The plane landed at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport with a metallic groan and a jolt that rattled Draco Malfoy to his bones.
"Never… again…" he muttered, face pale, fingers gripping the armrests. "Never again will I step into one of those flying cages."
Hermione, beside him, couldn't suppress a smile. Kate, seated across the aisle, turned with a look caught between concern and amusement.
"That bad?"
"Worse," Draco said, swallowing hard. "It felt like my stomach kept Apparating over and over."
Celestia, curled on Nathael's lap, purred smugly.
"That's why I cast the calming spell on you. Without me, you'd have been vomiting in the lavatory since Chicago."
Draco narrowed his eyes at her—not with resentment, but admiration.
"Will you teach me that spell?"
Celestia arched a feline brow.
"'Please'?"
"No," Draco said, "but… as professional courtesy."
Celestia chuckled softly.
"We'll see. But only if you promise not to use it to impress your Slytherin friends."
Draco nodded, smiling.
Nathael, who'd remained silent during the flight—watching through the window as clouds parted to reveal this new corner of the country—stood as soon as the seatbelt sign switched off.
"Let's go," he said. "We need to find a hotel—and then… information."
They exited the plane like any group of tourists: Draco in his freshly brushed black coat, Hermione in a red scarf that reached her knees, Kate with a backpack slung over one shoulder and curiosity in her eyes, and Nathael with Celestia on his shoulder—dressed in a dark blue jacket and a hat slightly askew from the journey.
Seattle welcomed them with fine rain and salty air that smelled of ocean and pine. The sky hung low and gray, and the streets shimmered with reflections of neon lights.
"It's not London," Hermione said, impressed. "It's… wilder."
"More real," Nathael corrected.
They checked into a modest but cozy hotel near downtown. The rooms were small, overlooking Puget Sound, but—per Celestia's usual demand—included an extra bed just for her.
"Rest," Nathael said, setting his suitcase by the door. "I'll rent a car and gather information about Forks."
"Want company?" Kate asked, hope barely veiled in her voice.
"No," he said gently. "This is something I must do alone. But… we'll leave in a few hours. Get ready."
Kate nodded, slightly disappointed, but didn't press.
Nathael and Celestia stepped out into the rain.
The car rental agency was a few blocks away. He leased a dark, unassuming sedan—simple, no unnecessary luxuries. Then, with Celestia in the passenger seat, he drove to the neighborhood the hotel clerk had mentioned.
"If you're looking for something strange," the receptionist had said with a knowing smile, "go to Pike Place Market. But not the flower stand. Go to the dried herbs stall. Ask for 'the one who sees beyond.'"
So he did.
The market was a riot of smells, sounds, and colors—fish stalls, flower vendors, spices, crafts… and in a corner, between sacks of herbs and flickering candles, sat a woman in her thirties. Dressed entirely in black, her hair pulled back in a severe braid, her eyes dark as coal.
Nathael approached.
"I heard you know things about Forks," he said, low but clear.
The woman studied him—then Celestia.
"You're not from around here."
"No," Nathael said.
He pulled out a smooth gold coin—no seal, no inscription. Only luster and forbidden magic woven into its core.
The woman took it instantly. She turned it in her fingers, sniffed it, even bit it—then nodded.
"Forks is a… special place," she said, lowering her voice. "MACUSA doesn't interfere there."
Nathael and Celestia exchanged a glance. It was unusual. Extremely so. In Europe, the Ministry monitored even the remotest villages. A place in America with no oversight… was unheard of.
"Why?" Nathael asked.
"Because the Quileute have been there longer than the Ministry," she said. "Much longer. And they're not ordinary wizards."
She paused. Then, almost whispering:
"They're shape-shifters."
Celestia narrowed her eyes.
"Shape-shifters?"
"Yes," the woman said. "Not like Animagi. No. Something older. Something purer. Their magic is in their blood, in the earth, in the trees. They need no wands. No spells. Only will."
Nathael frowned.
"In Europe, that magic is considered lost. The druids were the last."
"Not here," the woman said. "Here, they still live. And when MACUSA tried to subdue them… the Quileute fought. And won. An agreement was reached: MACUSA would not interfere in Forks or its surroundings. In return, they wouldn't meddle in the wider magical world."
Nathael nodded, processing the information.
"Anything else?"
The woman hesitated.
"There's a rumor… that a group of vampires arrived in the area years ago. But it's unconfirmed. Just… stories."
Nathael nodded.
"Thank you."
They left the market in silence.
"Shape-shifters?" Celestia said once they were back in the car. "That complicates things."
"Or clarifies them," Nathael replied. "If the Quileute are ancient beings… they might know of the soul-tracking artifact—or at least the blond youth Wing mentioned."
They returned to the hotel just before dusk.
"It's time to go," Nathael said as soon as he stepped through the door.
Kate stood immediately. Draco and Hermione packed their things in silence.
The drive to Forks took about three hours.
Rain grew heavier as they ventured deeper into Washington. Trees towered taller, denser, and the sky darkened under low clouds that seemed to wrap the world in eternal mist.
"It's… sad," Hermione said, gazing out the window.
"Not sad," Kate corrected. "Mystical. Forks has always had that air—as if time stood still."
Draco said nothing. He only watched, eyes sharp, absorbing every detail.
Nathael drove in silence—but his senses were on high alert.
Suddenly, both he and Celestia tensed.
"You feel it, don't you?" Celestia whispered.
"Yes," Nathael said, jaw tight.
It was magic—immense. Deep. But unstable. As if forcibly contained. As if something inside the town struggled to break free.
"Obscurial…" Celestia murmured. "No. Not yet. But close."
Nathael accelerated.
"What's wrong?" Draco asked, alarmed.
"Nothing," Nathael said. "Just… hurrying."
Kate watched him with curious eyes—but didn't ask.
Upon reaching Forks' outskirts, Nathael didn't stop in town. He turned onto a steep, winding road lined with trees and isolated houses.
Finally, he parked in front of a modest home—overgrown garden, curtains drawn tight.
"Stay here," he told the others.
He stepped out, rain soaking his hair, but he didn't care.
He walked to the door. With a subtle wrist movement—a silent unlocking charm—it swung open.
The house's interior hit him like a punch.
It was… oppressive.
Walls covered in crucifixes. Bible verses scrawled in black ink. Portraits of saints whose eyes seemed to follow you. The air reeked of cheap incense and fear.
In the hallway, a middle-aged woman with disheveled hair and terror in her eyes stared at him as if he were the devil himself.
"You!" she shrieked, raising a Bible like a shield.
But Nathael had already moved.
With a swift, wandless gesture, he cast Petrificus Totalus.
The woman froze—eyes wide, conscious but immobile.
Nathael paid her no mind. He walked toward the room radiating the strongest magic. The door was locked—but yielded to a gentle push.
Inside, sitting on the bed with arms wrapped around her knees, was a girl.
Blonde. Straight hair. Red-rimmed eyes from crying.
She wore a long skirt and a simple, modest blouse—old-fashioned, as if from another era.
When she saw him, she didn't scream. Didn't run. She only looked at him—with a mix of terror and hope.
Nathael knelt before her.
"Are you alright?"