The sun hadn't risen yet when Celestia burst into the room with the precision of a well-cast spell.
"Get up!" she yowled, her voice brooking no argument. "It's five o'clock. Today is for sweat—not dreams."
Draco groaned, burying his face in the pillow. Hermione sat up immediately, eyes wide, her instinct to obey already switched on. Carrie curled deeper under the sheets, as if she could vanish between the fabric.
"Don't hide!" Celestia said, leaping onto her bed and giving her a gentle tap with her paw. "Today you'll run. And jump. And dodge. And scream if you must. But you won't stay here."
Carrie nodded silently, eyes wide.
"And I—" Draco began, voice hoarse.
"You too!" Celestia cut in. "Being a Malfoy doesn't excuse you from training."
Nathael already stood in the doorway, dressed in light training clothes and sturdy boots.
"Outside in five minutes. Or there'll be no breakfast."
The threat worked.
At 5:07 a.m., the four young people stood on the path skirting Forks' river, the cold air cutting their skin, fog clinging to the trees like a damp shroud.
Celestia led the way, tail held high, alert for anything.
"Run."
And they ran.
At first, slowly. Then faster—until their lungs burned and their legs trembled.
Then came the drills: jumping over logs, balancing on slippery rocks, dodging branches flung with feline precision.
"Faster, Draco!" Celestia shouted, launching a Petrificus that grazed his shoulder.
"It's not fair!" he gasped, diving sideways.
"Life isn't fair!" she retorted. "It's fast!"
Hermione had already learned to anticipate spells before they were cast. Carrie, surprisingly, used her intuition to move in impossible angles—as if her body instinctively knew where the next red bolt would strike.
"Good!" Nathael called from a tree, watching them. "But you can do better."
Hours passed. The sun rose. The fog lifted.
At nine, Celestia halted the session with a flick of her paw.
"Rest. For now."
Draco collapsed onto his back, gasping. Hermione drank from a canteen. Carrie sat with her knees against her chest—but she no longer looked afraid. She looked… determined.
Nathael approached Kate, who'd been watching from a nearby bench, a steaming cup of coffee in her hands.
"Thank you for staying," he said.
"It's nothing," she replied with a shy smile. "I… like watching you."
"Could you stay a bit longer?" Nathael asked. "Keep an eye on them. Make them repeat the dodges. Focus on breathing. If Draco tries to use magic, stop them. Today is about the body—not wands."
"Of course," Kate said.
Nathael nodded, gratitude in his eyes.
He turned to Celestia.
"Let's go."
They got into the rental car. Nathael drove in silence, hands steady on the wheel, gaze fixed on the road. Celestia, in the passenger seat, adjusted her cloak and straightened her collar.
"Do you think they'll talk to us?" she asked.
"It depends," Nathael said. "If the blond youth disappeared here—and they knew him—it won't be easy. The Quileute aren't like others. They're ancient—older than some European bloodlines. They guard secrets even MACUSA hasn't deciphered."
"And if they're shape-shifters," Celestia added, "our magic might seem like a threat."
"Exactly," Nathael said. "So today, we don't come as hunters. We come as suppliants."
They reached La Push shortly after noon.
The reservation was surrounded by towering trees and silence. The air smelled of salt, damp wood, and something else… wild.
From the moment they passed the welcome sign, Nathael and Celestia felt the stares—not curious, but assessing, some hostile.
"I hope they're friendly," Celestia said dryly.
"We're on their land," Nathael replied. "And we're outsiders. It's normal."
They parked near a community lodge. As they stepped out of the car, the wind carried murmurs of voices. A group of young men appeared almost instantly—wearing shorts, bare-chested, in sneakers, their gazes unblinking.
The tallest, with black hair and brown eyes like polished wood, stopped before them.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, no greeting, no preamble.
Nathael inclined his head slightly.
"We're travelers. Seeking answers."
"The Ministry folks always say that," the young man said with disdain. "You're supposed to make an appointment. Warn us before coming. You can't just show up like this, as if this place belongs to you."
"We're not from the Ministry," Nathael said calmly. "We represent no one but ourselves."
Celestia stepped down with feline grace.
"And if they saw us as enemies," she added, "we wouldn't be standing here talking."
The young man studied them, weighing their words.
"What do you want?"
"To speak with your tribal chief," Nathael said.
"For what?"
"It's private."
The young man frowned.
"Then you can leave. You're not welcome here."
Nathael and Celestia exchanged a glance. They knew they couldn't force the issue. Couldn't make enemies—not from fear, but from necessity. Because the Quileute held what they sought.
Nathael sighed.
"Alright. Then… I seek information about a blond young man who was here thirty years ago. He carried an object… something we need to find."
Instantly, the air changed.
The group's gazes shifted from wary to hostile. One of the young men stepped forward.
"The blond?" he murmured, eyes sharp.
"Yes," Nathael said. "He was a wizard. He befriended your tribe. But he disappeared."
"Where did you get that information?!" the young man shouted.
And then… he began to growl.
His body tensed. Muscles swelled. Nails lengthened into claws. His face stretched into a muzzle.
"Paul, no!" the leader cried.
But it was too late.
In seconds, the young man transformed into a wolf—not an ordinary animal, but a massive being, silver-furred, with yellow eyes blazing with primal fury. Over two meters tall, its breath reeked of wet earth and blood.
It charged.
With speed Nathael couldn't predict, the wolf leapt at them, claws outstretched, jaws wide.
Nathael didn't hesitate.
He raised his hand and unleashed the Vindr Chains.
From the ground, black serpents of ancestral magic surged, coiling around the wolf with supernatural force.
But the wolf didn't stop.
With a guttural roar, it bit the chains—and shattered them like paper.
Nathael frowned, surprised.
"That much strength?"
He regenerated the chains instantly—but the wolf was already free. And the others… were transforming too.
One by one, four young men became giant wolves, thick-furred, muscles like living stone.
Five wolves.
Five pairs of yellow eyes fixed on Nathael and Celestia.
Celestia enveloped herself in blue magic, claws sharpened, stance ready to strike.
"We don't want trouble," Nathael said, voice firm but unthreatening. "Only answers."
No one replied.
Only the wind, the creak of branches… and the low growl of five beasts guarding an ancient secret.
The leader—still in human form—took a step forward.
"If you harm one of us… you won't leave here alive."
Nathael nodded.
"Then we won't harm you."
But the wolves didn't retreat.
And in the center of the path, Nathael and Celestia braced for the worst.