Just the idea of someone being lucky enough to own a dog and then treating it like shit was enough to make Harry apocalyptic. Draco had to stop him from smashing the window of a souped-up BMW a few weeks ago when they spotted a beagle with his nose pressed against the glass, tongue hanging pathetically out of its mouth. When the owner came sauntering up the street, two (very expensive, Draco later informed him) bottles of wine clutched under one arm, Harry took great satisfaction in grabbing the twat by his godforsaken Ed Hardy polo shirt and pushing him against the car door, watching the bottles shatter blood-red against the bitumen.