~ ƊƸ𐤠ƬǶƸ𐤠ƬǶƸⱤ ~ (year 1)

Connection

By the time 3:00 rolls around, I am exhausted from a full day of spells, potions, and quidditch. At least I survived the first day, and made some friends.

I have a bit of free time until dinner, so I decide to go to the library.

Walking in, I see shelves and shelves of books, many that look untouched, yet some that are well loved. The floor is a simple brown wood and the walls are stone. There's a small fireplace by a sitting area, most likely for students. And there's tables with chairs around.

On one of these tables, I see Harry Potter with two other people. One, a tall, lanky boy with ginger hair, pale skin, and freckles. And the other, a bushy haired girl with darker skin than the other two. I walk up to the table.

"Hi!" I say enthusiastically. The three of them turn to me. I turn to say something to Harry, but as I do, a blinding headache hits me like a tonne of bricks.

He clutches his scar in pain too. It's like we're connected or something?

"Are you ok?" Says the bushy haired girl, confused. I'm stood in shock, unable to comprehend what that was and why that just happened.

"I'm fine." Harry says.

"Same, that was weird." I reply. Instead of saying what I was going to say, I bid the three of them goodbye, and leave the library. I'll check it out another day.

I run down to the dungeons, which is difficult considering that the library is on the third floor. If anyone could figure out what was happening, it was Severus Snape.
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I knock on the door anxiously. His office has this strange aura that makes me nervous.

"Come in." Says a voice from within. I step inside and instantly smell black coffee and parchment.
Severus is sat at his desk, presumably using his free time to mark tests and assignments.

"Lilith." He says, his eyebrow raised, as if to ask what I need.

"Something weird happened today." I walk over to his desk. He raises his head from his marking finally.

"Mm?"

"I was introducing myself to Harry, but when we made eye contact, I had this sudden blinding headache, he felt it too but in his scar. What does it mean?" He looks away, thinking. Clearly he knew but didn't want to tell me.

"I don't know." He answers, bluntly. I can tell he's lying, because whenever he doesn't tell me the truth, his eyes narrow slightly.

I stare at him for a second, considering whether I should call him out on it. But I leave without saying a word. I'd probably be in trouble if I did.

My mind races with thoughts as I walk back to my dorm. How are we connected?
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