Chapter 3
The Saint and the Stork
Wolfe briefly stopped his trek up the hill to turn around and take in the scenic view of the city, where the more affluent dwelled. It was much closer to the slums than in most cases, enabling the honest ones among the poor to eke out a meagre living by providing cheap labour for the rich. The dishonest ones joined or formed gangs, preying on the rich who occasionally got careless and dwelled too close to the slum territory, but more often they preyed on the other faveladors.
Rio de Janeiro, like most third world cities, was experiencing a continued, rapid increase in population. This increase came mostly in the form of the rural poor migrating to the cities. Because of the high land values and the enormous demand for space, these people were forced into squatter settlements, known as favelas, named after the location of the first such settlement, the hill Morro de Favela.
The most notorious of these slums were built along the hillsides. From a dwelling's location within the favela, and the type of material used in its making, Wolfe could make educated guesses as to how long their inhabitants had lived there. Usually the first settled near the bottom of the hills. As time went by, the hill filled upwards. Since there was no rent to be paid, the money the people painstakingly saved was used to purchase stronger materials such as brick and cinderblocks. These were used to solidify the primitive structures, which were primarily made of a mixture of sand and clay, wood, and sheet metal.
Though there was much variation between the favelas, there was one constant, namely the shortage of utilities. Some favelas had better access to utilities owing to their location, but regardless of that, all were below standard access.
Wolfe saw a pair of small children, the eldest being no older than Henry, struggle with a plastic jerrycan filled with water as they followed their mother, who couldn't be much older than Mary Kelly. To get some relatively clean water, they had visited a water main the squatters had tapped into. It ran close to the favela, but it was located at the bottom of the hill, creating an incredibly difficult journey for those who lived near the top. Several journeys a day were sometimes needed to gain enough for a household, and these children were at the end of their strength.
A pungent odour, caused by the absence of another important utility, had forced Wolfe to shut off his sense of smell, which rivalled a bloodhound's. Only about half of the faveladors had access to an indoor toilet facility. From these facilities, sewage ran through open ditches, eventually ending up at street-level and becoming an incredible health hazard. He wondered how the stray dogs he occasionally came across could withstand the smell of garbage and sewage. Some of the garbage was being incinerated on the hill, causing noxious fumes to blow through the settlement when the wind turned, and creating risk for the fire spreading among the houses, since safety wasn't observed during these incinerations. Only Tetsuo Yamato could thrive in such a pit of human despair!
Wolfe's musings were interrupted when he heard a thump and a whimper. Turning around, he saw the jerrycan had slipped out of the children's sweaty palms. It got wedged between a pair of rocks in a very unfortunate position, and its precious contents gushed out onto the dirt path as the children struggled to right it. They succeeded only when it was mostly empty, and stared at the small amount of remaining fluid. Some people stopped to stare, but most just went about their business. Their mother trudged on, unaware of the children's predicament.
It presented Wolfe with an interesting dilemma. Should he help the children, or not? The longer it took to pinpoint the location of the entrance to Yamato's lair, the greater the chances that Yamato would find Wolfe first. He hadn't even risked using Polyjuice Potion, and the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' Portuguese Language-Lollipop, which would have allowed him to interact with the locals, if necessary. Yamato was as gifted as he was evil, and if anyone could construct devices that could pick up even the subtle magic induced by potions or magical sweets, it was Yamato.
Then there was the matter of his disguise. Aside from having grown a beard and wearing fake glasses, his chosen garb was the Benedictine monks' black robe. Thus disguised, he could hardly walk away from children in need. If Yamato relied on spies, they might notice his un-monk-like behaviour and report to their boss. There was nothing for it. He told himself that he had to help the children, in the interest of keeping a low profile.
He only knew standard Portuguese phrases, so he pointed at the jerrycan and the water with a questioning look. As the eldest child answered him, he was able to draw enough information from his mind to be able to find the source. He picked the picked both children up, easily carrying one of them on each arm as he descended the hill. Children their age rarely weighed much, and this boy and his little sister were undernourished. They weighed less than his backpack.
They arrived at their destination in one-fifth the time it would have taken the children to get there by themselves. The soil around the water pipe had been removed, and a few taps had been clumsily welded to the main pipe. One of them had fallen off, allowing water to pour out of the hole. Even though people constantly replaced empty buckets beneath the leak, vast quantities of water had still escaped and formed a fairly large artificial pool a dozen metres away. A few children stood up to their chests in the muddy water, splashing around. But it was mostly used to do laundry.
There were rows of people waiting to get their water, and to Wolfe's annoyance, a young nun was there too. She had been bandaging an injured boy, stopping when she noticed his presence. Wolfe considered putting the children down and disappearing, but her curiosity had been raised, and she'd probably try to find him, asking around as she did so. That was the last thing he needed.
He pulled the brim of his hood even further over his face, making it hard to see. Maybe she'd understand that gesture and leave him alone. But it was clearly not to be, for she closed her old-fashioned doctor's bag and made her way over to him. She stepped in front of him and peered up his hood. She had a rather attractive face for a nun, and in these surroundings she was even more conspicuous than he was. Her sweaty skin was fair, and her eyes chocolate brown. Her hair was completely covered by her head-dress, but her eyebrows suggested a dirty-blonde or light-brown colouring. She reminded him of Heidi.
"Só falo um pouco de português. Fala Inglês?" he asked. Brushing up on his knowledge of Catholic religious orders had been easier than learning the Portuguese language in a few days would have been, so he opted to make it clear that he wasn't native. He guessed that she was a Dominican nun from one of the Catholic schools in the city.
"I have been well educated by a Maryknoll sister," she said, eyeing him suspiciously. "I wondered what a Benedictine monk is doing in the favela, instead of contemplating in a chapel, or working in a garden."
"Worshipping the Lord with by the sweat of one's brow can be done in other ways besides working the fields and gardens, as you yourself demonstrate." Wolfe replied evenly. "As you very well know, the Benedictines are more diverse than that. Right now, I am helping two children who spilled their water farther up the hill."
"Where are you from?"
"New Jersey," Wolfe said, remembering the Newark Abbey. "I'm visiting some brethren here, and in Sao Paolo. And you, Sister?" he asked, emphasising her title in the hopes of reminding her that she'd been forgetting to address him properly.
Her cheeks got a pink tinge on them. "I teach history, Brother."
Wolfe decided to press his advantage, now that he had her on the defence. "So what is a history teacher doing in the favela, bandaging and treating the poor and needy? Are you aware of how dangerous it is here?"
"I know how dangerous it is, but I have an obligation to these people to help them … as well as an obligation to God," she added quickly, though Wolfe sensed that there was more to it than that. A peek into her mind unearthed some very surprising information. He'd believed her to be a woman from the upper class, but she had been born in that favela. He didn't have time to pry any further because of her continued questioning. "But what is an American Benedictine monk doing in a favela in Rio de Janeiro, when his local brethren are not known to venture here?"
"You have a special connection with these people, haven't you?" Wolfe said, trying to get her off balance with his knowledge. "One wouldn't think it by looking at you, but you've lived here, haven't you?"
He felt a wave of her bitterness wash over him as his words struck home. "One would not think it to look at me. My mother was from the favela. She was considered fortunate. She found a job as a nanny for a rich family, because she was beautiful. It was not long until she attracted the attention of my half-siblings' father, and when she was with child, she was chased away with threats to her life. She had nowhere else to go, so she came back to the favela. It was my home, but since I look like my father, I was—"
"Conspicuous?" Wolfe suggested, as she struggled to find the right word.
"Yes, conspicuous. My mother did everything she could to send me to the nuns before I blossomed into womanhood and attracted the attention of the lechers who rape young girls."
Wolfe could see why. She had obviously taken after her father's family, a trait that would have made her stand out and attract all sorts of unwanted attention. "Be not bitter and angry at the man who has wronged your mother."
"You have much insight, Brother," she replied, impressed at his ability to read her moods.
They were next in line for the water, and Wolfe put the children down. He took the opportunity to remove the hood from his head and wiped his sticky face with a handkerchief. The humidity here wasn't as bad as the worst he'd ever experienced, in the jungle west of Manaus. But it was still bad enough to be extremely annoying, and his chosen garb didn't exactly help.
He offered her another handkerchief for her face, but she declined, helping his young charges fill their jerrycan with water instead. He noticed that it didn't have a lid, which increased the chance of accidental spills. He doubted that Yamato had very powerful detectors this far out, so a little bit of wand-less magic to conjure a cork would be indistinguishable from magic performed by wizards in the city, or possibly a young Muggle-born inhabitant of the favela. In the latter case, Yamato might even send someone out to investigate—in the hopes of capturing the Muggle-born wizard child and bending him to his will—which would allow Wolfe to pull the lair's location from his mind and speed up his search.
He took a good look at the side of the container's opening. Then, sticking his hand in the wide sleeve of his robe, he concentrated. Half a heartbeat later, a cork materialised in his hand, and he jammed it into the opening when the children were done.
"Could you ask the children where they live, so I can take them there?"
The nun nodded and asked the children. The eldest replied with by waving his hand in a general direction, not taking his eye off the full jerrycan. The boy was afraid that they might steal the water, even though they were clergy, or dressed as clergy, in Wolfe's case.
Wolfe picked up the younger child again. "I think he's worried that we'll take the water for ourselves. Tell him I'll carry the water for him."
After the boy had been convinced that they could be trusted, he led them back up the hill towards his home. During the journey, the nun slipped on a muddy rock and was saved by a nasty fall by Wolfe. He grabbed her around her waist to steady her, letting her go when her feet had found firm purchase. She quickly pulled away, her face beet-red. She had felt his toned physique under his clothes when she fell against him. He could tell that she was regretting her vows of celibacy a little.
When they were nearly there, the children's frantic mother rushed over to them and practically ripped her daughter out of Wolfe's arm. The nun quickly calmed her down by explaining that they had helped the children get new water, and the teenager calmed down a little, finally thanking them for their help.
"So, Brother, now that the children have been aided, what are you going to do?"
"Share my compassion further up the hill."
"I will accompany you," she said. She was determined to find out more about the very fit monk she had met.
Wolfe bit back a groan. The last thing he needed was a nun following him around like a lovesick puppy. It was bad enough that he'd tainted the thoughts of a nun, even though it had been beyond his control.
Any thoughts on how to persuade her that it wasn't a good idea eluded him. Obliviation was out of the question, since he needed his wand for that. To make matters worse, his thoughts were interrupted by an alarming screech emanating out of a woman's throat. She headed straight towards him and grabbed the collar of his robes, rattling rapid Portuguese.
"Oh no, we have to leave this place. Death-squads are raiding the neighbourhood!"
Wolfe frowned. It was unfortunately a common occurrence. Those death-squads had been commissioned to hunt down drug dealers and petty criminals. The drug dealers he could care less about. But most of the petty criminals in the favela, however, had resorted to crime to feed their families, and didn't deserve to die. It would be easy enough to jam the weapons they were carrying, but that would require magic in such quantities that it would guarantee his being detected. He had to retreat now, and come back for Yamato later.
He and the nun followed a group of fleeing people who were trying to get to the other side of the hill. But it soon became evident that the raiders had taken care to surround the hill properly before moving in. Masked vigilantes carrying handguns, rifles, and even a few machine guns, appeared from between the shabby shacks, their eyes alight with anticipation. These executioners were faithless men. They had to be, because even though people rationalised that they faveladors were nothing but a plague, it wasn't enough of a rationalisation for more decent minds to do this sort of work, though way too many minds still condoned these atrocities because of that philosophy.
The nun sagged against him, trembling like a leaf. Wondering why she was so afraid, he looked into her mind and saw the reason. These men had killed a nun before, though the official story had been that the 'ungrateful mongrels' of the favela had robbed and killed her. But nobody had believed that story, since the death-squads had never been beneath killing witnesses to avoid complications. And ever since the day that one of her Sisterhood had been executed, work in the favelas had been suspended, as it was deemed too dangerous. No one knew that she was there, and they wouldn't miss her for a while.
Wolfe weighed his options quickly. The easiest solution would be to Disapparate. However, that would break the ban of the Statute of Wizarding secrecy, and he wasn't sure whether the men would be shocked enough by his sudden disappearance to abort their murderous mission. He could also stand and fight them without his wand, but he knew that Yamato's means of detection would easily pick up the resulting surge of magical energy. Either way, he would be detected, and finding Yamato's lair would be a waste of time. He told himself that he might as well help these people, now that secrecy was no longer an issue.
He knew he could kill these men easily, but doing so wouldn't offer the people of the favela safety in the long run. It would probably cause a larger group of executioners to come back with better weapons. The best way out would be a form of passive resistance that would scare the living daylights out of the gunmen.
He had to do something that made more of a statement than a bunch of heads rolling down the hill, back towards the siege cordon. He needed some of them alive and able to squawk. And while the Brazilian Ministry of Magic would probably try to undo his handiwork, he knew that the Rangers would be there first, trying to catch him. He hoped that they would realise that in this case, it would be better to leave the Muggles' memories intact. Wolfe knew that the killing would start again, but a myth of the miraculous protection of the faveladors might at least serve as a temporary deterrent for future death-squad raids.
He turned to the sister and grabbed her hand. "I need you to translate while I reason with these gentlemen."
"No use," she mumbled feebly.
"Trust me. I can end this without bloodshed. What do you have to lose?" he said, leading her to the gunman who seemed to be in charge. "Tell him that the Lord won't allow anyone to be killed."
Stammering, she relayed the message, which only brought mocking laughter from the gunmen.
Grinning broadly, Wolfe wondered how long the laughter would endure. It didn't matter that they wouldn't understand a word of what he was about to say. He just needed line-of-sight to the weapons.
"No one will die," he said, while he concentrated on the weapons of the men in front of him. His calm manner had given the nun some confidence, and bravely repeated his words, until she saw the men's weapons fly out of their hands. Wolfe turned around as quickly as he could, disarming all the gunmen. When he'd summoned all the weapons into his mental grasp, he banished them as far away as he could. Though he'd never tested his limits, he knew they'd fly for at least a mile.
Their eyes widened with fear as they beheld the wizardry, and they screamed in terror as they too were lifted off the ground, one by one, clearing the way for the people of the favela. He held the gunmen about twenty-three feet above the ground, while he looked for relevant information in their frightened minds. Aside from the prayers for their own miserable lives, several of them cursed their employer. Now Wolfe knew whom he had to visit in order to discourage future raids. He told himself that it wouldn't take too much time away from his quest, and that he needed to vent his fury on the man responsible for Yamato's escape anyway. Wolfe also found out that one of them was a first-timer, and was begging off his punishment by vowing that he would never again hurt another soul if he was spared. Wolfe decided he could use that to his advantage.
"Lead the people to a safe place away from here. Tell them that no one is to touch these men. If they do, no one will believe what happened here," Wolfe told the nun. He wasn't being charitable towards the men. Rather, he knew that the Muggles would dismiss the 'miracles' as lies if they found the men beaten to death by the angry faveladors. "After that, follow your heart to your proper path in life. You're a good person, but your spirit is far too impetuous for you to be a nun."
He waited until the faveladors were at a safe distance before he dispelled the levitation. He felt grim satisfaction as he heard bones crunching and snapping as the men hit the ground. Maybe some of them wouldn't survive the twenty-three-foot drop to tell the tale, but he couldn't care less. He let the one without any deaths on his conscience descend gently, and looked him in the eyes meaningfully. Fortunately, the man immediately realised why he had been spared.
Then, playing on the Muggles' superstition, he changed into a white dove and flew off.
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To the surprise of many, the Brazilian Ministry of Magic did not Obliviate the Muggles who witnessed these various acts of Magic. Speaking to reporters at a special conference, the Minister for Magic unveiled the reason why.
'The magic witnessed by the Muggles ended up stopping a brutal mass execution by scaring the executioners out of their wits, and causing them considerable physical harm. We felt that allowing this rumour to spread would give the unfortunate Muggles targeted by the killings a reprieve. It is an enlightened and compassionate decision,' said Minister Carvalho de Sousa.
When asked if he was concerned about Muggles finding out the truth, he allayed the magical community's fear in the following statement.
'Muggles have inaccurate memories and very vivid imaginations. At this moment there are several versions of the occurrence already, and there will be many more tomorrow. The Muggles who witnessed the magic believe that Saint Anthony of Padua interceded on their behalf, as does one of the aggressors who was spared for a mysterious reason. Yet as the news spreads, details of the events will be altered and embellished upon. The wizard's garb is already debated upon, and the Animagus form of the unknown wizard (which was in fact a white dove) has been said to be a black raven, a parrot, or a toucan, according to some. Still others gave a ridiculous description of a Phoenix. Along with the scepticism our explanation of hallucinatory chemicals being released by the trash incineration on the hill will cause, the rest of the Muggle community—
Rolling his eyes, Harry folded up his copy of the Concordian Chronicle, which had also published the story of Wolfe's little spectacle in Brazil two days ago. Of course, the Minister—one of the people who had tentatively supported Anastasiou, but whom Ironheart had allowed to retain his position in case the Order ever needed to force its will upon the Ministry—had taken full credit for the 'enlightened and compassionate' decision, even though Harry had been forced to twist his arm with a little blackmail. But waving the dirt from the Minister's dealings with Anastasiou under the Minister's nose had brought him around to the Order's way of thinking quickly enough.
And of course, there was absolutely no mention of the Rangers unearthing Yamato's lair—which had shown signs of hasty and recent evacuation—inside the hill. Yamato had probably been alerted by the surge in Wolfe's magical energy, and fled.
Even though the interviews had been assigned to the native Brazilian Rangers and the Intelligence Rangers who knew Portuguese, Harry had found a way to participate as well. Disguised by Polyjuice Potion, and with the aid of a Language Lollipop that had enabled him to speak Portuguese, he had interviewed several of the witnesses. The Language Lollipop only allowed a person to speak a language, but by reading their minds when they answered his questions, Harry had been able to get the answers he needed.
His conversation with a nun had been particularly enlightening. Ironically enough, she—of all the ones who had witnessed the death-squad members being lifted into the sky and smacked down again by the 'hand of God'—didn't believe that Wolfe had been Saint Anthony. This was mainly because Saint Anthony, a Portuguese saint, would have been able to speak Portuguese, or a divine language that could be understood by all. Instead, Wolfe had relied on her to translate his English, which also told Harry that Wolfe had probably been too paranoid to use a Language Lollipop like Harry had when interviewing the witnesses. It had been a good decision, since one of the things Yamato had left lying abandoned had been a new kind of sensitive detection device that picked up very subtle spells and enchantments. It could even detect enchanted objects with very faint auras, and it was sensitive enough to pierce the interference of the Order's best Confundus Amulets.
Another noteworthy detail had been Wolfe's profound impact on the nun, aside from making her heart hammer to a Samba beat when he'd held her close. She was more perceptive than most Muggles, and the look of concentration on Wolfe's face, and lack of prayer, had made her suspect that the levitating guns and people had been Wolfe's doing directly, rather than an extension of divine power. She had also noticed the sudden disappearances into dead end streets by Brazilian Ministry wizards who had been roaming around the favela, and unlike many other Muggles, she hadn't dismissed it as her imagination. In fact, Harry had linked that thought to the memory of a place, which Harry was fairly certain had been the Brazilian Ministry's visitors' entrance. But she knew that she'd end up in the nut house if she ever told anybody, so she'd kept quiet, and would continue to do so.
Lastly, there was the information that she'd yielded about how she had met Wolfe. He had been standing in line with two small children, waiting to get water to replenish the water they had spilled earlier. It had been an act of kindness. Knowing Wolfe, he had probably rationalised it as staying in character, but that didn't erase the fact that he still cared. Maybe they'd be able to lead him back into the light, eventually. Harry had grown increasingly worried as they found more and more dark wizards who had been tortured for information.
When analysing Wolfe's interrogation techniques, Ron had noticed that, instead of looking for information that could directly lead to Yamato, Wolfe had milked these wizards for any information about illegal activity, no matter how irrelevant it was. Then, based on their limited knowledge of Wolfe's movements, he had deduced that Wolfe had created a web-like instead of a step-like profile of Yamato's activities that would help him predict Yamato's next move and whereabouts.
A very important bit of information, which the Order's analysts had initially overlooked, had been the fact that all the gangs in the slums had stopped their infighting for no apparent reason. If such a thing had happened in the dark wizarding community, alarms would have gone off immediately. But since it had concerned Muggles, no one had paid any attention to that development. Lo and behold, in Yamato's lair they had found some sort of magical maggot that appeared to have been bred to burrow into a victim's body and take over his mind—a cheap alternative to the parasitic personality.
Soft whispering on the other side of the master bedroom's door brought Harry's thoughts back to domestic life. He quickly flattened out on the bed and pretended that he was asleep, peering at the door through his eyelashes. The handle turned and the door slowly swung open, revealing Ginny carrying a tray laden with his breakfast. He also saw a thatch of messy black hair at the periphery of his vision.
Ginny placed the tray on the nightstand beside him and lifted their children onto the bed, and they immediately crawled towards him. Richard's small hand pushed his eyelid back, opening his left eye. He giggled. "Daddy, wake up."
He turned his eye towards Ginny, whom he hadn't deceived of course. She winked at him.
"Richie, what day is it today?"
"Daddy's bird-day!"
"That's right. Now let Mummy wake daddy up," Ginny said, as she sat down next to him on the edge of the bed. Then she bent down and softly kissed him on the lips. There was nothing quite like inhaling Ginny's soothing scent in the morning, and part of him regretted that his children were there too. One of Ginny's hands rested in his lap, and the sheet and his boxers did very little to conceal his thoughts. "We'll have plenty of time for that later," Ginny murmured, in apparent answer. "I'm dropping the kids off at Charlie and Jasmine's in about half an hour. They're throwing her a surprise party."
His wife's warm breath caressing his ear only made matters worse, and fuelled his impatience. He knew it was a bit selfish, but he couldn't wait for the kids to be gone. Due to their different timetables, it had been weeks, since—
"I'll kill him!" someone outside screamed. It sounded like Matt Kelly, and he sounded very, very upset.
Harry bounded off the bed and rushed to the window in Richard's room, which looked out onto the courtyard shared by Kelly's Keep and The Wolfes' Den. He saw a deathly pale Nicolai, with a defiant Mary standing in front of him in a protective stance. Gudrun, Heidi and Robert were hanging onto Matt's wand-arm, trying to prevent him from aiming at Nicolai.
Since Harry was only wearing a pair of boxers, he quickly summoned a pair of trousers and put them on. Then he slid open the window and jumped out, and as he soared across the street he heard Mary's challenge. "If you want to hex Nicolai, you'll have to hex me and your unborn grandchild first!"
Though flying was second nature to him, second nature could still be disrupted if the person in question was caught by surprise, or shocked in some way. The implication of Mary's statement had been enough to accomplish that, and Harry promptly fell out of the sky, landing face-first in the courtyard's sandbox.
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Author's Note: I hate doing this—I know I ought to be happy with the reviews I got, and I am—but a 30% drop in reviews from Chapter 1 to Chapter 2 is worrisome, especially if I consider that I'm on the Author alert list of over many people. I guess expected more of a reaction to the invention of the brutal curse. Anyway, please R&R. Not every chapter needs to be reviewed, but it would be nice to at least leave one at the end of the fic.
I apologise for that shameful display of review-hunger, but I find a 30% drop quite demoralising. :-(
Gogirl: (You wrote: Ginny saw Richard's coming in Union just before she got wings, right?) :-) Funny that you mention that? This issue will come up again in chapter 7, I think.
Bluerain: You do that. ;-)
Numba1: Once all the children I plan to introduce are born, I'll post part of my writer's resource, which is list of all the Weasley and Ranger children complete with their dates of birth (Timeline derived from the Nearly Headless Nick theory) and the year that they'll start school.
ObsessedwithSnuffles: He's not all psycho evil. Just as psycho evil as he needs to be.
nycgal: Thanks.
Tosca: Come on, have I ever been a predictable writer?
LadySiri: No, the way I see it, Cedric was Voldemort's fault, and only Voldemort's. Had Harry known that the cup was a Portkey and that Voldemort would be waiting for him at the other side, then Harry would have been to blame. Harry had no control over it whatsoever, so how can it be his fault? Honestly, saying that Harry is to blame for Cedric is ludicrous. It all comes down to Voldemort's desire to rule the world.
Now Sirius, on the other hand, I partially (but only a very small part) Harry's fault. In that situation he could have thought things through better.
Omacron: What prevents you from making a list and mapping it out yourself? ;-) Anyway, I WILL post a character list and a family tree of the most important characters.
NCDSbookworm: Don't worry, the gore will come.
Athena McGonagall: I'm glad that you're willing to adapt to Heidi.
Annison: Hey, it wouldn't be a good HP fic without bits of canon in it.
Daily Prophet Reporting: Showing the domestic side of things was my primary goal. I'm glad it worked.
pudadungding: There wasn't a spell in that mighty arsenal to inflict pain, so… And don't worry, I won't focus on the kinds that much.
aznanarchy: Now there's an interesting thought. :-)
Jake: It really is a lot of names. Unfortunately they have to be mentioned.
Fragarach: Ah, you caught the Crayon Shin-chan reference? Point to you!
Velocity: I'm not sure about Hogwarts, but we will return to canon a canon location soon. BTW, I knew of Doxies before OoTP.
Chloe Black: I'm sad to report that I'll be slowing down posting, but only for one chapter. Chapter 4 will be in two weeks. (June 12th instead of 8th)
jynzx: Draco got his head chopped off in MW, remember?
Chelli Potter: Yeah, bits and pieces of the intervening years will be revealed.