In the shadowy criminal underworld that was Knockturn Alley, Scabior was a name to fear. Unofficial Leader of the Snatchers, Fashion Template and Professional Thug (he even had the business card to prove it), Scabior was not one to- well, meet in a dark alley.

But things are often very different behind closed doors. Scabior knew that as well as anyone as he rounded the corner of a council estate and knocked on one of the terraced houses.

"Coming! Coming!" Came a scratchy voice behind the front door.

There was a strange clunking sound; and then the door swung open.

" 'Ello, Grandma."

"Back straight! Stop slouching! And mind you wipe your feet behind you come in. I don't want you trudging Mudblood all over my nice carpet!"

He clicked his knuckles.

"I don't take orders from no-one"

"Except me."

"Except you, Grandma."

Obediently, he removed his boots and put them on a foot rack. He washed his hands and followed his grandmother into the living room.

"Take a seat dear."

He sat down on the nearest chair and felt a stabbing pain through the cushion. He yelled in pain and leapt off the chair.

His grandmother frowned and shuffled over. She pulled the cushion off and exclaimed in delight.

"Oh! I've been looking for that knuckle duster for ages!"

Scabior did not share her enthusiasm.

He began to eat from a cold bowl of stew on the dining table.

"How's the dog?"

"I was about to ask you that."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, did it overcook it? Is it underdone?"

Realisation dawned on Scabior. "I've just eaten dog, haven't I?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"My dear, Goldie bought it a long time ago. You don't eat a Mafia boss' slippers and live. I've made him an example."

"For what? All the other dogs in the street?"

"Precisely. Now, I'm not in a habit of discussing Mafia dealings with underlings. How's the Snatchings going?"

"Splendidly. I'm rolling in the Galleons at the moment; and if they escape Azkaban I get double wages for bringing them back!"

She cackled loudly and shook her head mockingly.

"You put them in the slammer? How sweet. In my day we were in the slammer, they were wearing concrete shoes and pushing up the daisies. "

"Yeah well, the Ministry pays well. "

She scoffed at him. "Kids today. You are a damaged generation. In my day, we worked against the Ministry. You work with 'em. I'm disappointed in you."

"Yeah well, I have a reputation as a badass to protect."

"No, you don't have a reputation as a badass. I do. And you are letting me down, my boy."

She shook her head in despair as she she lit up her pipe and blew smoke rings in his face. "All about the money, innit, with you kids! You've no true criminal instincts!"

He shrugged. "Can I play outside?"

"Where outside?"

"The sandpit. Where I always play."

"Fine. Mind you don't step on Grandad. I had to dig that grave at midnight, so inconvinient."

By now, Scabior was now beginning to feel rather sick.

"I've boiled the kettle for some tea. Want a cuppa?"

"Know what? I think I'll pass."

She smiled fondly at him, all exasperation gone. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

"Love you really, Scabior."

"Love you too Grandma. Where would I be without you?"

"In a steady job with moral standards, in an insured home you owned with five OWLs and with an actual plan for your life. Thank God you were brought up correctly. "