The Great Hall was a cathedral of light and sound, but as Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a long roll of parchment, a hush fell over the four tables that felt as heavy as the stone walls themselves.
I stood between Alex and a trembling girl with pigtails, my fingers twisted in the hem of my robes. This was the moment. In the books, the Sorting was a plot point; in reality, it was a psychic weighing—a confrontation with one's own soul.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," McGonagall announced, her voice crisp and echoing.
I watched as the names began. the girl with the pigtails went to Hufflepuff. Then, a few names later, the hall held its breath as Creevey, Colin was sent to Gryffindor. As I looked over to the Gryffindor table I saw Hermione, looking for Ron and Harry who were missing . As Professor McGonagall called another name "Weasley, Ginevera!". The youngest Weasley went to Gryffindor as all her brothers before.
"Carter, Alexander!"
Alex practically bolted toward the stool. He gave me a quick, panicked grin before the oversized brim of the Hat dropped over his eyes, swallowing half his face.
There was a long silence. I saw Addam leaning forward at the Ravenclaw table, his hands clenched. I saw Professor Flitwick, the tiny Charms master, perched on his cushions at the High Table, his eyes twinkling behind his spectacles.
Please, I thought. Keep us together.
"RAVENCLAW!" the Hat shouted.
The blue and bronze table erupted. Addam was on his feet, clapping with a vigor I'd never seen from him. Alex ripped the hat off, his face glowing with a mixture of shock and triumph, and sprinted toward his brother.
"Carter, Ashlyn!"
My legs felt like lead, but I forced myself to walk. I sat on the hard wooden stool, and a second later, the world went dark as the Hat was lowered.
"Ah," a small, gravelly voice whispered directly into my ear. "Another Carter. But… oh, what is this? A mind like a library with rooms I haven't seen in a thousand years."
My heart hammered. You see it? I thought, trying to keep my mind calm.
"I see the echoes of a world of glass," the Hat murmured. "A soul that has already lived, yet is hungry for more. You have a sharp tongue and a sharper mind, Ashlyn. You seek safety, yes, but you seek it through understanding. You don't just want to know the spell; you want to know the architecture of the magic."
I want to protect my family, I whispered in my mind. I want to be where I can learn the most.
"A protector's heart in a scholar's mind. Your brother Addam has the logic, and Alexander has the spark, but you… you have the vision. There is only one place for a girl who buys houses in two worlds."
The Hat's voice rose, vibrating through my very skull:
"RAVENCLAW!"
The roar that greeted me was deafening. As I pulled the hat off, I saw Professor Flitwick actually clapping his hands above his head, a squeak of "Excellent! Excellent!" escaping him.
I walked toward the table where Addam and Alex were waiting. As I sat down between them, Addam pulled us both into a one-armed hug. "Three for three," he whispered, his voice thick with pride. "The Carter legacy is safe."
At the High Table, Albus Dumbledore caught my eye. He raised his golden goblet in a silent, infinitesimal toast. I remembered Father telling me that Dumbledore had taught his own father, and his grandfather before that. The Headmaster knew our line; he knew that while we weren't as flashy as the Blacks or as loud as the Weasleys, the Carters were the quiet keepers of Ravenclaw's intellectual fire.
As the feast began and the golden plates filled with food, I heard the murmurs from the other tables.
"Another two?" a Slytherin boy muttered—I recognized him as Theodore Nott. "That makes four generations of Carters in blue. They say their vault at Gringotts is half-filled with rare manuscripts and half with gold."
At the Gryffindor table, Hermione Granger was leaning toward Neville Longbottom. "Who are they?" she asked, her brow furrowed. "Everyone seemed so certain where they'd go."
"The Carters?" Neville whispered back. "They're an old Highland family. Very wealthy, but very quiet. My gran says they're some of the best potioneers and arithmancers in Britain. They don't get involved in politics much, but if you want to know how a complex ward works, you ask a Carter. It's a tradition—they're always Ravens."
Percy Weasley, his mouth full of chicken, nodded. "Dad says Mr. Carter is a bit odd—for a Pure-blood wizard, didn't care about the Pure-blood politics mostly keeps to himself —but he's brilliant. Most of the "pureblood families respect them because they stay out of politics and they are a very old family of scholars."
The feast was a blur of joy. We ate shepherd's pie and treacle tart, and the Grey Lady drifted past us, giving the three a slight twich of a almost what I believe is a smile.
"Look at this place, Ash," Alex said, his mouth stained with pumpkin juice. "We're actually here."
I looked up at the enchanted ceiling, where a shooting star streaked across the artificial night sky. I felt the warmth of my brothers beside me, the weight of my wand in my pocket, and the absolute certainty that my "investments"—both in gold and in knowledge—were exactly where they needed to be.
The shadows of the Chamber of Secrets were coming, but for tonight, the fire was bright, the house was united, and the Carters were exactly where we belonged