Everyone always said you got soul-tied with your soulmate the day you turned sixteen. I never believed it, of course. Just another wizarding world myth, like Nargles or the Rotfang Conspiracy. My mother had insisted it was real—she claimed she'd heard my father's thoughts on her sixteenth birthday—but I'd always chalked it up to romantic embellishment. After all, in a world where people could transform into animals and travel through time, why would the universe need something as contrived as telepathic soulmates?

So when I woke up on my sixteenth birthday, I was more than surprised to hear something—no, someone—in my head talking.

"Where the bloody hell did Fred put my toothbrush..." the voice muttered, annoyed and distinctly male.

I froze, clutching my blanket to my chest. The morning sunlight streamed through my dormitory window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. My roommates were still asleep, their gentle snores filling the otherwise quiet room. I immediately recognized the voice as George Weasley's, one of the boys in the year above me at Hogwarts. He was Fred Weasley's twin, and they were known throughout the school as legendary troublemakers, yet somehow remained very popular and, I had to admit, quite good-looking.

"Hello?" I whispered tentatively, heart pounding in my chest.

The voice went suddenly silent. Then, cautiously: "Did I just... hear something?"

I held my breath, unsure whether to be terrified or thrilled. George Weasley was my soulmate? This had to be some kind of cosmic joke. I'd barely spoken ten words to him in all my years at Hogwarts. Sure, I'd admired him from afar—his confidence, his humor, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed—but I never imagined...

"Um, George?" I tried again, a little louder this time. "I think we might be... connected."

There was a long pause, during which I could practically feel his confusion radiating through our newfound connection.

"Merlin's beard," he finally responded, his mental voice a mixture of shock and curiosity. "It's my brother's birthday prank, isn't it? Fred! This isn't funny!"

"It's not a prank," I said quickly, sitting up in bed and hugging my knees to my chest. "It's... well, it's my sixteenth birthday today."

Another pause. I could almost picture him running his hand through his ginger hair, processing what this meant.

"Soul-tied," he whispered, and I felt a strange flutter in my chest at the wonder in his voice. "I always thought it was just Mum's romantic nonsense. Wait—who are you?"

I bit my lip, suddenly nervous. "I'm in Ravenclaw. The year below you. My name's—"

"Wait, don't tell me," he interrupted. "Let me find you. Meet me at the Great Hall for breakfast in thirty minutes?"

My stomach twisted with a mixture of anxiety and excitement. In thirty minutes, George Weasley—prankster extraordinaire, Quidditch player, and apparently my cosmically-ordained soulmate—would be looking for me. And our lives would never be the same again.

"Okay," I agreed, already scrambling out of bed. "Thirty minutes."

As I rushed to get ready, I couldn't help but wonder: how exactly does one prepare to meet their soulmate when they've already been inside your head?