinks, only for his question to be answered the same way.
'Did I scare you? I apologize. However, there's no way I could have warned you.'
This voice... It sounds just like...
'Ao Bing?' asks Draco inside his head.
'Yes,' the voice replies simply.
Salazar, this is mental! No pun intended.
'How are you in my head? Can you read my thoughts? What is going on?'
Even though he can't see Ao Bing, he thinks he can picture the man's exasperated face when the spirit sighs. 'Draco, I'm not in your head. I'm part of you. Your thoughts have always been my own as well.'
Well, what a relief. That makes this whole situation so much better. Draco's head starts throbbing and he's not sure if it's the stress or the fact that there is now another voice in his already troubled mind.
He tries ignoring Ao Bing for the time being, pretending to be busy leafing through random books he comes across. It's a valiant effort.
'Unlike Nezha said before, I didn't choose you because of your name,' Ao Bing adds after a while.
Draco rolls his eyes and wants to point out that no one asked. Instead, he tells the spirit, 'No, you chose me because I was to be Potter's enemy.' Hadn't they explained this already? Draco doesn't care to know why, just how to get rid of... this.
'Partially,' Ao Bing responds in a way that peaks Draco's interest. 'But mostly because you remind me of myself, when I was alive. Whatever you did, it was for your family. Wanted to please your father, didn't you?'
Draco flinches again, acutely aware of the fact that this... person he's talking to has been with him since the very beginning, has seen everything of him, knows all his secrets. Draco feels exposed, vulnerable. Especially since Ao Bing seems to understand him so well.
He gulps, and tries to say something even though this spirit probably already knows the answer to that question.
'But how did you know that?' asks Draco, attempting to acquire some sort of self-preservation. 'Does that mean you can tell the future?'
'If I could tell the future, I would pick the body of the winner each time me and Nezha reincarnate,' Ao Bing explains in a smug tone. 'No, the magic that constructs our curse gives us options to choose from. We are informed of major life events and certain character traits, nothing more.'
'So you're saying, you can't tell me my future because you don't know it either. Your only purpose each life is to best Nezha, in one way or another.'
'Another reason why I chose you. You're quick at apprehension, unlike the Potter boy.'
That pulls a reluctant smile from Draco. This spirit, strange as it is, understands him on a personal level. But that doesn't give him the answers he's looking for.
'How come I've never heard of you or your enemy before? There's no documentation of this sort of thing.'
'I already explained that we do not give powers to our hosts when they're not fighting. Especially not when there are witnesses. Those who tried to confess what had happened to them were taken for deranged people.'
'Understandable,' Draco thinks, still shuffling through a shelf, making it seem like he's searching for something. 'But there has to be some written information about you guys.'
'If you must consult a book, look up Chinese Taoist mythology.'
'Mythology?' Draco asks dubiously.
'You'd be surprised how much of it is actually real. Especially the Muggle legends. I say they're onto us.'
The last comment sounds so playful, so cheeky that Draco has to stifle a snort in order to avoid getting kicked out of the library. He focuses on searching for a book that fits Ao Bing's description.
It takes about ten more minutes, but Draco manages to find something that might have logical answers. Although he seriously doubts it.
A flash of jet-black hair in the shape of a bird's nest catches his attention. He more or less plasters himself against the bookshelf, aiming for remote invisibility. Thankfully, the Golden Trio walk past the aisle Draco is in without noticing him.
He doesn't need further motive to make himself scarce. There's no doubt these morons are here for the same reason he is. Taking the book he found to his dorm it is.
'I can still be a much reliable source of information,' Ao Bing whispers.
"I'll think about it," is all Draco says in response as he storms out of the library.
⋅⋅⋅ 𑁍 — ☯︎︎ — 𑁍 ⋅⋅⋅
They don't speak to each other anymore. In fact, Harry and Draco try avoiding one another at all costs. Even after learning all about the demon pill, the spirit pearl and all that crazy mythological stuff. Especially after that.
They ignore the urge to fight until it turns into a dull noise in the recesses of their minds. Even Nezha and Ao Bing go silent inside their heads after a while.
Months pass like that. The Eighth Years graduate and leave Hogwarts at last. Harry enters Auror Academy with Ron. Draco, still unsure of what he wants to do with his life, takes a lot of time to reflect, to discover himself.
Their social circles and friend groups intermingle over the years. Harry and Draco see each other on many occasions: birthday parties, pub nights, Christmas gatherings, Hogwarts reunions.
But even then they don't speak of that day. Not once. It almost isn't real that way. One less problem to worry about. They even forget about Nezha and Ao Bing completely soon after.
⋅⋅⋅ 𑁍 — ☯︎︎ — 𑁍 ⋅⋅⋅
The last time it happens is many years later. A charity ball in the Ministry of Magic. A masquerade.
The masks are charmed so that everyone only has a vague idea of whom they're talking to. What could possibly go wrong with that plan?
Harry, the veteran "Saviour" heading towards becoming Head Auror someday, is there. Of course he is, he's expected to show up on every single one of these fancy, social gatherings.
Unlike many others, he doesn't have a date. Or a partner, for that matter. At the tender age of 30, Auror Potter is openly bisexual, but also practically married to his job, much to the half of Wizarding World's chagrin. So that leaves him chatting with random people, drinking anything he can get his hands on and especially avoiding the dancefloor.
Draco, the former Death Eater returning home from France for the first time in years as a Master in bio-magickology, is there too. He hadn't expected an invitation and yet, here we are. He's glad for the masks. Regardless of his redeemed reputation, expecting every single person in this room to cherish his presence would be pushing his luck.
He doesn't have a date either. Yes, nor a partner. Whatever rumours go around about the French and the City of Love did not prove true during his stay there. Just as well, Draco thinks. At least, he can try socializing and pretend not to lust after broad-shouldered men surrounding him. Being queer on top of the Death Eater thing? Recipe for disaster.
No one recognizes either Harry or Draco directly, but the air of importance is hard to miss. Everybody wants to meet the two, to have a chat with them, to steal them away for a dance. They don't notice each other right away. But not for long.
In a room where everyone meets everyone, it's impossible that Harry and Draco don't run into each other. Emerald meets silver over glasses of fizzing champagne and something shifts between them. It's the first time in over a decade that they're seeing each other differently, without the burden of the past looming over them.
Everything is a haze of music and alcohol, but the magnetic pull is undeniable. The way they're drawn to each other feels so right, like there isn't a single place on the face of the Earth that either of them would rather be at.
And they know. Despite the charmed masks, Harry knows exactly whom he's asking to dance. And Draco knows whose hand he's accepting. But they both pretend they don't. It's easier that way.
The crowd parts wordlessly for them as Harry and Draco make their way towards the dancefloor, hand in hand. People gossip around them, camera flashes blind their peripheral visions, but they're both too far lost to care. And when they start dancing, every other outside noise fades away.
Draco's left hand rests gently over Harry's shoulder, while Harry circles his partner's waist to pull their bodies flush together. The pleasant buzz quickly morphs into something else they can't bother to identify. As they keep spinning around, immersed into each other's eyes, essences of fire and ice seep out of their skins and merge.
Smoke engulfs them both, a sparkling cloud all over their waltzing frames. Not that they notice. Everyone else thinks it's some special effect created by magic. No one can see Nezha and Ao Bing slipping out of the dancing couple to stand a few feet away from them.
Both spirits gawp as Harry tugs Draco's body even closer, cradles his face with a gentle hand and leans to seal their lips together. Someone gasps but it doesn't perturb either of them. Even from a distance, you can make out the lines of Draco's pleased smile through the kiss.
The heavy silence between the two spirits stretches as long as the absurd dance they're witnessing. Ao Bing is the first to try and break it by harrumphing into his fist.
"So... that's a first," he puts mildly.
"Yeah, this..." Nezha stammers, "this has never happened before."
"Well technically, there was that one time with—"
"Don't you dare!" Nezha cuts Ao Bing off, rounding on him with an accusing finger. "They were children, they didn't know what love even is."
Ao Bing doesn't even try to hide his incredulity. "And you do?" he asks, one eyebrow quirked up.
So unlike he was expecting, Nezha gives him a smirk and says, "Thousands of years in your company have taught me that love is exactly the opposite of what I feel towards you."
"Touché." Ao Bing slants a look at the lovey-dovey couple still slow-dancing like no one is watching, foreheads pressed together. "What do we do now?" he asks.
When his rival doesn't speak, Ao Bing turns to find Nezha shrugging. "We live inside these two sappy poofs for the rest of their lives, I guess."
Live... together? Their ashes would turn in their graves if they stopped trying to destroy each other.
"You reckon they're going to fight sometimes, at least?" queries Ao Bing, already feeling restless at the idea of spending the rest of this life in a sweet, domestic environment with Nezha right next to him. Now that's a worst curse than being reborn for eternity.
"Oh, definitely."
But not even that is going to be enough for their powers to activate. They already know, they can feel it. No matter how much Harry and Draco fight and bicker in the future, they're never going to let each other go.
Ao Bing sighs in resignation, and turns to his rival with a small smile and a stretched hand. "I suppose I'll see you in the next life."
When the words sink in, Nezha gives him a wide grin. He shakes Ao Bing's hand in a bone-crushing squeeze. "And I promise I'll kick your ass then."
･ . ｡ ͙͙
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