The final forty-eight hours before departure were a whirlwind of organized chaos. While Alex was busy trying to fit a broomstick—which he wasn't even allowed to bring—into his bag, I was meticulously curating the contents of my magical suitcase.
My trunk was a beauty of wizarding craftsmanship: dark cherry wood with reinforced silver corners and the Carter family crest—a soaring raven—etched into the lid. It had three expansion-depth compartments.
The Top Layer: This held my standard Hogwarts robes, a heavy winter cloak with a self-warming charm, and my "seasonal" wear—thick Highland wool sweaters and sturdy dragon-hide boots for the drafty corridors of a Scottish castle.
The Library Partition: Here, I tucked away my textbooks, but also my specialized notebooks. I had replaced the cumbersome rolls of parchment for my personal notes with bound, acid-free paper notebooks I'd bought in London; they were far easier to archive. My quills were organized by nib-type, alongside a bottle of "Ever-Lasting Ink."
The Secret Cellar: The bottom compartment was padded with velvet. This was where I kept my "Hedge-Fund" of potions ingredients—jars of preserved Dittany, powdered bicorn horn, and dried lacewing flies. I also tucked away my "un-birthday" glass butterfly and a small, framed moving photograph of Raven's Cottage.
"Ashlyn, did you pack your anti-paralysis draught?" Mother asked for the fifth time, her shawl a frantic, flickering orange. "And the extra woolen socks? The dungeons are damp, darling, and Professor Snape doesn't care for cold toes."
"I have them, Mother," I assured her, gently nudging Artemis into her traveling basket. The Siamese cat gave a dignified meow, her sapphire eyes judging the mess of Alex's room across the hall.
Father was busy in the hallway, giving Alex a firm lecture on the "appropriate use of sparks."
"I mean it, son. If I get a letter from Minerva McGonagall saying you've singed the eyebrows off a classmate, your Gringotts trust will be frozen until you're twenty-one." He then turned to me, his gaze softening. He pulled me into a hug that smelled of old books and pipe smoke. "And you, my little financier. Keep your eyes open. If the air in the castle feels... heavy, you write to me. Immediately."
September 1st dawned crisp and golden. The air had that peculiar, nostalgic scent of dying summer and woodsmoke. As we pushed our trolleys through the barrier at King's Cross, the transition from the mundane roar of London to the magical hiss of the Hogwarts Express felt like coming home.
The platform was a sea of pointed hats and screeching owls.
I spotted Lucius Malfoy standing near the first-class carriages, looking like a statue of cold marble, his hand resting heavily on a young Draco's shoulder.
Near the back of the train, the Weasley family was a frantic blur of red. Mrs. Weasley was frantically trying to clean a smudge off Percy's prefect badge while Ginny, looking pale and nervous, clutched her new schoolbooks.
I overheard a group of nearby parents whispering as we passed.
"Look, there are the Carters. Haven't seen them at the platform in years. The girl looks sharp—got that old-blood posture, doesn't she? And the boy... well, he looks like trouble."
I ignored them. My focus was on the sky. I knew what was coming.
We found a middle compartment. Addam helped us stow our heavy trunks before his own friends—a group of studious-looking Ravenclaws—called him away.
"I'll check on you both at the feast!" he shouted over the din. "Don't let the Giant Squid eat Alex!"
Alex and I settled into the plush, high-backed seats. Artemis hopped out of her basket and immediately claimed the window ledge, her tail twitching.
Suddenly, a great commotion erupted outside. I leaned out the window just in time to see a flash of turquoise and the roar of a combustion engine. High above the steam of the locomotive, a flying Ford Anglia wobbled through the air. I caught a glimpse of Ron Weasley's panicked face at the wheel and Harry Potter hanging half out of the door as the car lurched.
"Is that a car?" Alex shouted, his eyes wide. "Ash, they're flying a Muggle car!"
"That," I whispered, "is the beginning of a very long year."
As the train pulled out of the station, I watched my parents wave until they were tiny specks on the platform. The interior of the Express was a world unto itself. The trolley witch came by with Pumpkin Pasties and Chocolate Frogs, the scent of sugar filling the small space.
Older students wandered the corridors, talking about Gilderoy Lockhart's latest book or the rumor that the Malfoys had bought the entire Slytherin team new brooms. I sat quietly, Artemis purring in my lap.
I looked at the passing English countryside, the green fields blurring into the rugged hills of the north. In my previous life, I would have been staring at a phone screen, trapped in the "crushing mundanity" I once loathed. Now, I felt the vibration of the tracks in my bones and the weight of my rowan wand against my ribs.
I knew that this year—the year of the Chamber of Secrets—would be a test. I knew about the diary, the basilisk, and the petrifications. But as I watched Alex excitedly explain the rules of Exploding Snap to a fellow first-year who had wandered in, I felt a strange, calm resolve.
I wasn't just a character in a story anymore. I was a Carter. And we were prepared.