Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 769: The Black Forest

In the dense jungle, the moonlight shimmered on the uppermost layer of leaves, casting a silvery sheen over them. However, the thick canopy of branches and foliage blocked most of the light, leaving the tree trunks shrouded in complete darkness. Only scattered, coin-sized patches of light flickered with the breeze.

This was where the name Black Forest came from.

And it wasn’t just at night—the forest remained dark even during the day.

That night, however, a sudden rustling disturbed the silence of the Black Forest, as though someone had stepped on a thick bed of fallen leaves and snapped a dry branch underfoot.

The abrupt noise startled some of the nocturnal birds and small animals, sending them scurrying to safer hiding places. For a brief moment, the silent Black Forest stirred with fleeting movement and life.

“This place is really hard to walk through,” Kyle grumbled, pulling his foot out of the soft, sinking layer of fallen leaves.

“It always is. Once you get used to it, you won’t sink anymore,” Newt replied from beside him.

He moved with ease, seemingly well-acquainted with the Black Forest, stepping only on firm ground and weaving effortlessly between the trees. Unlike Kyle, who sank into the leaves every few steps and nearly crashed into a tree more than once.

“I don’t like it here!” Kyle sighed in frustration.

“Most wizards don’t,” Newt said. “The dense trees interfere with the accuracy of spells. Their effectiveness is significantly reduced, and bringing more people won’t help. But that’s exactly why this place has become a stronghold for certain dark creatures.”

“So, there really are werewolves here?” Kyle asked.

“Not just werewolves. A lot of them,” Newt confirmed. “This forest is safe for them—no one can catch a werewolf here unless a wizard is willing to go through the immense trouble of cutting down all these trees. Over time, the Black Forest became a werewolf sanctuary.”

As he spoke, Newt stepped on something. He crouched down slowly and picked up a small bone, partially hidden beneath the fallen leaves.

It wasn’t large—probably from a hare or some kind of bird.

Brushing off the dirt, he revealed a series of bite marks on its surface.

“Oh, look at this. These are werewolf bite marks,” Newt remarked.

Kyle leaned in closer, squinting. But the darkness around them was thick, and with Newt forbidding the use of the Lighting Charm, he could barely make out the marks—just enough to tell they were there.

“Are you sure it was a werewolf?” Kyle asked. “Couldn’t it have been some other animal?”

“No,” Newt shook his head. “These are from a werewolf before its transformation. The bite pattern is distinct from any animal’s. It seems we’ve wandered into their hunting grounds.”

Newt let the bone fall from his fingers and straightened, carefully scanning their surroundings.

Kyle immediately felt a rush of excitement.

They had been in the Black Forest for almost a week, and finally, they had found something.

It had all started about two weeks ago.

Two weeks after Kyle returned to Grimmauld Place, they received urgent news—Lupin had been gravely injured and was rushed to St. Mungo’s.

And the culprit? A werewolf.

Everyone knew there were werewolves among the Death Eaters. Ever since Fenrir Greyback had been captured after his disastrous attack at Hogwarts, tensions within the werewolf community had escalated into major divisions.

Later, after Lupin’s persistent lobbying, some werewolves chose to withdraw from the war, distancing themselves from the conflict. However, the more radical and violent ones banded together, severely injuring Lupin before fleeing—fully siding with Voldemort.

Recently, these werewolves had been appearing every full moon, striking both wizarding villages and Muggle streets indiscriminately. They attacked anyone they came across.

With their powerful bodies and thick fur, they shrugged off most spells. On some nights, a dozen witches and wizards fell victim to them—either captured or bitten. If the victims were Muggles, the numbers were even higher.

These werewolves were also cunning, acting only on full moon nights and choosing their targets at random. The Order of the Phoenix had tried to anticipate their movements and ambush them in advance, but every attempt had failed.

Perhaps as an act of retaliation, they had ambushed Lupin half a month ago, branding him a traitor to his own kind.

If Tonks hadn’t noticed something was wrong and rushed to his aid with reinforcements, Lupin likely wouldn’t have even made it to St. Mungo’s.

Kyle still vividly remembered the sight of Lupin at the hospital—his body wrapped in layers of bandages, a deep dent on his shoulder where he had been bitten.

Sirius had been livid. He had shouted and raged, insisting that he would go after the werewolves and take revenge. It had taken everyone working together to stop him.

Even though his Animagus form was immune to werewolf bites, Sirius was still just one man. He wouldn’t stand a chance against their numbers.

Not to mention, Animagi canʼt use spells while transformed. Even Lupin—a true werewolf—couldn’t cast magic in his wolf form. Rushing into battle as a dog was downright reckless.

While everyone was still arguing and debating how best to avenge Lupin, something completely unexpected happened—Newt arrived.

When he slowly pushed open the door to 12 Grimmauld Place, the entire room fell silent in shock.

Fortunately, Mrs. Weasley had recognized him from King’s Cross Station the year before, preventing any unnecessary confusion.

Everyone was curious as to why the legendary wizard—who had been absent from the public eye for so long—had suddenly appeared.

It wasn’t until he explained his purpose that they understood: he had come to take someone with him to deal with the werewolf problem.

Before he could even finish speaking, Sirius was the first to volunteer. He immediately insisted on joining, but Newt politely declined.

And it really was polite.

Newt wasn’t the best at rejecting people—his social awkwardness made it difficult for him—so he could only stammer through an explanation that Sirius wasn’t the right fit.

Naturally, Sirius wasn’t convinced. He argued that his Animagus form made him the perfect candidate.

Luckily, the others stepped in, one after another, persuading Sirius to stay behind at St. Mungo’s to look after Lupin.

Anyone with half a brain could guess who Newt had really come for.

Apart from Kyle, no one in the Order of the Phoenix knew Newt personally—most had never even met him.

And sure enough, Newt had come for Kyle.

According to him, after Chris graduated, he had spent his time tracking down and eliminating the werewolf threat. Now that Kyle had also graduated, the responsibility naturally fell to him.

In a way, it was a family tradition.

And so, Kyle had followed Newt into the Black Forest to search for the werewolves.

He had to admit—it was incredibly dull.

”Are we just going to keep searching?” Kyle asked, glancing around. ”Why don’t we make some noise and lure the werewolves out? I’ve got some cows and goats in my suitcase. They’d definitely be interested. If we stay close by—”

”Cows don’t belong in the Black Forest, Kyle,” Newt interrupted, shaking his head. ”Werewolves are still witches and wizards at their core. They’re not foolish enough to fall for such an obvious trap.”

”What about rabbits?” Kyle persisted. ”Before I graduated, I went out of my way to gather a bunch of different animals from the Forbidden Forest, including rabbits.”

”The rabbits here are nothing like the ones in the Forbidden Forest,” Newt said, still shaking his head. ”Kyle, you need to be more patient. Due to their environment and instincts, werewolves are far more cautious than ordinary witches and wizards. If they sense anything unusual, all our efforts will have been for nothing. We can’t rush this.”

He glanced at Kyle. ”Your father was much better at this than you. When we were tracking a group of vampires who had taken refuge with You-Know-Who, we spent three whole months in the Cambrian Mountains. He never lost patience once.”

”Okay, okay, I get it,” Kyle sighed. ”I really don’t like it here.”

The Black Forest was so dense that if you looked down from above, all you would see was an endless sea of leaves.

Otherwise, he could have simply flown up on Norbert and scanned the area from the sky.

At dragon speed, he could have found the werewolves in a day.

But that was definitely not an option.

Kyle sighed again, trying to push his frustration aside, and continued walking with Newt.

…

Another few days passed.

As Newt had said, this was a job that required patience. But aside from a few more scattered bones, they found nothing—not even a single wolf hair.

Kyle was beginning to doubt whether Newt’s information was even accurate. He wanted to voice his concerns several times but ultimately held his tongue.

Newt, on the other hand, had noticed Kyle’s growing frustration but chose to remain silent.

Kyle had very few flaws, but if he had to name one, impatience would definitely be among them.

It wasn’t that Kyle was rash—quite the opposite. He could be incredibly composed when necessary, such as when convincing Fudge that Voldemort had returned. Whether Fudge had truly believed him or not, the Ministry of Magic had still issued a warning before Voldemort gained full strength, ensuring that people were at least somewhat prepared.

Newt’s definition of impatience, however, referred to something else entirely—specifically, the kind of patience needed in situations like this: searching for the enemy’s tracks.

Perhaps due to his experiences, or maybe as a bad habit learned from Dumbledore, Kyle preferred to confront his enemies directly. He was more willing to spend time strategizing for battle than to wander aimlessly in search of a target.

But in real war, enemies didn’t always stand in the open. Many lurked in the shadows, like the werewolves, only emerging at critical moments to wreak havoc.

This was also one of the biggest headaches for both the Aurors and the Order of the Phoenix. Tracking such enemies down was an essential task, no matter how frustrating it felt.

A large part of the reason Newt had brought Kyle along was to work on this very weakness.

There was still time before the next full moon, and Newt saw no need to rush.

They continued their search from day to night and night to day, combing through the vast Black Forest. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, streaming down in golden shafts and casting mysterious, shifting patterns on the forest floor.

But neither of them was in the mood to admire the scenery.

Kyle, growing increasingly irritated, was a stark contrast to the ever-calm Newt. He kicked at a pile of fallen leaves out of habit, about to say something when suddenly, a small creature leapt from a nearby tree onto his shoulder.

A Bowtruckle.

The Black Forest, much like Hogwartsʼ Forbidden Forest, was home to many magical creatures, so encountering a Bowtruckle was hardly surprising.

The tiny creature leaned close to Kyle’s ear, opening and closing its mouth as if trying to say something. Its voice was so soft that even Newt, who was standing nearby, couldn’t hear a thing.

Newt turned instinctively, glancing at Kyle—only to see him freeze for a brief moment before his expression turned serious.

“A cave, footprints… wizards… fire at night… are you sure?”

The Bowtruckle chattered something else, and Kyle’s demeanor shifted abruptly.

“Where is it? Take me there!”

Then he turned to Newt.

“A werewolf has been found. Hurry.”

With that, the Bowtruckle darted toward a tree on their left, and Kyle wasted no time in following.

To be honest, Newt was still a little skeptical.

From Kyle’s words, it was clear that the werewolves’ hiding place had been discovered.

But… by a Bowtruckle?

The idea felt almost unreal.

Still, he followed, though with some suspicion.

They wove through the dense trees, and along the way, more Bowtruckles appeared. It was as if they had been waiting for Kyle—each one, upon spotting him, joined the group, trailing after him like a miniature army.

The Black Forest was vast, and by the time they finally stopped, half a day had passed.

Even from a distance, Kyle could pick up an unusual scent—something burnt.

Ahead of them lay a well-concealed cave. The mountainside was draped in thick foliage, with vines covering the entrance so thoroughly that if one weren’t looking carefully, they could easily walk right past it.

Newt crept up beside Kyle, scanning the area. One glance was enough to confirm that someone had been living there.

As for whether it was werewolves…

Newt couldn’t imagine anyone else willingly setting up camp in a place like this.

“How did you manage that?” he asked, looking at Kyle incredulously.

“By using tree-protecting Bowtruckles,” Kyle whispered back. “This is their territory.”

“I mean—when did you gather so many of them?” Newt muttered, turning to glance behind him.

At least a hundred Bowtruckles were perched along a tree branch, clumped so densely that they almost blended in like a patch of moss.

Newt prided himself on being alert—light sleeper, sharp instincts—but somehow, Kyle had managed to assemble a full-fledged network of spies right under his nose.

“Oh, that?” Kyle said casually. “A few nights ago, when I was on watch. I was bored and started wondering if I could find something to help us track the werewolves faster.”

“These are all the ones you found back then?” Newt gestured at the absurdly large gathering of Bowtruckles behind them.

Kyle turned his head instinctively—and immediately flinched at the sight.

“What the hell?”

Shaking his head, he quickly clarified, “No. That night, there was only one Bowtruckle. It was brave—not afraid of strangers—so I just talked to it for a while… As for why there are this many now—”

He paused, considering.

“…It must have gone and brought help.”

Even Kyle himself found it hard to believe. He had spoken to a single Bowtruckle on a whim, never expecting it to actually assist in finding the werewolves—let alone call in reinforcements.

But Newt clearly saw things differently.

He stared at Kyle for a moment before clicking his tongue.

“Sometimes, I really envy you people with this kind of magical talent.”

The way Kyle had utilized the Bowtruckles was like instantly expanding their search party from two to several hundred. More importantly, their network of “scouts” was completely inconspicuous.

Especially in a place like the Black Forest.

Who would ever suspect a Bowtruckle? Even Newt himself wouldn’t.

It was completely natural for magical creatures to inhabit a forest like this. Seeing them was expected—not seeing them would be more unusual.

But this strategy was only effective because of Kyle.

No one else could communicate with magical creatures the way he could.

Newt could only infer a Bowtruckle’s intentions through its actions, guessing at its meaning. But Kyle understood them fluently.

Subconsciously, Newt thought of Chris again.

If Chris had thought to use Bowtruckles for help while they were searching for vampires in the Cambrian Mountains a decade ago, they wouldn’t have needed to waste months there.

Chris was an idiot for not taking advantage of such a useful ability.

And then, as if realizing something, Newt sighed internally.

Why had he taken on such a stupid student in the first place?