Kreacher Harry Potter Quotes

Who's Kreacher?" "The house-elf who lives here," said Ron. "Nutter. Never met one like him." "He is not a nutter," said Hermione. "His life's ambition is to have his head cut off and stuck up on a plaque like his mother", said Ron. "Is that normal, Hermione?

That wand’s more trouble than it’s worth,” said Harry. “And quite honestly,” he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of the four-poster bed lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower, and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there, “I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.

Kreacher said nothing,” said the elf, with a second bow to George, adding in a clear undertone, “and there’s its twin, unnatural little beasts they are.

My mother didn’t have a heart, Kreacher,” Sirius snapped. "She kept herself alive out of pure spite.

The house-elves of Hogwarts swarmed into the entrance hall, screaming and waving carving knives and cleavers, and at their head, the locket of Regulus Black bouncing on his chest, was Kreacher, his bullfrog’s voice audible even above this din: “Fight! Fight! Fight for my Master, defender of house-elves! Fight the Dark Lord, in the name of brave Regulus! Fight!

Sirius did not hate Kreacher,' said Dumbledore. 'He regarded him as a servant unworthy of much interest or notice. Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike...

Like the fact that the person Sirius cared most about in the world was you," said Dumbledore quietly. "Like the fact that you were coming to regard Sirius as a mixture of father and brother. Voldemort knew already, of course, that Sirius was in the Order, and that you knew where he was -- but Kreacher's information made him realise that the one person for whom you would go to any lengths to rescue was Sirius Black.

Stand up straight,” said Sirius impatiently. “Now, what are you up to?” “Kreacher is cleaning,” the elf repeated. “Kreacher lives to serve the noble house of Black —” “— and it’s getting blacker every day, it’s filthy,” said Sirius.

Snape might refer to their work as “cleaning,” but in Harry’s opinion they were really waging war on the house, which was putting up a very good fight, aided and abetted by Kreacher.

As he watched Kreacher sobbing on the floor, he remembered what Dumbledore had said to him, mere hours after Sirius’s death: I do not think Sirius ever saw Kreacher as a being with feelings as acute as a human’s. . . .

Find Mundungus Fletcher?” he croaked. “And bring him here, to Grimmauld Place,” said Harry. “Do you think you could do that for us?” As Kreacher nodded and got to his feet, Harry had a sudden inspiration. He pulled out Hagrid’s purse and took out the fake Horcrux, the substitute locket in which Regulus had placed the note to Voldemort. “Kreacher, I’d, er, like you to have this,” he said, pressing the locket into the elf’s hand. “This belonged to Regulus and I’m sure he’d want you to have it as a token of gratitude for what you--” “Overkill, mate,” said Ron as the elf took one look at the locket, let out a howl of shock and misery, and threw himself back onto the ground. It took them nearly half an hour to calm down Kreacher, who was so overcome to be presented with a Black family heirloom for his very own that he was too weak at the knees to stand properly. When finally he was able to totter a few steps they all accompanied him to his cupboard, watched him tuck up the locket safely in his dirty blankets, and assured him that they would make its protection their first priority while he was away. He then made two low bows to Harry and Ron, and even gave a funny little spasm in Hermione’s direction that might have been an attempt at a respectful salute, before Disapparating with the usual loud crack.

TO MASTER, FROM KREACHER. Harry stared at it. “D’you reckon this is safe to open?” he asked. “Can’t be anything dangerous, all our mail’s still being searched at the Ministry,” replied Ron, though he was eyeing the parcel suspiciously. “I didn’t think of giving Kreacher anything. Do people usually give their house-elves Christmas presents?” asked Harry, prodding the parcel cautiously. “Hermione would,” said Ron. “But let’s wait and see what it is before you start feeling guilty.” A moment later, Harry had given a loud yell and leapt out of his camp bed; the package contained a large number of maggots. “Nice,” said Ron, roaring with laughter. “Very thoughtful.

Sirius did not hate Kreacher,” said Dumbledore. “He regarded him as a servant unworthy of much interest or notice. Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike. . . . The fountain we destroyed tonight told a lie. We wizards have mistreated and abused our fellows for too long, and we are now reaping our reward.

Hogwarts'ın ev cinleri haykırarak ve ellerindeki mutfak bıçaklarını ve satırları sallayarak Giriş Salonu'na dalmıştı. Başlarında da, Regulus Black'in madalyonu göğsünde zıplayan, kurbağadan farksız sesi bu hayhuyun içinde bile duyulan Kreacher vardı: "Savaşın! Savaşın! Efendim için, ev cinlerinin savunucusu için savaşın! Cesur Regulus adına Karanlık Lord'la savaşın! Savaşın!

When you cleaned out this house of anything valuable,” Harry began, but Mundungus interrupted him again. “Sirius never cared about any of the junk--” There was the sound of pattering feet, a blaze of shining copper, an echoing clang, and a shriek of agony: Kreacher had taken a run at Mundungus and hit him over the head with a saucepan. “Call ’im off, call ’im off, ’e should be locked up!” screamed Mundungus, cowering as Kreacher raised the heavy-bottomed pan again. “Kreacher, no!” shouted Harry. Kreacher’s thin arms trembled with the weight of the pan, still held aloft. “Perhaps just once more, Master Harry, for luck?” Ron laughed. “We need him conscious, Kreacher, but if he needs persuading you can do the honors,” said Harry. “Thank you very much, Master,” said Kreacher with a bow, and he retreated a short distance, his great pale eyes still fixed upon Mundungus with loathing.

There was the sound of pattering feet, a blaze of shining copper, an echoing clang, and a shriek of agony: Kreacher had taken a run at Mundungus and hit him over the head with a saucepan. “Call ’im off, call ’im off, ’e should be locked up!” screamed Mundungus, cowering as Kreacher raised the heavy-bottomed pan again. “Kreacher, no!” shouted Harry. Kreacher’s thin arms trembled with the weight of the pan, still held aloft. “Perhaps just one more, Master Harry, for luck?” Ron laughed.

There was the sound of pattering feet, a blaze of shining copper, an echoing clang, and a shriek of agony: Kreacher had taken a run at Mundungus and hit him over the head with a saucepan. “Call ’im off, call ’im off, ’e should be locked up!” screamed Mundungus, cowering as Kreacher raised the heavy-bottomed pan again. “Kreacher, no!” shouted Harry. Kreacher’s thin arms trembled with the weight of the pan, still held aloft. “Perhaps just one more, Master Harry, for luck?” Ron laughed. “We need him conscious, Kreacher, but if he needs persuading you can do the honors,” said Harry. “Thank you very much,

They found Hermione downstairs in the kitchen. She was being served coffee and hot rolls by Kreacher and wearing the slightly manic expression that Harry associated with exam review. “Robes,” she said under her breath, acknowledging their presence with a nervous nod and continuing to poke around in her beaded bag. “Polyjuice Potion…Invisibility Cloak…Decoy Detonators…You should each take a couple just in case…Puking Pastilles, Nosebleed Nougat, Extendable Ears…” They gulped down their breakfast, then set off upstairs, Kreacher bowing them out and promising to have a steak-and-kidney pie ready for them when they returned. “Bless him,” said Ron fondly, “and when you think I used to fantasize about cutting off his head and sticking it on the wall.

I didn’t practice, I didn’t bother, I could’ve stopped myself having those dreams, Hermione kept telling me to do it, if I had he’d never have been able to show me where to go, and — Sirius wouldn’t — Sirius wouldn’t —” Something was erupting inside Harry’s head: a need to justify himself, to explain — “I tried to check he’d really taken Sirius, I went to Umbridge’s office, I spoke to Kreacher in the fire, and he said Sirius wasn’t there, he said he’d gone!” “Kreacher lied,” said Dumbledore calmly. “You are not his master, he could lie to you without even needing to punish himself. Kreacher intended you to go to the Ministry of Magic.” “He — he sent me on purpose?” “Oh yes. Kreacher, I am afraid, has been serving more than one master for months.” “How?” said Harry blankly. “He hasn’t been out of Grimmauld Place for years.” “Kreacher seized his opportunity shortly before Christmas,” said Dumbledore, “when Sirius, apparently, shouted at him to ‘get out.

Don’t kid yourself, Hermione, he knows exactly what he’s saying,” said Fred, eyeing Kreacher with great dislike. Kreacher was still muttering, his eyes on Harry. “Is it true? Is it Harry Potter? Kreacher can see the scar, it must be true, that’s that boy who stopped the Dark Lord, Kreacher wonders how he did it —” “Don’t we all, Kreacher?” said Fred. “What do you want anyway?” George asked. Kreacher’s huge eyes darted onto George. “Kreacher is cleaning,” he said evasively. “A likely story,” said a voice behind Harry. Sirius had come back; he was glowering at the elf from the doorway. The noise in the hall had abated; perhaps Mrs. Weasley and Mundungus had moved their argument down into the kitchen. At the sight of Sirius, Kreacher flung himself into a ridiculously low bow that flattened his snoutlike nose on the floor. “Stand up straight,” said Sirius impatiently. “Now, what are you up to?” “Kreacher is cleaning,” the elf repeated. “Kreacher lives to serve the noble house of Black —

You look terrible,” was Ron’s greeting as he entered the room to wake Harry. “Not for long,” said Harry, yawning. They found Hermione downstairs in the kitchen. She was being served coffee and hot rolls by Kreacher and wearing the slightly manic expression that Harry associated with exam review. “Robes,” she said under her breath, acknowledging their presence with a nervous nod and continuing to poke around in her beaded bag, “Polyjuice Potion . . . Invisbility Cloak . . . Decoy Detonators . . . You should each take a couple just in case. . . . Puking Pastilles, Nosebleed Nougat, Extendable Ears . . .” They gulped down their breakfast, then set off upstairs, Kreacher bowing them out and promising to have a steak-and-kidney pie ready for them when they returned. “Bless him,” said Ron fondly, “and when you think I used to fantasize about cutting off his head and sticking it on the wall.” They made their way onto the front step with immense caution: They could see a couple of puffy-eyed Death Eaters watching the house from across the misty square. Hermione Disapparated with Ron first, then came back for Harry. After the usual brief spell of darkness and near suffocation, Harry found himself in the tiny alleyway where the first phase of their plan was scheduled to take place. It was as yet deserted, except for a couple of large bins; the first Ministry workers did not usually appear here until at least eight o’clock. “Right then,” said Hermione, checking her watch. “She ought to be here in about five minutes. When I’ve Stunned her—” “Hermione, we know,” said Ron sternly. “And I thought we were supposed to open the door before she got here?” Hermione squealed. “I nearly forgot! Stand back—” She pointed her wand at the padlocked and heavily graffitied fire door beside them, which burst open with a crash. The dark corridor behind it led, as they knew from their careful scouting trips, into an empty theater. Hermione pulled the door back toward her, to make it look as though it was still closed. “And now,” she said, turning back to face the other two in the alleyway, “we put on the Cloak again—” “—and we wait,” Ron finished, throwing it over Hermione’s head like a blanket over a birdcage and rolling his eyes at Harry.

He felt a powerful jerk behind his navel, the ground vanished from beneath his feet, his hand was glued to the kettle; he was banging into the others as all sped forward in a swirl of colors and a rush of wind, the kettle pulling them onward and then — His feet hit the ground so hard that his knees buckled, the kettle clattered to the ground and somewhere close at hand a voice said, “Back again, the blood traitor brats, is it true their father’s dying . . . ?” “OUT!” roared a second voice. Harry scrambled to his feet and looked around; they had arrived in the gloomy basement kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The only sources of light were the fire and one guttering candle, which illuminated the remains of a solitary supper. Kreacher was disappearing through the door to the hall, looking back at them malevolently as he hitched up his loincloth; Sirius was hurrying toward them all, looking anxious. He was unshaven and still in his day clothes; there was also a slightly Mundungus-like whiff of stale drink about him.

I do not think Sirius ever saw Kreacher as a being with feelings as acute as a human’s. . . .

«Mia madre non aveva un cuore, Kreacher» sbottò Sirius. «Si manteneva in vita per puro dispetto».

I do not think Sirius ever saw Kreacher as a being with feelings as acute as a human’s …

When Sirius wrested a large golden ring bearing the Black crest from his grip Kreacher actually burst into furious tears and left the room sobbing under his breath and calling Sirius names Harry had never heard before.

Kreacher’s thin arms trembled with the weight of the pan, still held aloft. “Perhaps just one more, Master Harry, for luck?” Ron laughed.

There was the sound of pattering feet, a blaze of shining copper, an echoing clang, and a shriek of agony: Kreacher had taken a run at Mundungus and hit him over the head with a saucepan.

Well . . . they’ve been following Malfoy for me,” he said. “Night and day,” croaked Kreacher. “Dobby has not slept for a week, Harry Potter!” said Dobby

oddly triumphant glances at Harry. “What has he come for, Kreacher wonders?” “Where’s Sirius, Kreacher?” Harry demanded. The house-elf gave a wheezy chuckle. “Master has gone out, Harry Potter.” “Where’s he gone? Where’s he gone, Kreacher?” Kreacher merely cackled. “I’m warning you!” said Harry, fully aware that his scope for inflicting punishment upon Kreacher was almost nonexistent in this position. “What about Lupin? Mad-Eye? Any of them, are any of them here?” “Nobody here but Kreacher!” said the elf gleefully, and turning away from Harry he began to walk slowly toward the door at the end of the kitchen. “Kreacher thinks he will have a little chat with his Mistress now, yes, he hasn’t had a chance in a long time, Kreacher’s Master has been keeping him away from her —” “Where has Sirius gone?” Harry yelled after the elf. “Kreacher, has he gone to the Department of Mysteries?” Kreacher stopped in his tracks. Harry could just make out the back of his bald head through the forest of chair legs before him. “Master does not tell poor Kreacher where he is going,” said the elf quietly.

Kreacher’s thin arms trembled with the weight of the pan, still held aloft. “Perhaps just one more, Master Harry, for luck?” Ron laughed. “We need him conscious, Kreacher, but if he needs persuading you can do the honors,” said Harry. “Thank you very much,

Who’s Kreacher?” he asked. “The house-elf who lives here,” said Ron. “Nutter. Never met one like him.” Hermione frowned at Ron. “He’s not a nutter, Ron —” “His life’s ambition is to have his head cut off and stuck up on a plaque just like his mother,” said Ron irritably. “Is that normal, Hermione?

Kreacher bowing them out and promising to have a steak-and-kidney pie ready for them when they returned. “Bless him,” said Ron fondly, “and when you think I used to fantasize about cutting off his head and sticking it on the wall.

Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back," he said. "I know – but how did you escape the Inferi?" Kreacher did not seem to understand. "Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back," he repeated.

«Non ti capisco, Kreacher» disse infine. «Voldemort ha cercato di ucciderti, Regulus è morto per lottare contro di lui, ma tu sei stato contento lo stesso di tradire Sirius e consegnarlo a Voldemort? Sei andato da Narcissa e Bellatrix e hai passato informazioni a Voldemort attraverso di loro...» «Harry, Kreacher non ragiona così» intervenne Hermione, asciugandosi gli occhi col dorso della mano. «È uno schiavo; gli elfi domestici sono abituati a subire un trattamento sgarbato, perfino violento; ciò che gli ha fatto Voldemort non era poi fuori dal normale. Che cosa sono le guerre magiche per un elfo come Kreacher? Lui è fedele a chi lo tratta con gentilezza, come la signora Black e Regulus, quindi li ha serviti volentieri e ha imparato a ripetere come un pappagallo tutte le loro convinzioni. Lo so che cosa stai per dire» aggiunse, quando Harry fece per protestare, «che Regulus aveva cambiato idea... ma non si direbbe che l’abbia spiegato a Kreacher, no? Io credo di sapere perché: la sua famiglia e Kreacher erano più al sicuro se si attenevano alla vecchia storia dei Purosangue. Regulus stava cercando di proteggerli tutti». «Sirius...» «Sirius è stato tremendo con Kreacher, Harry, e non serve a niente fare quella faccia, sai che è vero. Kreacher era rimasto solo da tanto tempo quando Sirius venne a vivere in questa casa, e probabilmente aveva bisogno di un po’ di affetto. Sono sicura che ‘la signorina Cissy’ e ‘la signorina Bella’ sono state assolutamente deliziose con Kreacher quando è ricomparso, quindi lui è stato gentile e ha raccontato loro tutto quello che volevano sapere. Ho sempre detto che i maghi alla fine pagano per come trattano i loro elfi domestici. Be’, è successo a Voldemort... e anche a Sirius». Harry non seppe ribattere. Guardando Kreacher che singhiozzava sul pavimento, gli vennero in mente le parole di Silente, poche ore dopo la morte di Sirius: ‘Io temo che Sirius non abbia mai visto Kreacher come una creatura dotata di sentimenti profondi quanto quelli di un essere umano...

My mother didn’t have a heart, Kreacher,’ snapped Sirius. ‘She kept herself alive out of pure spite.